The Bell Has Rung

The gate has swung open. The horses are OFF!

And I'm standing in the stalls eating cookies.

"So how's the twelve-step program?!"

Well, seeing as I have not moved a muscle yet we can safely say that I have completed steps <1.

It's all I'm capable of at the moment, peeps. It really is. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and understanding and at some point I will really get to burning up the internets with my accounts of OA and food and blah blah blah.

Right now I appear to be seriously battling some depression and some expectations that I cannot hope to live up to.

I'll take that first step as soon as I can get up the courage to get out the door.

I'm Krissy Poopyhands and I'm an Addict

First of all, I'd like to extend a huge shout-out to Kate and Dawn who appear to not give up on this place even when I mostly have. You guys keep me thinking and typing and you rock. Thank you.

I have come to the conclusion over the last few days that I'm headed back to Overeaters Anonymous.

I don't want to go. I totally want to be what everyone thinks I am, someone who just like millions of others has trouble sticking with a diet. I want so badly to be someone merely overworked or someone who just needs a little guidance and help to improve my eating and excercise.

Instead I am me. I'm someone who uses food to control many aspects of life. I'm someone for whom food and the lack or excess thereof is tied in with deep, deep anger and self-loathing.

I have tried a thousand ways to Sunday to figure out how to get on top of this, but I have come to a very low place where I have to admit that I'm powerless over it. I'm lost. I'm as a drunk is to booze. I'm as an addict is to meth. I'm not merely lacking in a little bit of willpower, but lacking in any sort of ability to moderate or change. I'm careening off a cliff and despite seeing it coming and wanting to model decent food choices for my kid and, you know, not die, I can't stop. It's bad enough that to some, gastric surgery seems my only remaining alternative. That feels like a failure so profound I can't even breathe when I think about it.

I'm lost and desperate and miserable and lost. I'm hitting a low. A big low with all kinds of scary implications. I need help.

I wanted so much to be like everyone who has a weight struggle. I don't know what I'm struggling with, Peeps, but it's not weight. Something is in me that is a big black hole. It's demanding food and I'm totally without the ability or even the desire to say no.

I hate myself. I hate myself in a way so profound that I rarely allow myself to think about it.

This is a new chapter. There is no Weight Watchers or Biggest Loser. There are twelve steps and I'll be starting at number one.

Sometimes life fucking sucks.

So, How is it Going?

How IS it going?

HOW is it going?

How is IT going?

How is it GOING?

It, is going right out the window.

Fatter than I ever was and now school is on Mondays so that's my WW at Work out the window. I'm descouraged and fat. FAT fat fat fat eww fat.

I am going for riding lessons this Sunday for the first time since I was 9 years old. You know, in an effort to remember what it feels like to move my body doing something I enjoy.

Food is just too obsessive for me. I'm either a mental contortionist about it, but eating right, or gorging and making myself happy. Until I look in the mirror.

Fuck food I hate food.

I'd imagine Heroin junkies say the same thing about the drug.