(With thanks to Cindy.)
I have been in relapse for almost two years now. I remember the day it happened.
A month or two after we moved up here we received an invitation from "home" for a "Going Away party." We had moved in such a rush there hadn't been time to have one. I did not want to go. Dreaded it in fact. I was not yet settled in here and going back to the place I loved and had to leave was more than I thought I could cope with. But, you know how it is, these were friends who were missing us and wanted to do something for us. I went anyway. I was right. I couldn't cope.
I read somewhere that our coping skills work until we hit a situation that is too strong for them, and then we revert to comfort seeking behavior. I did okay for the first couple of days. We stayed in a motel I was unfamiliar with so it did not seem like being home. I was shaky but still able to adhere to my food plan in spite of eating out and at friends' houses. The final day of the trip was the scheduled big blowout party. I ate appropriately to prepare for this challenge. As we got dressed for the party I looked in the mirror and thought, "Not bad, not bad at all." I weighed 179. On the way to the party I asked Mark if we could drive by our recently vacated house. We had been studiously avoiding going any where near it the whole time we had been there. He was dubious but I said I felt strong enough. BIG MISTAKE. After seeing the house the damn broke. Evey ounce of strength I had used for the move and relocation was used up. I broke. I sobbed all the way to the party. I cried during the party and all the way back up here. I started eating "off plan" at the party and I have been eating like that ever since.
I am a testament to losing weight slowly. It has taken me two years to re-gain 16 pounds. That is something. My body had really gotten used to using food as fuel and not as comfort. In the past two years I have tried all sort of things to get my motivation back. I tried to go back to the Kay Shepperd food plan, no dice. I tried Atkins, no dice. I tried Intuitive Eating, no dice. I read every book I could find about motivation, no dice. Nothing worked. I craved sugar and fat, and I have been eating it in ever increasing amounts. I couldn't stop. I hadn't yet hit bottom.
I was okay the first couple of days Mark was gone. I did my normal routine and was fine. But the third day something happened. I couldn't get out of bed. If it hadn't been for the dog I'd be there still. After Mollie forced me to move I showered and went to the grocery store. I bought everything I wanted to eat. And I mean everything. Then I went home, put on an old baggy sweatsuit, closed the drapes, turned off the phone, and began to eat. I did not shower or leave the house for three days. I see why depressed/addicted mothers abuse their children. I hated Mollie and the cats for needing me. I did only the bare minimum for them. The dog was the worst. She kept wanting attention. I hated her.
The day Mark was due home I got off the sofa and tried to hide my depression and binge. It was very heavy (no pun) sledding. The house was filthy and so was I. I cleaned at some of the mess and took a shower. I was so sick it took all I had to just get that done. I was way past self loathing and was numb when he finally arrived home. He was so tired he didn't notice. We spoke very little and went to bed. At least he did. I told him I had the flu and would need to sleep on the couch. I spent the better part of the night in the bathroom. Mark was very solicitous the next morning. I told him the house was so awful because I had been sick most of the time he was away. He was so sweet it make me feel worse. We both slept most of day. He made himself breakfast and lunch. I couldn't eat. Come dinner time we were both perkier and Mark suggested we go out to a fancy place and eat. I just stood there like I had been pole axed and then started to cry. The whole ugly story came out. Was another very long night.
...I put the scale in the closet. I cleaned out the kitchen. We went shopping and bought good food. I am re-reading, "From the First Bite." I got out my measuring cups and little scale. I am back on THE PLAN. I feel shaky and weak but oh so happy. At this point I don't care about weight loss. I just want to feel better and not be led around by my obsession with food. The only way I know to achieve this is to turn myself and my food over to God and the food plan. I am grateful to God for giving me His strength. I am at peace, finally.
When I feel stronger I will analyze WHAT HAPPENED but for now I am just grateful for the miracle.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea