Hungry

I grabbed another slice of pizza from the box. I knew 2 slices earlier that I would regret every single bite I took, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was how it tasted. It didn’t matter that I had spent nearly two months eating a minute amount of calories and injecting myself with an appetite suppressing hormone to lose the 25 pounds. It mattered that eating it made me feel happy in that moment.

I took another bite, beginning to feel the weight in my stomach… the weight that comes when you know you have eaten way too much… the weight that makes you want to unbutton your pants, put on your largest pair of sweats, and curl up in bed watching pointless reality TV.

But I ignored it, focusing instead on the cheese, and the sauce, and the delicious crispy bread. It didn’t matter that I would feel sick, and guilty, and horrible about eating half of a large pizza within 30 minutes.

But it matters now.

I consider myself to have an eating disorder. An eating disorder is classified as “a group of conditions characterized by abnormal eating habits that may involve either insufficient or excessive food intake to the detriment of an individual's physical and emotional health.”

Abnormal eating habits. That would definitely be me, although I doubt I am as abnormal as some would think, considering the number of Americans who are obese. I have dealt with episodes of both insufficient and excessive food intake for my entire life; one to attempt a drastic weight loss, the other to satisfy my incessant cravings. Every once in a while I will try to eat nothing for a day or two, but I always realize how bad it is for me and my metabolism… just before stuffing my face with something that is just as bad for me as not eating. Some other times I have eaten and felt immediately guilty, so I will go throw up. I want to be clear that I am not bulimic. I have only done this on a handful of occasions over the past 10 years… but even that handful is too many.

I am approximately 50 pounds over the top point of a health weight range for someone my height, and all I can focus on is the fact that I am hungry. I am hungry all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. And the only way I can make the hunger go away is to stuff myself so full that I can only focus on how full I am, and curl up in my jammies and watch reality TV.

I have great goals for myself on how tomorrow will be. Gym in the morning, lots of fruits and veggies and protein, take a walk during lunch and again after I get home from work. Always tomorrow. And occasionally I can follow through on those goals. But only for a limited time. Only long enough that I have dropped 10-15 pounds, or until I can see the puffiness has left my face. Then it is right back to stuffing myself and laying around watching TV.

I am telling you this because I am looking for help. I am looking to someone who has been through this to give me advice, to give me a book name, to give me prayers.

I am hungry... not just for food, but for happiness and a desire to be healthy. I want to love the body I have been so destructive towards. Please help me do that.

I Don't Want To

I hate my body.

I ate like a fatty yesterday, and the worst part wasn’t even that I ate so much food I felt sick. The worst part was that I felt sick the entire time I was eating.

Normally, when I’m going to eat a lot of Italian food or burgers or anything else that is bad for me, I’m hungry when I start and by the end of the meal I feel stuffed, but I don’t feel sick until 30-60 minutes later. I have always attributed my inability to recognize when I have eaten too much to the fact I am overweight (along with my predilection for carbs). But I came to a literally sickening realization last night as I kept eating after I could feel myself getting so full I was miserable.

I hate my body.

My compulsive overeating is affecting almost every aspect of my life. When I eat too much and too unhealthily to take care of myself, I don’t work as hard at my job, I want to spend all of my time in my apartment away from everyone who might think something about my weight, and my body doesn’t feel up to going to the gym.

And what else happens when I’m eating so much that I feel sick and depressed and ugly? I have a hard time letting my boyfriend love me. I tell him how I feel every so often, but I don’t think he really understands how torn up I am inside.

Every time I go on a diet, it lasts 3-4 weeks, and I’m right back to stuffing my face again.

I am at the very end of my rope… and I don’t know where to go from here. The only thing I know is…

I hate my body…

But I don’t want to anymore.

Columbia and the Smoking Hiatus

I received yet another rejection last night. Columbia College Chicago has officially declared my writing less than worthy of their MFA in Fiction Writing program. I realize that my ultimate goal revolves around teaching Memoir, Non-Fiction, Autobiography, etc, but the MFA at Columbia has a dual degree option, combining an MFA in Fiction Writing with an MA in Teaching Writing. It was such a beautiful idea. And now it is gone. I thought the rejections would get easier as they came, but of course that was a lofty ideal. The sting is just as sharp.

This news brings my current status to Rejections-2, Wait-Lists-2, No Word-5. Bleh. And still no word from Notre Dame. Patience.

The sadness I felt from hearing the rejection letter as Danny read it to me over the phone could only be cured by experiencing true joy, in it's purest of forms. By this I mean (drum roll) a trip to In-N-Out. Yes, I know... what about the diet? Er, excuse me... life-style change? I figured I deserved a break from all of the rejection, and In-N-Out is the best place to take a break. Of course, Danny and I agreed to roll our fat asses out of bed this morning and hit the gym to ease the damage. After 1 hour of cardio and ab workouts, I felt like I was going to hack my brains out from all the coughing.

Hence, the reference to smoking in the title. Yes, my dear friends and creepy stalker readers, it is that time. As much as I enjoy sucking in the warm taste of tobacco and feeling the rush of nicotine-ey goodness, I have decided to take a smoking hiatus. If I really want to lose weight... If I want to be able to get out of bed in the morning and not feel like the King of Nasal Problems is wrapping himself around my face... I need to call it quits. I am not promising forever - just 30 days. I figure if I allow myself the idea that I can smoke again one day, it might be a little easier than the word FOREVER, which drives me insane. But the true hope is that when I wake up on April 11th I will think to myself, "maybe just one more day."

Weight Loss Day 9!!

Weight Loss Day 4!!