Tag Archives: Disorders

Food Lies

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Hi. My name is Annie. I am a compulsive overeater.

Make a list of the food lies you have told yourself. Then, turn those lies into truths. (Paraphrased from The Emotional Eater’s Book of Inspiration, page 7.)

(The lie will be in bold. The truth of the statement will be in plain type.)

Just one bite won’t hurt.

Just one bite will turn into the whole package. One little bite will only fuel the addiction.

If I hide the receipt and no one knows what I bought, no one will know what I ate.

Hiding only postpones facing what I have done.

If no one sees me eat it, it doesn’t count.

Eating in private doesn’t take away the calories or fat and won’t keep the food from showing up on my hips. Eating in private does mean that I am probably eating more than even I am able to count.

No one will know what I ate if I hide the packages.

If I have to hide anything, then I am doing something that I know is wrong. And if I am doing something wrong, someone, somewhere, sometime will find out about it.

It’s just food. It’s not like I am smoking or drinking or getting high.

Overeating is just as deadly—if not more so—than nicotine, alcohol, or other drugs. The more I stuff into my mouth, the closer I move to death. And all the while, I am forcing my friends and family—the people I love more than anything—to watch me slowly killing myself.

I have to eat to live. Everyone does. So why is it such a big deal?

Yes, everyone does need to eat. But NO ONE needs to eat food in the large quantities that I do. They way that I eat is not eating to live—it is more like eating to die.

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February Depression

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My name is Annie and I am compulsive overeater.

And apparently I am depressed. I don’t mean I am hovering on the edge of a depressed episode. No, I mean I am deep down, over my head in a bout of depression. How can I tell? Well, lots of ways. The way that I want to eat everything I see. The way I am so doggoned tired all the time. The way that all four of the males living in my house are getting on my nerves lately. The tears that feel like they will fall for no apparent reason. And most of all, I know I am deep in depression because I haven’t been writing.

It’s not uncommon for me to write something and think, “Gosh, that is crap.” But I still write. Not the last couple of weeks though. Normally, even if the fiction isn’t flowing, I am blogging or journaling. SOMETHING that keeps my creative juices flowing. But no. Not now. For the month of February I’ve looked for any excuse I can to not write anything. I’ve even used the excuse that my Facebook games will wither away and I’ll lose all the progress I’ve made to not write.

It makes no sense that I would be like this. I was forced to go six weeks without much writing because of a dead computer. Now that I have one and I have time to write, I am not doing it.

Why???

Well, actually I know what. It happens in February. And it will likely happen again in October. February marks the anniversary of my miscarriage and October marks the anniversary of a birthday never meant to be. Even when I think I am doing well, it just slams me down. Thoughts of my little girl (or boy, but I prefer to think of her as a girl) and what might have been hit me like a sucker punch. This year, I swore that I would get through without food. Hasn’t happened.

And that makes me MAD. I KNOW this will be a tough time for me. I KNOW that I am an emotional eater and that I tend to force down “negative” feelings with food. I have phone numbers for gals in my OA group. I have a way to contact those gals on Facebook and email. Yet, I choose to go through this alone. How dumb am I?