Control...Now I've got a lot

I told you about weighing in for the first time in ages a couple of weeks ago, right?

Did I tell you that I've been tracking my points like a champ?

Because I totally have been. And it's working.

Today I weighed in for the first time since then (I was at a conference last week and couldn't go to the meeting). And I lost got rid of...

8.6 pounds.

Yay!

The little negative Nelly in me, of course, is reminding me that I had heavier clothes on when I weighed in before. It's reminding me that the nearly 80 pounds I've lost is nothing compared to the 130 I had lost. Nothing compared to the weight I gained back.

But you know what? Screw that little voice. Today I'm going to give myself a pat on the back and acknowledge that this isn't a fluke. I'm going to remind myself of the sacrifices I've made these last two weeks to stay on track. I'm going to applaud myself for being in control.

And I'm going to celebrate.

With a cupcake.

Just kidding.

Strongly vulnerable or vulnerably strong?

Sometimes it's best to know when you're powerless.

I'm often powerless over food. But there are definitely days when I'm more in control than others.

Today is not one of those days. Or maybe it really is one of those days.

Those of you in Atlanta may be familiar with the Sweet Auburn Curb Market. If you aren't, you're missing out. It's full of tons of yummies, including a produce market and lots of incredible restaurants. My favorite is Miss D's amazing Triple Popcorn, which combines caramel, butter and cheese popcorn to create a perfectly balanced combination of salty and sweet. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

But I digress.

So, today, all the restaurants in the Curb Market are donating part of their proceeds to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta at Hughes Spalding. A whole group from my office is going. I've had it on my calendar for weeks.

I just totally canceled.

Today I'm not feeling strong enough to avoid the deliciousness of the Market. Today I think eating a salad while my friends eat burritos, barbeque and my beloved popcorn would feel like a sacrifice. Today I know I need to stay at work and eat the lunch I brought.

There are just some days you know better. And today is one of those days. Does that make me strong? Or extra vulnerable? Maybe it makes me strong to know I'm vulnerable.

For those of you feeling strong, needing a Friday treat or just wanting to have a delicious meal while helping kids at the same time, head to the Sweet Auburn Curb Market from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. today.

And have some popcorn for me, would ya? I'll be over here enjoying accepting my 9-point Lean Cuisine pizza.

Have a great weekend, friends. Next week--the triumphant return of My Favorite Things.

Thanks for sticking with me!

Opposite of love

There's a pretty well-known quote I've read a few dozen times. I've seen it written a few ways, but the one that always stands out to me is this: "The opposite of love isn't hate. It's apathy."

Apathy. Apathetic. A-pathetic.

Last week in our Weight Watchers meeting, our leader, Dee, asked us to sum up our weeks in one word. I said I could sum up my week, my last few months, heck, maybe even the last year or so with one word.

Apathy.

And apathy is a scary word.

Apathy means not caring. Apathy means having a lack of concern. A lack of enthusiasm. A lack of feeling. Apathy is how I lived my life for a long time.

If I really, truly examined the word, I'd find that none of those things apply to me--and probably never have. Not deep down, anyway. But apathy makes for an easier mask than what I really feel: fear, disappointment, regret.

So apathy it is.

But the truth is, I really do care. I care that my clothes don't fit. I care that I'm not in as good of shape as I was. I care that I'm kind of miserable. I care that I never go back to the way I used to be.

However, caring doesn't get you anything. Unless you try.

One of the things I love about my Weight Watchers meetings is that some of them are about the recipes and tips and tricks we want to share. And some of them--my favorites--are like mini therapy sessions. That's how last week's meeting was. It seemed many of us were having a hard time. It's always hard to admit that I--once on my way to total Weight Watchers success--have been a lot less than successful.

But I don't want to be apathetic. I don't want to be a pathetic anything. So I have to try.

Surrounded by my WW friends, I stood on that scale for the first time in months while they applauded me (literally). It was hard to see that number (even though I knew what it would be). I'm sad about how far I've let myself go.

