I have a secret. I have another (fairly successful) blog. I cannot be honest about my struggles there. Family and friends flock to my blog for healthy food and fitness tips. I probably know just about everything you could possibly know (well, want to know) about nutrition, and exercise, and being “healthy”. I hid my problems with a blanket of healthy restrictions in an attempt to assuage my critics.

The anorexic thing? I don’t usually admit it. I suppose I can now, since this is anonymous. I am 5’9” (5’10” on a tall day), and my lowest weight was about 102 pounds. I think that qualifies me as anorexic, even though I was never formally diagnosed. I am currently hovering just above 120 pounds, and it kills me. I’m miserable and I feel huge. Obviously I’m thin. I don’t have any delusions that I am “fat”. But I love the feeling of being super skinny. I love the looks I get. I love the way clothes fit. I LOVE being skinny.

Now I’m struggling with binge eating and overeating in general. I might have one night a week (on a good week) where I do not binge or overeat. My downfall is nighttime. I eat perfectly fine during the day (though probably not enough), and then at night I go crazy on whatever food I can get my hands on in the house. It’s getting worse, though. I used to restrict or exercise to make up for the bingeing, so I was hovering around 115 pounds (which was basically fine with me – I felt bloated because of the bingeing, but I honestly liked my body at 115). Now I am eating more during the day and eating more during dinner, and I’m still bingeing. So the weight is creeping up. This process reminds me of how I gained weight back in college as a freshman. I gained 25 pounds in about 3 months. Now I’ve gained about 5 in 1-2 months. It’s not as bad, but it might be. I have to stop it.

Friday I went online to research Overeaters Anonymous. They have some kind of 12 step program for recovery. Step 1 is:

Admit that I have no power over food.

I have no power over food. I am helpless when it comes to food. I give in. I love to eat. I love the feeling of food in my mouth. I love to chew. I love eating. I think about food and eating 99% of the time that I am awake. It has taken over my life. It’s ruining my relationship (with a wonderful man, who I am getting married to soon). It’s ruining my wardrobe. I can’t fit in my clothes.

I am so unwilling to be uncomfortable. The minute I feel the slightest pang of hunger, I want to eat something. I need to learn to wait it out. Being uncomfortable is okay.

At night, after dinner, I get this all-encompassing tension as I sit, trying not to think about eating and trying not to eat. The minute the cookie touches my lips the sensation goes away. But as soon as the cookie is gone, it spreads across my shoulders, my chest, and my whole body. I need another one.

Fast forward 30 minutes. I am sick to my stomach from being full (I never ever purge); I feel disgusting; I go to sleep because I don’t want to be awake and feel what I am feeling.

Back to OA. I need to practice abstinence – not in the sense of abstaining from food, but abstaining from my compulsive food habits. I’m working on it. Yesterday I was pretty good. At a party I definitely overate, but I did not have any desserts and I didn’t feel sick like I usually do after a binge.

Today has been alright too. I had oatmeal and peanut butter for breakfast, and then this afternoon I had popcorn and some chicken for lunch/snack. It was a lot of popcorn with some parmesan. The only problem was that I ate it while watching tv (a compulsion of mine) and I ate the chicken out of the container while talking on the phone. Part of practicing abstinence is having 3 real meals a day, and no snacks. Making sure that I eat enough. Making sure that I don’t eat at night after dinner.

I KNOW I can do this.

I know I can.

I can.

I can.

I can.

I’m alone tonight, so this is a major test.

Here I go…

I had been doing so good and then I had to be a fat ass. I decided to continue baking the Christmas cookies I promised Z I would make. I ended up eating 4 cookies. In a sane world, this wouldn’t be a big deal but in my world it was a catastrophe. When I say I panicked, I really did. I tried to purge but Z is home and my fear of him hearing me prevented me from purging it all out. So I downed 8 laxative pills. Yes all of 209 calories. I feel like a failure both for eating the damn cookies and for reacting so violently. I will be paying for it later tonight when the laxatives kick in.

The price I pay for being a fat ass!

After her brother said she was fat, Karen (not her real name) vowed to do whatever it took to get into a pair of size 6 Calvin Klein jeans.  Most women who struggle with eating disorders remember this type of significant moment in their stories.  This vow included starving herself to the point that she passed out on a beach.  When she regained consciousness, the EMT asked her, “What can I do to prevent this from happening to my daughter?”  With tears in her eyes, she answered, “You can love her unconditionally.” 

 “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe these elephant thighs,” you remark in front of the mirror as you try on a new pair of jeans.  “Maybe I have elephantitis, and my doctor hasn’t diagnosed me yet.”  Your daughter hears this, and you both laugh.  But the problem with these types of negative body image statements is that they cut deeply into her soul, doing much more harm than you realize.  Such comments, even if said in jest, reinforce the belief in our culture which screams, “If you’re not toothpick thin, you are ugly.” 

This spurs girls, sometimes starting before age five, into dieting.  Then they begin the roller coaster ride of dieting and later bingeing because they feel so starved.  This leads to shame, which leads back to dieting again.  Even if they get down to a normal size, they still feel fat.  If they have people-pleasing, perfectionistic personalities, they often get swallowed up with anorexia.  If they are not people-pleasers, they often flirt with throwing up until it develops into full-blown bulimia.  But when they throw up, they are actually trying to purge all the hurtful feelings stored in their hearts.  This is why learning to express true feelings is so important.  (I will write more about this in another blog.)

Here are some ways you can protect your daughter (or son, as more and more boys are developing eating disorders) from eating disorders: 

• Avoid talking about dieting, fat, or your fanny.  Whenever you do this, your daughter is getting the message that her value rests on how thin she is
• Discourage dieting, as it usually leads to a lifelong obsession with black-and-white thinking in regards to food
• Discourage your daughter from looking at beauty and fashion magazines.  Research shows this leads to depression
• Stop praising girls for their beauty.  Instead, focus on their other strengths and accomplishments, When we praise girls for their appearance, we reinforce the cultural tsunami of lies that drown girls in feelings that they are only valued for their appearance.
• Be aware that certain activities such as ballet, modeling, gymnastics, and wrestling often emphasize thinness, which puts your child more at risk for developing an eating disorder
• Encourage your child find out which physical activities he or she enjoys, so they can have fun while getting exercise
• Promote a healthy lifestyle.  Research shows that kids tend to pick up their parents’ lifestyle habits, whether they are smoking, exercising, obsessing about dieting, or eating lots of sweets.  Work toward moderation so that they don’t feel deprived, yet get the benefits of a well-rounded eating pattern

Of course there are no guarantees, but these suggestions will help your child to feel good about himself or herself, appreciating the unique characteristics that God has given them.   Also keep in mind that many more boys and men are now falling prey to eating disorders. 

This article is taken from a newsletter on my web site:  www.notjustsymptoms.com.  Click on Newsletters on the right side of the home page.

Raise your hand if you've ever taken pills to help you control your eating. Yeah, us too.

Ever felt so desperate to stop your bingeing and get thin that you took drugs or diet pills? Yep, so did HealthyGirl.org reader Amanda, 20. When she went to college and joined a sorority, her eating and restricting got out of control. But the good news is, she’s found a way to get better. Here’s her Real Story:

I had always been a healthy kid who played sports and ate right until high school. The trouble began senior year when I decided I wanted to be thinner for college. I began eating 800 calories a day writing down everything and keeping track. I looked great, and my confidence level rose.

I joined a sorority my freshman year and things started to spiral out of control. I couldn’t stick with my 800-calorie a day diet so I began to gain weight. I would buy adderall pills to curb my appetite and not eat for days.

The only days I would eat would be when I didn’t take a pill and then I would binge on huge amounts of food. I tried throwing it up but luckily it never worked for me. I stopped going out because I thought I was too fat and stayed in my room when all my friends would go out for the night.

My binge cycle would start and end with me sitting on the bathroom floor crying trying to make myself throw up. I came home freshman year 100 pounds. Fortunately I could not buy pills that summer so I was forced to eat and exercise daily. I would continue the binge cycle at home and wait for my parents to go to bed when I would raid the pantry. I tried to restrict my diet but I was lost without the appetite suppressant.

I went back to college sophomore year and moved into my sorority house. If I thought things couldn’t get any worse I was wrong. Living with a bunch of girls was hell on earth for me and I found myself rummaging through the kitchen whenever I was alone. I ended up gaining a total of 40 pounds. I lost all my friends since I stopped going out at night and food, it seemed, was my only friend. I eventually made my way over to campus health and started to go to a food group where girls could talk about their problems. I saw a nutritionist and therapist and tried to get back in the right mindset. I eventually did, and lost majority of the weight through diet and exercise and now I am a recovering binge eater.

I am back at school for my junior year, and still have days when stress makes me want to run to the kitchen and eat everything in sight, but I remember all the work I put in to get back to where I am and I do not want it to go to waste. I know I ate when I was upset, stressed, when I didn’t think I was pretty enough, or a guy didn’t call me back and now I realize how much I was hurting myself in the process. Now that I am aware of these triggers I can take myself out of the situation and do something more productive rather than hurt myself because it won’t make things better. —Amanda, 20

Have you ever taken pills to control your eating? What happened? And please tell me you don’t anymore!

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A couple of winters ago, I found this Pumpkin Cheesecake recipe on Epicurious.com.  The first time I made it, I selfishly inhaled it in probably too few sittings.  It is insanely good.  However, one should prepare to go straight to confession afterwards because this recipe will turn you straight into a glutton. The second time I made it, I decided I would bring it to work to spread the sins around to others – it was the least I could do.  I put it on the table in the kitchen and after the first taker collapsed to the floor in convulsions of ecstasy it disappeared like one of those silent films on fast forward.  Make no mistake, if you are brave enough to make this recipe it will be demolished. After bringing this cheesecake in I almost began to fear my power.  Seriously, I thought they were going to erect a monument after me.  So I’ve filed this recipe away in my mind as a  tried and true fallback. 

It is perfect for:

• Making friends
• Getting one’s self out of the dog house after various sins or indiscretions
• Forming quick and immediate bonds with in-laws and bosses from whom you would like promotions
• As a consolation prize when someone asks you to do something too physical or time-consuming (like helping them move or driving them to the airport at 5:30 in the morning.)
• For job interviews to give you that extra edge (ignore the weird looks, as soon as you leave the interview they will be face-down on the desk gorging themselves).  Plan on setting up your new desk Monday.
• Keeping an extra one in the front car seat at all times.  Known to pacify power-hungry cops, making them forget they wanted to give you a ticket and forever severing their love affair with doughnuts.
• Instantly silencing whining and persecuted children.  (Caveat emptor: Ingestion and sugar rush will cause hypermania, best to prepare a locked room with padded walls for kids to come down in.)

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

PUMPKIN CHEESECAKE SWIRL 

INGREDIENTS:

Crust

• 1 1/2 cups ground gingersnap cookies 
• 1 1/2 cups toasted pecans (about 6 ounces)
• 1/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
• 1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted

Filling

• 4 8-ounce packages cream cheese, room temperature
• 1 2/3 cups sugar
• 1 1/2 cups canned solid pack pumpkin
• 9 tablespoons whipping cream
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon ground allspice

• 4 large eggs
• 1 tablespoon (about) purchased caramel sauce
• 1 cup sour cream

PREPARATION:

For Crust:
Preheat oven to 350°F. Finely grind ground cookies, pecans and sugar in processor. Add melted butter and blend until combined. Press crust mixture onto bottom and up sides of 9-inch-diameter springform pan with 2 3/4-inch-high sides.

For Filling:
Using electric mixer, beat cream cheese and sugar in large bowl until light. Transfer 3/4 cup mixture to small bowl; cover tightly and refrigerate to use for topping. Add pumpkin, 4 tablespoons whipping cream, ground cinnamon and ground allspice to mixture in large bowl and beat until well combined. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating just until combined. Pour filling into crust (filling will almost fill pan). Bake until cheesecake puffs, top browns and center moves only slightly when pan is shaken, about 1 hour 15 minutes. Transfer cheesecake to rack and cool 10 minutes. Run small sharp knife around cake pan sides to loosen cheesecake. Cool. Cover tightly and refrigerate overnight.

Bring remaining 3/4 cup cream cheese mixture to room temperature. Add remaining 5 tablespoons whipping cream to cream cheese mixture and stir to combine. Press down firmly on edges of cheesecake to even thickness. Pour cream cheese mixture over cheesecake, spreading evenly. Spoon caramel sauce in lines over cream cheese mixture. Using tip of knife, swirl caramel sauce into cream cheese mixture. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate.)

Release pan sides from cheesecake. Spoon sour cream into pastry bag fitted with small star tip (do not stir before using). Pipe decorative border around cheesecake and serve.

It absolutely sux being sick.  Yeah, sure, I get a ‘day-off’ from work, but I feel absolutely miserable – that coupled with the fact that I feel this huge sense of guilt for missing work.  What’s worse is that I’ve been sick since last week, and this week, my illness has just taken a different turn.  Instead of attacking my bowels, it’s now going for my head and throat.  Hello husky voice, hacking cough and phlegm. If that grossed you out, think about how I must feel.  It came out of my mouth and I had to taste it.  Too far? My medication must be getting to me.

When I’m sick, I also have an overwhelming desire to eat comforting food.  Usually it’s spaghetti and meatballs…but today, it’s anything wheat.  I woke up and had a breakfast (or some may consider it worthy of three) of 2 packets of instant noodles, three pork balls, a boiled egg (boiled for exactly 6 minutes), 4 gyozas (and yes, I do have stocks of this sort of stuff in my freezer).

I was absolutely stuffed…but it didn’t stop there.

I had to go to the chemist to buy anti-biotics and I saw Bread Top – I’ve written about Bread top in my food blog, like the first time, it called out to me like a siren.  I bought a bag of 6 taro buns ($4.20) and a bag of 6 butter coconut buns – my favourite ($4.20) and a single slice of taro gateaux ($4.20).  I won’t go into it on here…this is a dieting blog for godsakes but suffice to say, it was great…not a fan of the fake cream on the gateaux but the REAL taro filling was to die for.

I felt like dying an hour later when I felt like my stomach was twisting on itself from all that wheat – I’m wheat intolerant, can’t digest the stuff, does terrible things to me internally and externally.  Actually, my neck, and the inside of my elbows are developing a rash as I speak.  Disgusting.

Breads were followed by Mylanta which made me feel marginally better.

Then it was a phone call to my pilates studio to tell them I couldn’t make today’s session…they told me I had to pay $10 for given them less than 12 hours notice of the class.  A brief exchange ensued whereby I basically told them that I’m not psychic and I can’t predict when I’m going to be sick – to – when is a 7:45PM class ever full anyways? – to – I’m going to cancel my membership!  We ended up with a compromise of me putting a hold on my membership until I’m well again, and them charging me $5 for missing my session.  What a crock.  Still not pleased…but if I quit pilates, I can see my ass wobbling on a plate like the panna cotta I just ate.

Yes.  I won’t lie, I made some panna cotta and I ate it.

It was good but my stomach kinda hurts again.

The past few days I have been remodeling my bedroom.

Writing is therapeutic, it’s true.  But demolishing and rebuilding things is therapeutic as well, in a completely different way.

But both of these activities cause me to remove all of the garbage, assess the flaws, see the potential, and start fresh.

Working on this project alone has given me a place of retreat.  Time to think and refocus.  I have harnessed the binge monster.  My eating habits are regulated.  I have taken a walk and/or run on the elliptical machine every day.  I have removed all romantic interests from my life.   My friends probably wonder if I finally moved to Jamaica like I’ve been promising for so long.  I’ve been spending so much time alone, that I’ve had no choice but to self-reflect.  And refocus.

I’m enjoying my retreat.  I like it here.  It is a good place to visit.  And It is bringing me back to a place of peace.

I will pray that this time I decide to live here.

My head is all over the place right now, you’ll have to forgive me.  I am fully aware that these blog entries of late make little to no sense, and have no flow, rhyme, or reason.  But I promised two people that I would write, regardless of the content, so here I am.  Writing.  Writing is so therapeutic for me.  In fact, I’m convinced that’s why I can’t write when I’m self-loathing and punishing myself.

And sometimes I really do miss listening to myself ramble about inane horseshit. 

So here we go.

It is both painful and embarrassing for me to admit that my destructive eating habits boil down to my fear of and the rejection of men, but there it is. 

The ugly truth.

I, my friends, am a hot mess.

I am wildly neurotic, excessively analytical, extremely manipulative, and  obsessively controlling.  These 4 qualities are enough to drive any man to drink; they have surely driven me to that point and beyond.  But the bottom line is that the flip side of those qualities are wildly endearing.  Neuroticism can be displayed as thoughtful attention to detail.  Overly analyzing things is often seen as a quest for knowledge.  Manipulation?  Please.  Most people don’t even know what’s happening.  And a controlling nature can be seen as strong.  Independent.  Feisty.

I am thankful that my most evil thought life stays in my mind.  And that I’m able to at least semi-gracefully control my evil nature.  (Chili incident aside, please.)

But there is one thing that I can never seem to control.  No matter how hard I try.

And that is my need to be loved.

I love being loved.  Yes by my friends and family, but sometimes moreso by complete strangers.  Such a hideous truth.  But a real one, nonetheless.  I love it when people, who have no obligation or committment to do so, just love me because I am fabulous.  And honestly, so many people do, that I’m spoiled rotten.

So when I come across someone who doesn’t flock to me, I’m intrigued.  Challenged.  Almost offended.  Do I want to know what it is about me that does not interest them?

Not really.

I just want to win them over.

Analyze that.

I do this most often with men.  I tend to shoot for the ones who I know are just a bit out of my league.  Most are easily wooed with my sense of humor.  In a short time I can generally best their friendship.  Within a few months I’ve proclaimed my love, and tah-tah, no more friend.  Which honestly, I knew from the beginning.

But here is the sick part.  The truly sick thing that I am just recently learning.

I do this to myself on purpose so that I can punish myself for not being good enough.

