On top of all of those things I am also emotionally damaged and depressed. Before anyone gets upset that I am self bashing, I am not, this is merely a fact facing time, so give me some time I will love myself again, just maybe not by the end of this blog.
So what is emotional eating? According to my trust friend Google it is:
Emotional eating is a form of disordered eating and is defined as “an increase in food intake in response to negative emotions” and can be considered a maladaptive strategy used to cope with difficult feelings.
Why do people eating emotionally? Again Mr Google:
Emotional eating is turning to food for comfort stress relief, or as a reward rather than to satisfy hunger. Most emotional eaters feel powerless over their food cravings. When the urge to eat hits, it's all you can think about.
*side note* I have no idea why I think Google is of the male persuasion but I have always referred to it as the trusty Mr Google. Ok then.
I have discussed my inability to stop eating before so this is nothing new to me. However, digging into the why of it all is. Oddly when my friend gave me the book Healing is a Choice I had no idea what it would also touch on weight issues, but it did and one of the statements has stood out to me.
"They don't trust themselves of believe in themselves, and they fear others because of past pain and loss. So gradually they build a wall of weight that becomes their defense against the world. They find comfort in how they feel as a heavy person although they hate the way they look. The weight stays on until they can make the bold move out of defensive isolation and back to healthy connections."
I read and reread the passage. I have a wall of fat. A wall hiding me away. When we are kids and we are scared what is the first thing we think of doing? We hide, under the bed, in a closet, behind our mothers knee, we hide. Essentially I have been hiding for a long as I can remember. I was not afraid of anything physically, I was afraid of rejection, I was afraid of pain, I was afraid of being unlovable, I was afraid of not being accepted... on and on and on it went. This goes back as long as I can possibly remember.
I remember being young, too young in fact, and being on a diet that consisted of eating very specific portions of things that I absolutely hated, cottage cheese and beets being two of those things. I remember sitting at the table looking down at this plate of nastiness and saying, "I will throw up if I eat those beets", and that is exactly what happened. I look back at that now and try to understand why a child would be on such an insane diet and all I can remember feeling then was I am fat and not good enough. I am fat and they don't love me. I am fat and I am a failure. You see, I was the only over weight person in a family of 4, I did not fit in.
Being a kid and picking on each other is pretty much a right of passage into your teens and adulthood. I remember the words my brother used, I remember the name he taught his friends to call me. I remember him calling me fat. I remember being called a Wart Hog. I remember eating an entire box of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls while in tears and then thinking that he was right. I remember getting yelled at because I ate the entire box.
*side note* I was no angel so please don't get this twisted in that this is me making everyone else into the bad guy.
From the very beginning of my teenage years, I chose horrible man after horrible man, each just a little more damaging than the next. Sitting back here now typing this I realize that each one of them called me names, each of them called me fat, a pig, disgusting, and so forth and with each name I would eat another doughnut, another piece of cake, another chicken nugget meal. With each one I was damaged further. I was fat so I felt that they were the only men who would be interested, the only ones who would want someone as disgusting as me, another viscous cycle.
In 2011 I was working on healing in many ways. It was a year after losing Little Dustin and a very bitter divorce. I had moved to the Outer Banks and was slowly facing my own demons. I was forging healthy relationships and had left behind some of the nastiest days of my life. I no longer considered myself unrepairable, unlovable, damaged and I was working on the fat part. By July of 2012 I was the smallest I had been in over 15 years (keep in mind that it wasn't all that small but for me 179 was small) I still had a problem with binging but I was working out enough that I off set that a great deal. Less than a year later the bottom would fall out and I would be shutting out anything and everything that tried to get close.
Deanna's death was the ultimate loss, the greatest pain imaginable. And there is only one way to never have to face pain like that again. Do not let anyone close enough. I began skipping bootcamp and sleeping in, I stopped running half marathons, I stopped running period, I didn't go to the gym, I turned down invites, I alienated my friends, my time spent working out got smaller and smaller and my plate got bigger and bigger, as did my rear end. Pound by Pound I put another brick in my wall of fat. You see I already knew that my family didn't like fat and that would help keep them at arms length, and my friends were all into fitness and healthy so there would be no time or place for the fat girl. If they weren't close to me how could they leave me? If they weren't close to me I couldn't lose them. If they weren't close to me how could they hurt me. Pound by Pound a wall of fat that now has me larger than I have ever been in my life.
I am sure that some of you are reading this and thinking "this is the most insane thing I have ever read." but let me ask you this. When was the last time that a milk shake ever let you down? When did a cheeseburger walk out and leave? When did a chocolate cake call you names? When did fried chicken give you a black eye? When did a pizza die?
Food has been my one true constant companion through life, through every joy, every sorrow, every loss, every happiness food was there and I am addicted to it. I have traded my running shoes for fat pants, cute tops for something that resembles a tent, bathing suits for shorts and a t shirt. I remember just days after the accident people saying "You have to eat. Eat something you will feel better. It's important that you eat." I did and then I didn't stop, probably because I never felt better. Now, my constant companion the one I thought would never betray me, the one that would never hurt me, has eaten me whole and trying to kill me.
I am Re, I am an emotional eater, I am hidden behind a wall of fat.
What was that about the first step is to admit you have a problem?