But I'm not apathetic. So I've tracked my points like a perfect pupil since Tuesday--and I'm feeling better. More in control. I have a lot of things that I need to get ready for this year--the biggest of which is my 40th (gulp) birthday.

And ain't nobody got time for an apathetic 40-year-old.

So I apologize. I may just be basically rewriting this blog as a beginner and going through the same things I did when I first started four (!!) years ago. Wash, rinse, repeat.

I mean, practice makes perfect, no?

It's been one week...*

It was only a week.

Maybe I shouldn't be so excited.

Just a week.

Seven days.

Not much time.

But somehow, a lifetime.

One week. That's how long it's been since my last binge. And maybe it's too early to celebrate. That's OK. I'm going to quietly mark it down and remember today as a measured triumph. Today, I remind myself that if I can get through one week, I can get through two, or three or hundreds.

I may have to start over. I might have to come back next week and say that it's been a day or even an hour since my last binge. But for now, the important thing is that this shows me that I can do this. Shoot, I *have* done this. And just because I haven't done it in a while doesn't mean I can't again.

It's strange how a week can seem like a flash or the most agonizing seven days of one's life. I'd say this past week has been somewhere in the middle. I've got so much going on at work and in my personal life right now that I'm a tad overwhelmed. And when I get overwhelmed, I shut down. I procrastinate. I eat.

But not this week.

This week I stopped myself when I thought, "Just this meal. Tomorrow I'll be better." Thinking about coming here and telling you all--and telling myself--I'd made it a week kept me from doing that.

So yeah, it's just seven days. But maybe it's just the first of lots of days.

* My sincere apologies for anyone who can't get the Barenaked Ladies overly catchy li'l ditty out of his or her head.

The seduction of addiction

I want to say, first of all, that I planned this entry a while ago and amended it a bit. I decided to continue with it in hopes that you guys know me and have been with me a long time (most of you) and therefore know I would never, ever trivialize this subject or compare my own woes to those of anyone else. I never want to seem self-indulgent (but, well, this is my blog so it’s going to happen sometimes. Oftentimes, even.) or make my issues seem any harder than anyone’s. But we’re all on our own journeys, aren’t we?

For a lot of people, addiction is a dirty word. I know it has been for me. My therapist used to say “To be human is to be addicted.” I know I scoffed at that once or twice. But then I realized she was right. It’s just that not everyone’s addictions manifest themselves in obvious ways.

This week, we saw the death of a supremely talented actor. And I read a lot of criticism about him from anonymous—and not-so-anonymous—Internet commenters. He was selfish, because he chose drugs over his children. He was an idiot who couldn’t get his life under control. It’s his fault he is dead because he was a drug addict.

These hateful words hurt me as if they were about me. Partly because, in many ways, they are about me. 

Before any of you roll your eyes, I’m not trying to compare my food addiction to heroin addiction. My addiction isn’t quite as dramatically fatal (though it can definitely lead to early death). It doesn’t involve syringes. I’m not going to get arrested for it.

But the darkness. The loneliness. The helplessness. These are the feelings that I think come with any addiction. These are the feelings that have permeated me lately.

I need to own up to what I am, before it becomes all that I am. Yes, I am an addict. And yes, I’ve had a relapse. I’ve been in the middle of this relapse for a while now.

I’ve been choosing food over life. Over friends. Over my boyfriend. Over family. I’m eating in secret. Feeling helpless.

Perhaps this sounds overdramatic. You know what? I don’t really care. I’m angry. I’m scared. I’m lonely. I hate this feeling of food being the thing I’m living for. It hurts too much. 

The ironic thing is that I have been one of those not-so-anonymous judgers in the past. I have friends and family who have dealt with addiction. And I often said the words, “I can’t believe he/she would choose *insert addiction here* over me.” I’d get frustrated and angry.

But when I think about it in my own life, I see things differently. I don’t want to choose food over anything else. I want to choose my friends and family and boyfriend. I want to choose life.

So that’s what I try to do every day. For now, though, I think it’s important—critically so—to acknowledge where I am now—where I have been for a while. Just so I can move on. 