Last spring I thought I had it beat.  Pride cometh before the fall, after all.  But what cometh after the fall? 

Picking myself back uppeth.

That’s what.

Strong day today.  I stayed within my Weight Watcher’s Points, ran on the elliptical in the morning, went to wish a friend a happy birthday, put two coats of primer on my bedroom, drank all of my water, took my vitamins, and shaved my legs.  I should feel like a million bucks.  But do I?

Nope.

But that’s okay.

I’m still in end-flail funk.  But it is this type of self-loving behavior that will bring me right out.

Am I feelin it?  No I am not. Not one single bit.

Doesn’t matter.  This is what I call “fake it til I make it.”

Okay folks.  Time to face the music.

I weighed myself this morning.  286. 

Ooooooooooooooooooh boy.

How did I get here? 

Bingeing.  Plain and simple.

But I’m going to face this in a very low-drama, non-hysterical way.  I am addicted to food.  And medicating myself with it when I’m hurting.  I know full well when I am shoveling those calories into my mouth what I am doing, but in my mind, I talk myself into it.

Who cares?

Just stuff yourself, no one will ever love you anyway.

I’ll start over tomorrow.

For some reason, when I’ve been hurt, and I don’t mean something small, I mean deeply wounded, I just tractor load the food into my mouth like you wouldn’t believe.

On September 1st I was eating appropriately, walking every day, and doing yoga.  Then I started dating again.  Attention from men sends me into a frenzy that I can’t explain.  Psychosis is probably putting it lightly.  I started spending my time worrying about appearances and messing with men and their details, and my health fell more and more to the wayside.  By the end of September I was at 260.

October was worse.  One night I remember I had three different men call me.  They all wanted to see me.  I was making excuses left and right, but no one would listen.  They all wanted to come over.  I turned off all the lights, locked the doors, turned my music on loud, and ate everything in the house.  Everything.  Even things that didn’t taste good.  Out of curiosity, the next day I calculated the calories.

12,000.  Yes, you heard me.  Twelve.  THOUSAND.  In case you’re wondering, that’s almost 4 pounds of fat in one day.  Now it is clear to me how I can easily gain 22 pounds in one week.

Today I sit here before you, completely naked.  Tears pouring down my face.  Heart in my hands.

I never claimed to be healed.

Or right.

Or perfect.

I’m still just as effed up as you and everyone else.

Today’s a new day.

353/286/200

I have never posted an actual journal entry before.  My journal entries are my inner monogue, un-edited and sometimes truly maniacal.  This blog entry is rated:  R, for adult content.  This is an actual journal entry, not a typical blog entry.  And not edited at all.  Beware.  Comments are also turned off, because I really don’t want to hear it right now.

…

It’s taken me a month to admit this, but I’m terribly depressed.

And I know exactly what has caused this in me.

The acceptance and rejection of men. 

It disgusts me that it is so important to me, but I have to be honest with myself or I have zero chance of ever being able to permanently change.  I don’t want to think this way.  I hate it that it means so much to me when a man thinks I’m truly amazing.  I hate it that I cannot STAND being ignored.  I hate it that I will text message and call a man 100 times if he’s ignoring me, but when he’s paying attention to me, sometimes I barely respond.  I say that I love winning the attention and affection of a good man, but then my evil-psychotic twin takes over, and I spend all of my energy waning for the affections of the man who doesn’t want me.

I am starting to believe that men as a species are driving me clinically insane.

I truly believe, now more than ever, than my propensity to binge eat is plain and simple, the way that I punish myself.  For not being good enough.  Or after doing something I know I had no business doing,.  Or for being too attractive one day.  And my fear of sex.  And the potential intimacy associated with it.  It’s the only reason I can figure for my odd weight gain/loss cycles.  When I’m interested in a man, I move in slowly.  I make it known.  We spend time getting to know each other.  When I see he just wants to be friends, I befriend him with the intent of making him see how amazing I am, and thereby falling madly in love with me.  So I do what I do.

I conversate.

I cook.

I dote.

Sometimes I sing.

I bake cookies.

And pay attention to details.

And lavish surprises on him when he least expects it.

But every single time over the past 15 years, that I’ve displayed this behavior in a friendship, it has ended in unrequited love.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Sooooo Tenderoni didn’t want me.  At least not the way I wanted him to.  So I’m trying to be happy being his “sister,” but I’m not doing so hot.  And every single time he ignores my texts, doesn’t return my phone calls, and doesn’t come through when he says he will, it kills me slowly.  I should have already learned that this man is truly never going to “come around.” 

A couple of months ago, I decided I needed to truly move on, so I started “dating”….and THIS is what I get?  All these different guys coming at me at once, and it really sent me over the edge.  Two rejections, a dozen offers of sex, an STD scare, and a patridge in a pear tree later, I’m back up to 274 because why?

Because it’s safe in here.

Funny how this armour of fat becomes so much safer with each 25 pounds.

(One time I put on 22 pounds in one week.  I mean, I can really put it away.) 

Let’s get really real here.

It is during my times of infatuation with a man, self-love and quest for spiritual health that I find I care most about my physical health.

Then I find out he is not interested, or no longer interested, and all the sudden, I look down and I’m 28 pounds heavier.  Then I beat the hell out of my psyche for allowing myself to put so much weight on so quickly, which only makes me feel worse.  And when I feel bad, what do I do?  I eat.  Until I get so depressed I’m practically a vegetable, and then I get a glimmer of attention from another man and start to metamorphasize into healthy Angie again.  I mean seriously, when the fuck is this insane behavior going to end? 

I’ll tell you when.

It’s ending today.

Note:  This article is for people who need to lose weight for health reasons – not those who want to “get skinny” so they will have perfect lives.  We will address that later. 

Face it.  You are more likely to get run over by a truck full of PMSing women going on a Dairy Queen binge than losing weight – and keeping it off – on a diet.  Statistics show that when you go on a diet, you will most likely gain all the weight back – plus more.  It may take months or a few years, but that is what almost always happens.

The reason for this is that food issues are not about food, but about the heart.  So whenever you go on a diet, you are treating the symptoms only.  This is somewhat like having an injury and treating only the pain without finding out what is causing it. 

A few years ago I ran into a former client at a grocery store.  I did a double-take because I didn’t recognize her.  She told me she had lost eighty pounds, and I asked how she did it (nobody was around, or else I would not have done so).  She said it was mostly from the counseling we did.  “I’m no longer self-medicating with food because you really helped me work through my issues.  And now whenever something is bothering me, I let myself feel it and then work through it instead of running to the fridge.”  We had worked on some difficult events in her life, and I had asked her when she first started to gain weight.  The last time she walked out the door of my office, she had a whole bag of tricks to help her deal with the difficulties in life.  Plus, she had worked through many of the important events that had caused her to use food to feel better.  (Of course, this side of heaven, we will all have issues to some extent.  But I imagine you’ve already figured that one out.  And if you think you have no issues, then we really need to talk!) 

“When did you first start to gain weight?” is the million-dollar question that most people never address.  Usually something of significance happened at that time, such as a parent’s divorce, moving, the loss of a relationship, sexual abuse (defined as anything a child experiences which is inappropriate, even if no touching or penetration is involved), a death, the rejection of a good friend, etc.  In other words, just about anything that made you sad or changed your world.   If you can’t figure out what that is, look harder and get professional help.

After we worked through this particular issue, we continued to work on her other issues of the heart.  Essentially, many of the other bumps in the road of her life, from early childhood on throughout her life.  I had noticed that it looked as though she was losing weight at the time, but did not focus on it.  Then she finished her therapy, and I hadn’t seen her in a few years.

If you continue to go on and off diets, you will continue to treat the symptom and not the actual problem.  If you truly have a problem, you are facing an addiction.  Yes – a food addiction.  You are self-medicating with food, just as many people self-medicate with alcohol, drugs, pornography, shopping, reading (if you use reading to escape and to avoid your problems), computer addiction, exercise addiction, etc. 

And the cherry on top is that the more diets you go on, the more weight you will gain in the long run unless you are one of the tiny percentage of people who actually lose weight and keep it off.  Hmmmm…I wonder how many of those people actually dealt with the issues that brought them through the door of food addiction?  I’ll bet you a hot fudge sundae that most of them did.

What if you and your fanny could finally make peace?  You have dieted, exercised, and poured your fanny into a pair of jeans three sizes too small.  Maybe you – like me – bought a pair of plastic bloomers designed to hook up to your vacuum cleaner and suck the fat off your hiney.  Unfortunately, the Girl Scouts showed up during the procedure, seeing you through the window.  They were traumatized for life, but you waddled to the door anyway in yellow plastic bloomers to buy a year’s supply of chocolate mint cookies. 

Face it.  Many of us spend enormous amounts of time dwelling on our derierres.  On some level, we believe the world actually cares about them, but in reality most people don’t have time to ponder our plunder. 

I imagine our love-hate relationship with food started in the Garden of Eden.  Eve’s hormones whacked out and she had a craving for chocolate that wouldn’t quit, even though she had never tasted it.  I don’t think it was an apple.  Most likely, it was a large handful of chocolate beans, coffee beans, or hybrid chocolate-coffee beans that tasted like a Starbucks mocha.  Now that would certainly be tempting. 

