I usually dread when I wake up in the morning. Mostly because my thoughts begin to race as soon as cognition begins. Fears trickle in slowly at first, a few drops at a time. Then it’s like a deluge, as if a faucet was turned on in my head. Will things ever be “good” I wonder? Will I ever feel happy and free? Will I ever love myself? Will I ever accept myself? Can I ever forgive myself? Then depression sets in.
I lead a very solitary life. Most days the only people I see are my kids and my fiancé. I isolate a lot because of how bad I look.
The weight gain from this food addiction has made me want to hide from the world. I look like bloody hell. My teenager tells me this on occasion. Half of me is hurt and and half of me is proud that he tells the truth. Then he says he’s sorry when he sees my eyes look down at the floor. I’m not sure whether to believe he’s sorry for what he said, I think he just feels bad that it hurt me.
It’s difficult to find the motivation to get up in the morning and face the day. I have a lot of anxiety about all the things that are going wrong in my life and all the things that are about to go wrong. I want to reflexively face all of them the same way, with food.
Looking in the mirror is not something I want to do anymore because I feel a lot of shame about how I look. I’m ashamed about it but also know I’ve done this to myself. So don’t feel I have any right to wallow in pity.
I am destroying my body for food but still can’t stop no matter how hard I try. It’s so fucked up. Maybe the answer is to be locked up somewhere for 28 days.
Talking in therapy about it just isn’t doing jack shit. The therapist is nice but she is ill equipped to help me. I end up telling her jokes to pass the time. I already know that my fucked up childhood is where my unhealthy relationship with food began. I was alone a lot as a kid, desperate for love and attention. I didn’t get enough of either. Instead I got abused. Holes developed in my heart.
As a child I remember family members giving me yummy treats when I was having a hard day. The same family I wanted to love me. It was then an unhealthy relationship with food was born.
At some later point rather incidentally, I found myself turning to food when I became upset, for comfort. I guess it was like a vicarious way of having a connection with them through eating the food they gave me. Their presence was unpredictable. The food that was in my house however, was always at the ready.
It’s been decades of livimg this way.
Eating is what I want to do all day long. So I eat whenever I can. If people are around and watching, I will sneak it. Food always makes me happy. It helps me forget about all the shame, anxiety, and depression I have in my life. It’s like it takes me to a better place even if it’s just for a little while. Everything seems like it will be okay but it’s only lasts as long as I’m eating. As soon as I stop the bad feelings return, plus a stomachache. At the same time I know that food addiction is part of the reason why my life is like this. The more I eat, the worse it gets.
Every addict has the voice of an angel or getting healthier and a devil or staying in the addiction on either shoulder. So far, the food addiction is winning.
I know that I am killing myself with food. I don’t want to get sicker but I’m losing hope with this battle.