So yes, I have had a relapse. But I’m committed to choosing life over darkness. I probably will have to repeat that to myself every single day—and I won’t always succeed, but I will make it happen.

I choose to live.

Depressination

Three years ago, when I wrote my very first blog entry, I talked about avoiding the annual health fair, despite the fact that participation would earn me a discount on my insurance. I was just too ashamed to let a stranger measure me and tell me everything I needed to do to change my life. It just seemed insurmountable then.

In subsequent years, I've not thought much about those health fairs--my only reason for not going was the pain of the flu shot or finger stick (seriously, those finger sticks hurt a LOT. And for days. I'm a wimp, apparently.). There was no worry about getting my biometrics done. Yeah, I was still overweight, but I was working to change it and knew exactly where I stood.

But this year was different. This year, I waited until the last possible day to attend. I thought about not going. I cried about it. I agonized about a stranger weighing me, measuring me and telling me everything I need to do to change my life. It just seems insurmountable now.

I am unhappy. With myself. With my regression. With my insecurities. With my lack of self-control. With my body. With my mind. I feel like I don't know who I am anymore.

I can't blame it on anything. I can maybe pinpoint when I started going backward, but I can no longer blame it on anyone. Not even myself.

Because you know what? Blame isn't going to do a damn thing. It's not going to take off these 40 pounds I've gained. It's not going to stop me from bingeing (and sometimes purging). It's not going to magically transform me into the motivated, weight-loss machine I once was. I am miserable, and I'm the only one who can fix it.

I was talking to my boyfriend the other night and crying about the health fair. I wasn't crying just because I didn't want to go. I was crying because I felt like the 300-something pound me who actually didn't go to the health fair back then. It hurt my heart to think of how far I got and how many steps back I've taken.

Though I'm depressed, I've also found a new determination (depressination? Boom. Blog title). I know I've said this before, but right now I feel like my life truly depends on it. I'm really making a new commitment to cut out processed foods and sugar--the things that make me feel terrible, sluggish and generally awful.

I'm making baby steps. I'm fighting like hell to ignore the very strong urge to become a hermit and cut everyone out of my life. This isn't easy. And right now, it's not even about my scale. It's about gaining control and believing in myself again.

Getting back to this blog is a must. But I also feel like I've let a lot of you down. I'm sorry for that. I'm trying. Always.

I believe in miracles

This month, I'm participating in a marathon.

Sort of.

I'm raising money for Children's Healthcare of Atlanta through the Children's Miracle Network Hospitals' Miracle Marathon. From Oct. 1 through Oct. 27, I have to move a mile each day, culminating in one extra mile for the kids.

It's only my third day of my marathon, but already a strange thing is happening. I'm remembering how much I like to move.

Throughout this journey, the exercise part has been easier for me than the food part. I'm no athlete, but I'm more likely to push myself physically than deal with the mental (food) part. That's why, despite my eating being out of control several years ago, I was able to earn my black belt.

But lately I've struggled even with the exercise part. I haven't pushed myself. I've barely even pushed myself off the couch, much less worked out on purpose. I am fortunate enough to have a lot of workout-class options through my job, but I'm not really taking advantage of them (except Cardio Fusion, my favorite). I don't belong to a gym anymore and my favorite Zumba class moved too far away for me to make it after work.

So instead of looking for more options, I've just kind of sat still.

When I heard about the Miracle Marathon, I knew it was not just a chance for me to make a difference in the lives of the children we serve through my hospital, but it was also a chance to make a difference in my own life.

I'm committed to this thing. Every day, I'm moving a mile at once. And that's a lot more than I have been doing lately. It feels good. I've even found myself making better food choices the past couple of days.

It reminds me of Lent. When I was in the height of my eating issues, I would still give up fast food for 40 days. And I'd actually stick to it, because, you know, Catholic guilt = fear of hell and all that.

So, yeah. Maybe I'm doing this marathon for a bigger reason, but maybe, just maybe, it will mean a miracle for me, too.

P.S. I can't post this without inviting you to visit my page to support me in my Miracle Marathon, or search to support someone raising money for your own local children's hospital. I also promise this will be the only time I post it. :)