And so began women’s preoccupation with the conceptual size of their fannies and other unassorted body parts.  Now don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about, because I know you do.  You’ve exercised, dieted, and some of you have binged, purged, and/or starved yourself – all in search of the perfect body, or a skinnier one or perhaps a less expansive model. 

But if you actually succeeded in molding yourself into the dimensions you had always dreamed, bizarre men started clinging to you like chocolate on chocolate-covered raisins.  The fabulous fanny acted like a creep magnet, and wacky weirdos came from everywhere to meet you because they loved your packaging.  You resented this, which led you to drive through all the fast-food places in town and gorge yourself with sugary, fatty foods until you thought you would pop.  The bottom like is the more you obsessed about having the perfect packaging, the more you attracted guys who wanted you for your looks and not your heart. 

Perhaps you have obsessed about other body parts, and how  they measure up to photoshopped standards of models and movie stars who are being eaten from within by the beasts of bulimia and anorexia.  Eating disorders create an imploding black hole that always ends in darkness and has swallowed up many lives due to heart failure and other complications. 

Fannies is for anyone who has been weighed down with feelings about food, fat, and fannies.  You will experience resounding joy when you completely grasp that God is much more concerned about your heart than your fanny.  Of course you know this in your head, but when you truly feel it in every cell of your body, you will wrestle with the Body Image Bandit and win.  Finally, you will be protected from the Body Image Bandit  – the Enemy, the Accuser, and the Father of Lies, who continually works to convince you that your value comes from outer beauty as opposed to inner beauty.  The answer to the cultural lie of, “To be thin is to be beautiful and beauty is everything,” is the truth:  “Man looks at outward appearance, but God looks at the heart.”

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Today is weigh in day. Two weeks in. Oh my god, I have been fantastising about this day. Two weeks ago, at my last Biggest Loser medical (one day before that phone call) I weighed in at 128.8 kilos. So two weeks in and I wake up at 5am on my designated weigh in day – my head is fantastiing all these different numbers, 3 kilos, 5 kilos, 10 kilos? That gym class must have lopped off atleast a few kilos! And all the money I have spent on Lean Cusines must be worth a few hundred grams atleast! So I step on the scales, beging her to give me a positive number. It thinks about it for a little while and groans at me whilst doing the sums of my enoughorbous naked body standing on it. Then it flashes. 128.1 kilos.  Are you serious? I step off and on again – 128.1 kilos. Ahhh! Why do all the diet magazines and books constantly tell you ‘You will loose up to five kilos in the first couple of weeks!’ I feel like I have been busting my arse off and I still have only lost 900 gramms kilos in two weeks. 900 GRAMMS? Seriously? Some people would loose that in their morning bathroom session. What is wrong with me! Nah, I’m well and truly over it now. Pizza never tells you you’ve only lost 900 gramms.
Had a long, teary phone call to my bestie, who reasurred me that ‘every loss is still a loss.’ She asked me if I was lighter than I was this time last week. I said yes. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘that was the aim wasn’t it?’ I mean, I know it was the aim – I just want the aim to happen faster. I didn’t eat pizza this week dammit – the fat should be melting off. Oh Well. Maybe this downer won’t last much longer. Was going to lounge around all morning (it is a Sunday after all) but, propelled by the number ‘128.1 kilos’ I am going to force myself to go for a walk. Is it this hard for everyone?

1pm

Okay, so ididn’t exactly go for that walk – unless you count walking around the shopping centre and into a coffee shop! I had to get out of the house and stop obsessing about food – so naturally I went and sat in Borders and read diet books for three hours. Apart from the normal selection of ‘Drop 35 kilos in the next eight days!’ books, I found quite a few of them inspirational. I am not alone in my journey to skinny-dom. Bought a really great weight loss book which im going to cuddle up in bed with tonight. When I was buying it, I desperately tried not to look the cashier in the eye as he scanned the book through – I know what he was thinking. “Yea, good luck with that fatso – a book can’t save you now!”
Have eaten well today – managed to scour the foodcourt, and eventually with a lot of searching, I found something mildly healthy. Nestled somewhere between kfc, red rooster, oporto and mcdonalds, I found two tuna sushi rolls, and proceeded to savour every bite of them. Twas all going well, until I had to have a silent hate-filled conversation with the universe – a group of size six girls sat down at the table next to me – guzzling KFC. I tried not to drool. I looked the other way, and devoured my tuna sushi – knowing my stretch marks will thank me. Actually, they tasted surprisingly yummy, and I feel really proud of myself for making the right choice. Just keep going, just keep going.

9pm

Lean Cusine and diet chocolate mousee for dinner. Still hungry. Really really hungry. Can’t believe loosing weight is this hard. Thought I could do with a bit of inspiration – so I looked online at all of those trendy ‘before and after’ shots of weightloss. Am now mamothly depressed. Realised most of the people in the pictures had started weights of 85-ish kilos. That is twenty forty three kilos lighter than my starting weight. Forty three. Feel like queen of the lard. If most people lost 43 kilos, they would be dead. Instead, I’ll still be fatty mc fat fat. I guess all those nights of mindlessly stuffing my face with food are finally catching up to me.
You would think after that little shocker of a discovery I would be totally steared away from my hunger and into weight loss mode. Sadly, no. I am still hungry. No, wait, correction – I still want to eat. What the hell is wrong with me? In one of those articles one of the women said ‘ Loosing weight is definitely not as hard as I thought it would be, the key is to just start and then just keep going!’ I want to meet that women and shove a carrot stick up her now skinny bum for saying that. It is that hard. Are most peoples nights spent pacing the house, trying to convince themselves not to drive three blocks to the nearest red rooster and eat enough for four? I’m just going to go to bed – it’s onlyl 7.30 but what other choice do I have! It’s either that or ending up at lard central at 11pm, scoffing my face till I feel sick, depressed and guilty, and then eating more just because ‘I’ve already ruined the diet, so I might as well start tomorrow.’ Oh well, off to bed.
Hope I have a decent dream tonight – instead of my usual lucious dreams of johhny depp and orlando bloom, my nights lately have been filled with sensual dreams about eating pizza hut and chocolate. I guess it is true that we always want what we can’t have – and tonight, I’d take pizza hut over johhny. Sorry boys!

Just when I thought today was going to be an okay day, the universe pulls the rug out from under me. Now im not really one for labels, unless you count kmart and big W as labels…but i guess most people dont. I mean i guess they have labels on them…but it doesnt really count when you cut them off so your boyfriend cant tell what size you really are…or is that just me? Anyway, when it comes to other people labelling me, the story plays out a little differently.

You will not believe what happened to me today. There I am, driving along in my car, doing the usual (aka playing a song that was last heard when my grandma last redecorated her house and dancing as if my car has tinted windows) when I pull up at a pedestrian crossing. So far, so good. So im sitting there with my window down, smiling to myself about my new fit life, wondering which lean cusine I am going to heat up from the freezer tonight, when i hear the words ”Get a life you fat bitch.” Ummm, Cue ‘My world comes crashing down’

Why didn’t she just take a knife and jab it in to my oversized chest…I mean, what the hell! I mean now that im home and writing this i can think of hundreds of things i could have said to her, such as “Its alright because I have tits you would have to pay for” or the never-fail “Well i can loose weight but, sorry hunny, you will be stuck with that face forever.” Damn why am i always think of the perfect thing to say after the event. Thats no bloody use. It would have been so fantastic, and then i could have sped of into the sunset laughing…but what actually happened was big tears started splashing down my face. When did the world become so damn cruel. She not only has ruined my drive to the fruit shop, but she ruined my whole day to. I know a shrink would tell me something along the lines of ‘that girl was just trying to make herself feel better about her own deep-set issues by taking it out on you.’ But seriously, as if that makes it anybetter? When did the world get so messed up.All I was doing was driving around in my car. How dare I think I have the right to share the road with a skinny person! Anyway…now i have even more reason to hit the gym. With my new found inspiration, i drive on – ready to get skinny and therefore get happy. Ofcourse as one side of my brain is planning for my gym days, the other side is mentally preparing myself to make sure that next time, I ‘accidently’ put my foot on the accelerator and accidently run that skinny bitch over. I mean, im only human!

A few amazing things happened today – One was that I ate healthily! Yes, I’m serious. I had porridge and low fat milk for breakfast, banana and apple for snack, Weight Watchers soup for lunch, fruit cup and diet mousse for afternoone tea and a lean cuisine for dinner!! I know, I know, I can hear all the gym junkies saying ‘Ummm, that eating plan is actually way to high in carbs/fat/sugar/fresh air but there was no pizza or KFC chips in there so I am bloody proud of myself! Ok, second thing that happened is….drumroll please…..I went to a gym class! I didn’t just look through the glass either –  and I actually went!

Ok..and thirdly, If I am being completley honest, I am having a really hard day today. As soon as I woke up thinking about fried chicken and Salivating on my pillow (sexy…I know) I knew it was going to be a shocker of a day. Had porridge and fruit for breakfast, was still hungry. Had a shower, was still hungry. Cleaned entire apartment, was still thinking about food. Decided that instead of moping around all day thinking about food was not going to be the most productive exercise, and that I should go to the gym instead– excellent idea! Nothing like a few endorphins to get me back on that ‘eating healthy’ bandwagon! Or so I thought… I had seen an offer that the gym near my house was having, to entice us fatties inside. ‘Come on in Lardarse and try a class for free!’ Or something like that…anyway, I chose an aerobics class, slipped into my size 22 tracksuit pants and rummaged through the back of my garage cupboard until I found my runners that I had bought from kmart six months ago when I was ‘seriously going to get fit this time.’
So the class started off okay…we sat on theses little aerobic step things, picked up some weights from the other side of the room, and my heart rate was pumping hard. I was getting fit! I was doing a gym class! – Then the instructor came in, and the class started. About, say, 43 seconds into the class I knew this was a big, big mistake. The kind of mistake that leaves you explaining ‘I know that it’s your birthday and everything…but that cake, you know, the one that was in the fridge? Well…its kind of…umm…not there anymore…’
We stepped up and down and around to music that could only sound good if you were 16 and trying to sneak into a club. Despite the music, I convinced myself that I was burning calories of my hugw wobbly bum, and each step was getting me closer to the ‘oh, size 10? That was soooo two months ago’ zone. To say that this class hurt would be the understatement of the century. It burned. I could feel my pulse in my forehead – and that just ain’t natural. So after the warm-up, we actually got into the hard stuff – cardio (shudder). Four minutes down, 41 to go. I tried to tell myself that the only way through was, well, through! I managed to do about two thirds of the step-up things, and just kept telling myself ‘just do one more Nyz you can do it, just do one more set – problem with this theory is, that I learnt the hard way how all gym instructors are blatant liars – because ‘one more time!’ actually translates into ‘fifteen more to go and then we will do it all again next track!’ Dammit.
The real highlight of the class for me was about three quarters of the way through, when I felt a shower of water over me. Initially I was relived, realising that the other staff at the gym must have finally become aware of my severe discomfort and thought they should offer me a much needed chilled beverage. Aparently not, I realised with horror as it slowly came to my attention that the ‘cool shower’ I had felt was actually drips of sweat from the hair of the guy next to me. Agh, I hate the gym. I had to sit out of about half the class. I was so emmbarased – as if my size 22 bum wasn’t emmbarsing enough, my unfit heart was now showing off for everyone to see. Eventually we got to the warm down. I was greatly appreciative when, with ten minutes to go, the instructor informed us that we could all lie down. About bloody time! No sooner had I rolled lovingly onto the floor do I hear the over enthusiastic words ‘Okay guys!…, get ready!…., first set now!…, and crunch! Crunch! Crunch! One more time, and crunch! Crunch! crunch!’ I felt like standing up and shouting ‘Okay guys…. and Vomit, vomit! Vomit from all that hard work!’ But, I didn’t have the energy so I just lay on the ground and attempted to raise my arms in time with everyone else, so at least it would look like I was doing the sit-ups. Surely just being in a room with lots of fit people burns thousands of calories?
When it was finally over, I stumbled over to get my bag. On the way there, the instructor tapped me on the shoulder. Shit, even her shoulder tapping was enthusiastic. She explained that I had done a great job, and if I just stick at it, I will be astounded at how much my body will change and my fitness will improve. That made me feel really optimistic – I even felt like a fit chick! …That was until she topped our conversation off with ‘Don’t worry that you’re the worst in the class babe, everyone has got to start somewhere – and no one is judging you, not even me!’ (and yes…I am serious) Aghh I hate the gym. Exit stage left.

Came home – still wanted to binge. Looked in the fridge, but somehow a buffet of spinach leaves and diet yoghurt was just not that appealing. Tried to do something to distract myself – so I had another bath. Spoke to the boy on the phone, had an argument over something completely stupid, proceeded to get out of the bath, and ‘poof!’ – I mysteriously ended up standing right in front of the fridge, staring inside like a mad woman. Why does that always happen? Desperate to not allow myself to eat crap, but also desperate to comfort eat, I attempted to eat some spinach leaves from the packet, but they just didn’t do the job for me. I pictured myself as Bridget Jones – that point in the movie when she carves the mould off the piece of feral cheese and then eats some cereal straight from the box. Mmmmm cereal, that’s actually not a bad idea.
No, mustn’t eat cereal, I’m not actually hungry – just bored. Shit, is it this hard for everyone? Has every woman who has ever been successful at loosing weight gone through this? No wonder so many people give up. Urgently tried to think of something to cheer me up/stop me from staring at the fridge/not allow myself to drive to the nearest supermarket to spend $89 on a binge. So, after much deliberation, I decided to have another bath. Wow, what a thrilling life I do lead. Going to bed now. Maybe tomorrow will be a brighter day. Night x

Tomorrow will mark my fourth day of skinnydom. I am going to cream filled temptation central, sorry – my grandparents house tomorrow for a catch up. I know I won’t be able to sleep because the fat girl part of my brain will be saying ‘oh, it’s just one day! Who cares, eat all that yummy food!’ and the skinnydom girl will be saying ‘you don’t need to eat cream filled lard food to have a good time.’ I wonder who will win.

Going to my grandparents had always been a struggle with food. Not only have I been blessed with two Nanas who happen to be the best cooks on this planet, but along with that comes a universal decision that it is okay to stuff your face. ‘Eat’ is probably one of the most common words used in the household, and eating at both of my grandparetns house has always beena  source of great happiness for me. We all get together and laugh and talk about or lives and eat amazing tasting foods, lunches and dinners often lasting hours. We muched on roast chicken and beef, silverside and lasagne. Dessert was a lavish selection of home baked apple pies, yoyo biscuits, hedge hog, lamingtons, jelly slice and about three tonne of fress clotted cream and icecream. My mouth is watering as i write this! As i said, we would often eat for hours, consuming well over 3000 calories a sitting – but it didn’t matter, because we where all doing it. Nevermind that together we all weighed the size a small island, we kept eating. I was happy and the food was amazing. I’d often sit in the back of the car on the way to Nana’s counting up everything I would have – and in what order. By the time we arrives I was run as fast as I could and take a plate of the nearest sweet treat to get me started. This great happiness lasted all the way up until all this eating (aswell as all the other eating when I out and about) starting physically showing in the form of flabby stomach and a wobbly bum. From the time i was eleven, the car trips became wracked with guilt. I would sit in the back seat and sweat it out, having a huge debate in my head, should I eat or not. Sometimes I would arrive at Nan’s house and hover around the table, drooling at the sight of all the cookies and hedgehogs. Before  I knew what was happening I was joining in the ‘fun’ and always left feeling devastated with guilt and sick from absolutely stuffing my face. Along with this weight gain, started the ‘helpful’ remarks of particular family members. Around this time I was probably only 5 kilos heavier than other girls my age, yet it was noticeable and aparetnly ‘I would end up getting to big if I didn’t slow down.’ (too big according to who?) -  I always found it impossibly ironic how my grandfather would question my about ‘why i was getting so fat’ whilst lovinging spreading enough pure butter on his bread to feed a colony of ants for twelve years. Constant remarks about how I would ‘turn out just like my father’ and ‘wow, you are getting fat’ followed me around my grandparents house. This continued for years, and stil to this day actually. I remember being on a road trip with one of my closest friends – Lucy. We had just turned 18 and were revelling in the freedom of having our own licenses and cars. Having packed the car with the best 80’s and 90’s music we could find, scored the coles lolly isle for the best and sweetes treats, we set off on a road trip down the coast. We decided to stop for breakfast (okay, second breakfast after consuming twisties, tim tams, lemonade, Pringles and party mix on the drive down) at my grandparetns house. We were just settling down to a breakfast of thick fresh home cooked bread, mountains of butter, jam , peanut spread and cheese, when my grandfather looked over at Lucy, examining her weight. He looked at her pointedly and asked ‘So why are you so healthy when Nyree is so fat? Maybe you should give her some tips.’ I don’t know who was more horrified – Myself or Lucy. Knowing my struggle, she laughed it off and the rest of the breakfast was spent talking about the weather and the upcoming flower show. I remember trying  justify it to myself at the time ‘He is from a different generation’ and ‘he means well.’ I don’t think we had been back on the road for more than fifteen seconds before Lucy turned to me, put her hand on my knee and said ‘Shit…are you okay?’ I think she could probably tell by my intent concentration on my breathing and quivering chin that no, I was not okay. The next hour was spent in semi silence with Lucy providing amusing anecdotes along the way, and me trying to get over the cruel words and just get on with my day. Ofcourse, two hours later I was dancing along in the car to Spice girls, eating lollies and singing as loudly as possible. But on the inside I felt like a little bit more of my confidence had been chipped off.  All these events had piled up and each time my confidence dipped lower and lower. I was only eighteen, yet so painfully aware the weight was such a big deal (pardon the pun.)

Another issue that was thrown into the mix was my loving aunty who always ‘encouranged’ me to eat healthily. Whenever I reached for a piece of cheese or a bread roll for lunch she would say ‘Nyree, you don’t need that – have a piece of fruit instead.’ It always left feeling outraged that someone else had control of my body, especially when I myself couldn’t gain any. Who the hell was she to tell me what I could and couldn’t do to my body? This constantly happened everytime i saw her from the time is was about eleven – when i was definly not overweight. Ten years later and nothing is different – well, except my waist line which has expanded quite substansially since her first interception. Sure, when I was eleven and a normal sized kid, she thinks she is doing me a favour – but the reality is that everytime she so lovingly said ‘Don’t eat that hon, have a piece of fruit instead’ all I heard was ‘You are fat, fat, fat.’ I grew up believing that I was so huge and emmbarasing, that I would never be good enough. It was like a big self hatred fire, and everytime someone took the time (because they cared) to tell me to eat something healthy or stop eating party pies at my twelvth birthday party, it was like putting more and more fuel onto it. Today I feel like it is so big, I could burn down an entire city. Anyway, my Aunty is a smoker, and I remember a few years ago how she expressed to me how she hated it when people felt they can tell her that smoking is so bad for her, and that she should quit. She went on to say that it made her so pissed off when people thought that had the right to control what she did with her body – and that it was her choice to smoke, no one else’s. I ceased the opportunity as a time to finally explain to her that what she was describing is exactly how I feel every time she tells me what and when to eat. I explained that her cigarettes and my food where the same thing -  a personal struggle, and no amount of interfering for ‘helpuful’ people (i.e her) will be able to help. I tried to exaplian the her that the same way that she would have to work bloody hard to give up smoking, it would be the same for me to give up over-eating. An addiction. No one else can break the pattern for you and no matter how much ‘advise’ or ‘help’ your receive, it doesn’t help – infact it usually ends up making you feel like shit. She thought about this for a moment, and then decided that it definitely wasn’t the same thing. She reasoned with me by saying  ‘But I am just trying to help you make a healthy choice, do you think I feel good about having to tell you not to eat?’ I replied by telling her ‘Well If i tell you to put out that cigarette right now, I would be just trying to help you make a healthy choice’ to which she replied, ‘Well, me smoking has nothing to do with you, that’s my business.’ I gave up.

I feel like so much of the reason I feel out of control with my body is because other people, expecially family, have always taken it upon themselves to tell me what is best for my body. Well that is just great when under lock and key of their eyes, but in the end it has just encouraged my to binge eat anything and everything I could eat once out of their sight. Now don’t get me wrong – I genuinely have a very supportive and loving family, and i am beginning to realise now that they would not interfere jsut to be cruel but because they didn’t want me to be unhappy – but it just didn’t help and eventuated itsllf in me thinking ‘Oh, I will show you just how fat I can be.’

So, it is no surprise that I am feeling nervous just thinking about  walking up the lavender filled path to my grandparents front door. I just have to remind myself be strong. Will keep you posed. Note to self: Do not eat fifty five slices of hedgehog.

I rang the doorbell. So far, a success. The next thing that happened is that I embrcaced both my Nana and Grandfather in a loving hug. I had missed them and genuine happiness spilled over me at seeing them again. So far, still a success. Then second thing was that, during the hug, grandpa dropped in with ‘wow, i can hardly fit my arms around you!’ and then chuckled, as if he had just said something completely hilarious. Just keep breathing.

Lunch went off without a hitch and we talked and laughed and caught up on all our news. I had an open sandwhich with tuna and lettace, no cheese and no butter – and two glasses of water. So far, so good. When my aunty arrived home I jumped up with a huge hug, happy to see her after not seeing her for so long. The afternoon trotted along nicely and before I knew it I was eating my roast chicken breast (I peeled the skin off) and roast vegies (cooked with no oil) with no gravy. I know, I know, I am a saint! It was all running well until we came to dessert. Now, my normal effort at Nanas consists of a huge slab of apple pie, drowned in custard, cream and icecream. Followed by a second bowl, and possibly and third. So, as all the diet and health books I have read told me to do – I came prepared. I doug out my tinned stewed apple and 97% fat free custard. Off to a good start. I felt good about myself for being so healthy and breaking yet another habit – until Nana brought over the bowls. My Aunty looked at my questioningly – “I thought you where on a diet?” she asked in what she probably thought was an inccocent tone, although she was clearly unable to mask the disappointment in her voice. Before I had a chance to answer she  followed up quickly by saying “Why are you eating dessert?” I took a deep breath and tried to explain lamely that the custard was 97% fat free. She didn’t even blink before replying  “Well then, don’t you know it is full of sugar?” I swear this woman must carry round a little book of replys titled ‘How to make your niece feel crap about herself.’ I tried to change the subject, talking about my plans whilst on holidays and the fact that I was looking forward seeing my best friend tomorrow, yet as I bit into the first mouthful of my apple and custard she cut in, yet again, with “You could just have a piece of fruit, If you are really serious about this thing.” I couldn’t help myself.  Something clicked and before I knew what i was yelling at her. “If last week my dinner consisted of eating an entire chicken and feta pizza with a garlic bread and a bottle of wine, followed by 4 chocolate muffins and icecream, and now I am eating some stewed apple with low fat custard – well that is bloody good. I am doing the best I can so just get off my back and let me choose what i do for my body.” She looked stunned. I’m not sure what had shocked her more, the fact I had reacted that way to her ‘helpful words’ or the past menu I had just revealed to her. I didn’t ask. Needless to say dinner was a little bland after that, and we all watched the ABC news as if it was the most fascinating thing we had ever seen.

Ok, I know this sounds self obsessed (and it is) but I am starting to dream about being thin. I absolutely cannot wait to be thin. I know the reality is that I will just have to wait, because I know that crash dieting will make me 15 kilos heavier in the long run, (been there done that) I’m sick of hating so many things about my life just because of my weight. Im sick of feeling second best to every other women on the planet who has thinner thighs than me. I am sick of hating shopping – girls are meant to love shopping. I saw that movie, ‘confessions of a shopaholic’ and caught myself daydreaming about all the clothes I could buy if I was thin – offcourse inevitably leaving the cinema I vowed to not eat anything but fruit for the next 3 months – and inevitable ended up driving through KFC on the way home, just to prove myself I truly am a failure. I miss seeing a movie and not relating it somehow to my weight! I’m sick of seeing my friends come out of the change room with lots of new clothes, whilst I try on something in the store just because I think it might fit. I’m sick of reaching to the back of the rack as a force of habit because that is where the biggest sizes are – and I’m sick of knowing that even they won’t do up, and that I will inevitably end up on the change room floor trying to push my tummy down into the skirt so that it will fit. I’m sick of telling myself ‘Oh, this skirt must be high-waisted, which is why the size 22 doesn’t fit around my hips. I never want to go into a change room and cringe again. I want to go shopping and by clothes because they look good and not just because they fit. I’m sick of my boyfriend checking out the group of skinny girls who walks past whilst handing me another slice of pizza. I don’t want him to have to say “It’s okay, I love you just the way you are” I want to shake it all night at a club and I want to feel hot whilst I’m doing it. I want to go to see a band and actually see the band as appose to spending the entire time looking around to see if people are looking at my fat. I want to enjoy the idea of going out on a Friday, not thinking anything I wear will look crap and I will be the fattest chick there.’ I don’t want to think ‘my friends are going to pick up tonight and I’m not because I’m fat.’ I don’t want people to think ‘well at least she has a great bubbly personality.’ Wow. That’s honesty right there. I think I need a cocktail, or a pizza. Or maybe a block of Cadbury rocky road chocolate.

Day two and I am sick of weight watchers crackers and tinned tuna already. Want to eat red rooster chips, chocolate lindt balls and feta pizza. Oh god, my stomach is rumbling as I write this. Note to self: you are pathetic! So after making my tuna and rivita breakfast (ughh) I had a shower and pulled on my skirt. Noticed the pulled. Not zipped. Zipps are for skinny girls, elastic waist bands are for me. That way, I can get away with wearing a size 18, stretched to the absolutle maximum and still call myself only mildly fat. Elastic waist bands are my new best friend – they never tell me if I’m getting bigger. Of course, I’m never getting bigger…the clothes are just getting smaller. How many times have I had a conversation with a fellow fat girl equating to ‘Oh I know, clothing sizes are just so ridiculous, that shops size sixteen is just so small!’ Yes, it is the shops fault. Have figured out with all this diary ranting that my body and I have a love hate relationship. My body hates that I keep feeding it with crap food, and I love to ignore the fact that I have gone up five dress sizes in the past three years. I think on of the reasons have stayed so happy with everything else in my life is because I have blamed everything on my body. Wow. That’s the most honest thing I’ve said in a while. I feel another honesty session coming on. Shit, you think notebooks and diaries are just cute little fluffy objects, lining department store shells and lulling you into a false sense of security with their bright colours and cute designs. Don’t be fooled. Once you have a diary, there is no stopping it, the truth poores out. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Seriously though, If something doesn’t happen when I expect it too – it’s because my hips are too wide. If I don’t get a job, it’s because the other girl who went for it was slimmer. Of course it had nothing to do with the fact she’s got a reference from the queen or a resume the size of my thighs. No, it is because of my body. If my boyfriend treats me like crap, it’s not because there’s any other issue, it’s because I’m not as thin as ‘her.’

Ever since puberty I can remember having a problem with my body. We used to go camping every year with a big group of families, and every year I would feel so embarrassed about being overweight that I wouldn’t want to go. I would end up going, because I was hardly going to stay home without my parents over the holidays – and also because of my dads ‘end of discussion’ policy. I was only twelve and now I’m here, ten years later, wondering why the hell did I care about that sort of stuff at twelve? And the very scary reality which just ‘light bulbed’ into my head is, that if I don’t get happy with my body some time soon, I’m going to be forty five reading this and thinking ‘why the hell did I care so much? I should have been partying, I was only sixteen/eighteen/twenty/twenty-two…”

Well no more. I want to feel sexy and empowered and healthy and fit and skinny and succesful. Don’t ask for much do I? And yea, I can hear everyone saying ‘Oh that is just soooos consumerist and soooo self indulgent, and guess what – it is. But if I am not going to look after myself first then no one else will. Skinnydom will be mine. I just need to figure out how to make a breakfast that doesn’t resemble horse food. Oh, and I should probably stop driving to the supermarket in the next street. Gee, better write some goals.

1. To fit into size 10 jeans (yes, with the button done-up)
2. To rid my wardrobe of any clothes labled ‘Maternity (and no, I have never had a baby)
3. To run like the wind! (Ok, maybe not the wind, but maybe a light breeze)
4. To not obsess about feta pizza fifty five times a day (and red rooser chips, and garlic bread, and coconut icecream, and ahh must stop writing and wipe the drool of the page)
5. To go shopping at sportsgirl and not have the rake like assistant wish I would leave
6. To go on a beach holiday and not spend the whole time in the hotel
7. To have sex with the lights on
8. To see old friends and feel proud and happy with myself (and not run away or avoid writing back to txt messages as I do now)
9. To go to a restaurant without eating fifteen burgers and five chocolaye puddings because I’m ‘celebrating’

10.  To feel freaking fantastic about myself.

As I said, don’t ask for much do I?

Have just had a realisation. Everywhere I go, wether it be for a job interview, out to lunch with a group of friends, speaking to a stranger etc I am always the bubbly girl. So I am on the bus today, and I get chatting to the elderly women who I am sandwhiched up against. I feel sorry for her frail frame as it is clearly suffocating with my size 22 body being pushed up beside it. Anyway, we talked about the price of bus fares, what we have both been doing for the day and our plans for the weekend. As the bus sluggishly slowed at her stop, she says ‘it is so lovely to meet such a bubbly young girl!’ and hoped off with glee. And that is when it hit me – I am always the bubbly girl. I’m sorry, but when will the world realise that bubbly is just a word that people use when you are too fat for them to complement anything else? Everywhere I go I hear ‘oh your friend, she is just so bubbly!’ Maybe the bus story is a bad example, because im sure 80-something year old Beryl was genuinly trying to be nice – but I do get labbled bubbly all the time. Yep, here I am, just bubbling a way. Trust me, I am never the ‘oh shes soo sexy’ girl. And I don’t even make it into the ‘wow you have really nice eyes’ category. Well, I don’t WANT to be bubbly anymore. I want to be ‘oh-my-god-I-think-marilyn-munroe-just-walked-in-oh-wait-that’s-you’ girl. Just you wait – I never want to be called bubbly again.

Okay, I don’t really now how to say this nicely, but umm, I’m a big fat failure. I will always be fat. I will always have to hold my breath to pull on my size 22 skirt. This morning I was all optimisic that I could do this thing but now, I know it was all a lie. I will never get out of this body. Here was my day:

8am

had fruit for breakfast – great start! I’ll let you know how I go during the day – I can do this!

10am

When is lunch? I’m so straved I could eat..well…anything! Stupid diet, stupid rules. I’ll just have to hang on until lunch and then everything will be alright.

12pm

Yay! Lunch time! Lean cuisine and an apple. I am doing sooooo well! Will be skinny in no time!

1pm

This is so boring. All I am doing is walking baqck and forth waiting till dinner. Hold the phone! I want to quit. I want to eat chips and pizza and dip and Turkish bread. Why am I the only girl who has to do this? I bet right now all over the world skinny girls are eating all that stuff and not even thinking about it. Why did I get dealt this body? I must have been a real pain-in-the-arse in my last life, otherwise surely I would have come back as one of those girls who eats whatever she wants, whenever she wants. Dammit, life is cruel. And I want pizza!

3pm

Stay stong, stay stong, stay strong. Not long to go and then you can heat up a Lean Cuisine for dinner. Is 4pm to early to start it cooking?

Now

I am so crap. Feel like complete idiot, not to mention extremely guilty. At about 4pm the boy called – saying he had a romantic dinner surprise for me. I was so overcome with excitement that all my resolve to stick to my diet went out the window. Lean Cuisine or hot dinner date? Gee, hard choice. Ofcourse it has nothing at all to do with the fact I couldn’t wait to go out to dinner – then I would have an excuse to eat a ridiculously oversized portion, and dessert. I tried to justify with myself that going out to dinner is not really breaking the diet – I didn’t take myself out to dinner, her did. I didn’t cook that fatty food for myself – the chef did. I wasn’t the one who suggested we get the romatnicly themed dessert for two, chocolate fondue with cakes, berries, more cake and pasteries –that was my boy. The only thing that I was in control of was the bottle and a half of wine I drunk – but that’s not soooo bad.
The excuses I come up with when I’m breaking my diet eight hours in are outrageous. I always feel like complete arse afterwalds. I always feel guilty and horrible and like I will never win this battle. And now I’m lying in bed, my boy cuddled up to me – and I can’t even let him hold me properly incase he notices how big my stomach is. Who lives like this?
My stomach is so full I think I might burst. I am so pathetic. Why do I let food ruin my life? Why do I let it rule my life? Why does it always win the fight? Why do I always do this? I’m not even going to bother promising myself that I will start a new diet tomorrow, because I know that it won’t happen – and I can’t be bothered feeling like this again. I want to be ignorant about everything I eat and not be overcome with guilt everytime I do this.
I will never loose weight. I will never be thin. I better send back that size 12 dress I ordered off ebay this morning, because it will never, ever fit me. I feel like I am the only woman in the world who feels like this. I feel so alone.
The boy cuddles up to me closer, kissing my neck. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve anything this enjoyable – I am a complete failure.

So it is day one of the get skinny plan. I am still wearing my oh-so-sexy Collete Dinnigan pink satin pjamas, I was thinking about the reasons that…Ok fine, they are from kmart and I got them on special…anyway…I have been thinking that if I’m really getting into this whole honestly / shrink thing then I might as well do it properly. Let me start this first crispy page by admitting what I had for breakfast: nothing. See, I told you I was the diet queen! I know that I am meant to eat breakfast but I just haven’t got anything healthy in my house to eat – so unless my breakfast on day one is going to consist of easy mac then I can’t eat until I go shopping. Note to self: go shopping.

Back from a shopping trip that was more boring than the school nativity play, but first I have to tell you something – Was driving to the supermarket this afternoon (two blocks from my house mindyou) when I saw a huge poster advertising a new yoga centre that is starting up near my house – their oh-so-original slogan is “Your body is a temple.” Yea, my body is a temple allrgiht – the temple of lard. The temple of ‘why the hell do I feel like this again.’ I guess the slogan ‘Your body is a temple of unhappy crap’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it. I’m not negative, I’m a realist baby. Anyway, had only just walked into coles when I realised that there is just no point – I cant go down the lolly isle and buy violet crumble bars, I can buy pop-tarts for breakfast and I cant even go down my normal frozen isle and buy fish fingers, party pies and wedges. Seriously, I am only three hours into this thing and I am ready to throw in the towel. I have read so many diet books and weight loss memoirs where at the start of the book they are always writing how ‘I just didn’t know what to eat!’ and asking questions like ‘do cocopops count as a highly nutritious breakfast?’ there are so many stories of women walking up and down the supermarket isle, struggling to know what and how much to buy. I am not one of these women. I cannot blame my ignorance. I have read about and studied nutrition and weight loss plans for so long that I know exactly how many grams of fat I should be having, what foods are low GI, how many calories should be rationed for each meal. I know that steamed fish and vegies with light tartare sauce is roughly 320 calories. Perhaps, it is because of this knowdlge, that I have never bothered to start this healthy eating thing – because I know it is hard. I know that I have to eat diet chocolate moussed and egg white omletes. This is one expedition in which I cannot play the ignorance card, dammit. Oh, I better go – my weight watchers soup has just dinged in the microwave…snore.

Welcome to my new life. This morning, the ‘heart sinking’ thing only happened for a few seconds before I realised that today is the day I change my life forever! I am going to get skinny! How excitement. I have spent all the way up until lunch time googling weight loss success stories, before and after pictures, diet plans, shakes, liposuction, bushwalking clubs and diet books. Ah! I’m stil so excited – me, thin! Can you imagine?! Okay, so I’m not quite sure how I am going to get there yet – but I will. I have read so many stories about woman who have lost 50 or more kilos, and the most common thing I can find is that they wrote everything they ate down. I am totally going to do that. Another common factor I have found with all my net research is that lots of the success stories said that having a phycologist/counsellor etc really helped them not only to stop eating twelve pies for dinner but to understand why they are doing it. I am definitely not ignorant to the fact that loosing weight is not as simple as cutting down what you eat, and upping how much you move. If that was the secret, then every women on this planet who ever wanted to be skinny, would be. If this was the case, then all the diets I have tried (of which there are hundreds) would have worked and I would already be a size 8. After reading so many of these stories I have decided that it is the phycotherapy phycobabble that actually turns fatties into skinnies. Simple isn’t it! All I need it to cut down what I eat, move more and find a shrink, and then I will be the perfect temple of happiness – Simple! Except it’s not that simple, is it – because I for one certainly don’t have $100 cash for every 40 minute session with a shrink, and to be honest if I did have that extea $100 a week, I would probably be more likely to spend it on liposuction then actually dealing with my emotional issues – seems to much like hard work! So having come to the conclusion that to loose weight I need to have someone to poor my fatty little soul out to, and equating to the fact that I cannot afford a shrink, I have now decided to dub this blog my phycologist. You dear blog, will be the outlet in which I can make all sorts of promises to that I will never come good on. Your crispy white electronic pages will soon be crammed with empty dreams of being a size ten by next Christmas, and wearing something to work that doesn’t have an elastic waist band. And hey, I am sure if you were a real diary then i would find you in a few months, dusty and tucked behind some that box of skinny clothes I keep in my garage, but for now, you are my closest friend. I bet when you were sitting on the shelf at the blogosphere with 150 billion othe empty blog pages you had no idea that you would be the one to be full of secrets, food sins, tearful fat stories and horrible degrading weighins. Me too little blog,  me too.

Except I didn’t fall asleep. It’s three fourteen am and I cant sleep. I think I am on some sort of pizza endorphin rush. You know that feeling when you first wake up, and just for a few precious, innocent seconds, everything is okay. The day is bright and optimistic and unspoiled. And then your mind starts ticking over and remembering the day before. The tears, the events, the crying yourself to sleep – and suddenly your heart sinks. Before you have even opened your eyes your mood is heavy and you feel worthless. I first experienced this feeling when I was fourteen and had been dumped on msn by my first boyfriend. The next morning, I realised the events of the day before and fell into a deep, dark hole. Well this is kind of like the same thing- except this time I have been dumped by a multi-million dollar television station instead of a weedy, pimple strewn fourteen year old (who is probably still weedy and still dumping girls on msn – not that I’m bitter!) So I wake up a few minutes ago, and only seconds after that ‘heart sinking’ moment, I realise I am at a crossroads. I realise that when dawn breaks tomorrow, my life will go in one of two ways. Behind door number one is a life of pretending to quieten down my ‘huge family’ as I order pizza, of cheering myself up with food-court caramel ice cream after trying to go on a ‘shopping spree’, of turning the lights off, and of avoiding high school friends, ex boyfriends, ex colleagues, pen pals, mail men and anyone else I might have known before I became the size of paris Hiltons ego. Door number to is slightly more appealing – it showcases a new life, where I have control, where I don’t have to eat enough for a family of sixteen just to feel full, and where I can feel sexy and happy about my body. So somewhere in the midst of my blurry eyed, food hungover, three am mind I have decided to take door number two. I will have my own biggest loser. I will have my own ‘coming out finale’ party. I will buy my own dream outfit. Suddenly my tear ducts are cheering at the thought of having some time off. Welcome to my new life! I’d better have just one quick midnight snack, and my new life will start it all in the morning.  Actually, having said that – if I am going to start in the morning, perhaps this should be a little more than a midnight snack. I’m thinking more along the lines of a midnight feast. I wonder if I can put the oven on for wedges and fish fingers with out waking up my man?

You know what a binge is? It’s a cry or a scream. It took me a long time to understand that. But now that I do, I have to get you there. Because if I can get you to see a binge as a cry or a scream, I can get you to take better care of yourself so that you don’t have to cry and scream as often. And when you do cry and scream, it will not be with food, but with tears and actions. Which is the healthy way to cry and scream.

Now, a binge can be an emotional cry, or it can be a hunger cry. If you are someone who constantly deprives yourself of food, that binge is a scream of rebellion. It’s a need that’s being denied. So your action would be, on an every day basis, to allow yourself to eat. I didn’t lose weight until I STARTED eating. Bingeing stopped when I started eating the foods I binged on! In the form of structured meals and snacks, you need to allow that food. Deprivation leads to bingeing and that is a fact.

If, however, you are having a reaction to something, and it’s triggered  a core deep response, that can send you to major food. The reason is that the feeling is so horrific, you are so upset, and your emotional system thinks it can’t deal with it. It runs to protect you but it protects you in a coward’s stance.  As you dive into food, the more you eat, the more you focus on that food, the less the feeling gets in. As a matter of fact, the food literally shuts the door on the feeling. In order to see how NOT protective that is, let me draw you a picture.

Imagine you are a child. You are sad. You go to your mom for a hug. She is just not equipped to handle your emotions. So she opens the fridge, starts eating and totally ignores you. As a matter of fact, she shuts the door on  you. So you cry harder. Maybe now she’ll hear you.  But she only eats more food and the sound of her chewing is so loud in her head, she can’t hear you at all.

That is what you are doing to yourself every time you binge. You are the child crying. And you are the mom shutting you out with food. So what we need to do is listen to what that grown up child is crying about. What’s going on? What happened? What’s about to happen? What didn’t happen? What are you FEELING? And then we need to analyze the situation, feel the feelings, and begin to make choices around it. If you can’t hear the problem, you have no chance to make it better. Food may feel good in the moment. But it only adds weight gain and a sick stomach to a feeling that’s already hard.

Someone may have said something that hurt you terribly. Feel it! Are they right? Are they wrong?  Is this someone you trust? Is this someone to gently pull back from? Do you need to say something to them? Do you need to wait it out? Do you need to apologize? Do you need to change a plan? Make a new one? See them? Avoid them? What is this feeling, where is it coming from, and why does it upset you so much? Lots of life information that only gets lost if you take it to food and  live there.

If you binge, don’t punish yourself. Listen to yourself. Learn from it, track it back. What happened? What could you do  differently  next time?  If you binge, don’t hate who you are. Hate that feeling you have because it hurts.  And on the day after a binge, take    care of yourself. You had a hard day emotionally,  that is why you binged. Be easy on yourself. Eat lightly, just as if you had the flu. And from now on, take care of yourself not with comfort food, but with choices that comfort you in your life. It’s not an overnight thing. It’s a process.

With awareness, your binges will get lighter. If you allow them and understand them, they will feel heard. If you need to binge, binge. If you can lighten it up, great. Be that mom to yourself. Take care of your feelings because ain’t nobody else going to do it like you can. Be your own great mom every single day. Be responsible and take care of others. Be the best person you can be. And when you’re having a hard time with something, go easy on yourself. Cut yourself some slack. You’re trying! You’re a really good person. Bingers are really good people with tough, tough feelings. That’s not someone to punish. Just hand them an extra napkin!

One day, if you can catch it, you are going to have a big big cry instead of a big big food fest. You are going to stare at the walls for an hour because you’re too depressed to get up. But that is OK! You get to feel bad. You get to feel good. You get to laugh and you get to cry. That is all real. It’s all inside you. And when you live to that truth, and see that you’re strong enough to feel it without food, guess what! You get to eat all the foods you love (in meals and snacks) and you get to look cute in your jeans. Not so bad, huh?

You can do this! You are that good. And you are that strong. You are my favorite kind of person. That’s because you are real.

I have learned that sometimes in life you have to make big decisions. Yesterday I made a few big decisions which included::

A. To take a new job or stay at my current job- I choose current job
B. How to celebrate my raise- high calories or healthy- I choose high calories (with the help of the Boyfriend)
C. Which icecream to get a the store- Bryer’s 1/2 gallon or skinny cow bars- I choose Bryer’s (it took a good 5 minutes in front of the freezer)
D. To get the candy corn or not- I choose candy corn (after I put it back 3 times!)
E. Eat the entire 1/2 gallon or not- I ate it all
F. Throw away the candy corn or not- threw it away

I made 2 good decisions in my entire day. TWO! I don’t know why my binge eating starts, I do not know how to control the cravings and to say “no” to myself. I bought a book that is supposed to help, so I am going to continue reading it.

Things I am going to do:

-stick a picture to my fridge
-create a journal
-follow tosca reno’s clean eating plan A
-exercise and stop making excuses

Things I ate from 3pm til 8pm:
- 3 fiber one bars (420 calories)
-3 string cheeses (180 calories)
-slice of pizza (400 calories)
-candy corn (300 calories)
-1/2 gallon of icecream (1200 calories)

That is 2,500 calories- 2 days worth of calories consumed in 5 hours. How? Why?

It is the worst feeling in the world. There is self-loathing, uncomfortable fullness, shame, guilt, sadness and anger.

Off to conquer this.