Life is Healthy

Addiction is something I think about a lot. Lately I've been watching a lot of TV programs that discuss it. I've also been fascinated by the Ted Williams story—the homeless man who shot to fame overnight because of his "golden voice." Williams has now decided that he needs a stint in rehab. And I say good for him.

If you're new to my blog, you may not know that I have a long history with addiction and addicts. I worked at a local homeless shelter while I was in college. My father was an alcoholic as was my husband. I've become pretty keen at knowing when an addict is lying. I've been pretty sure that Williams has been lying about how long he's been sober. I suspect that he hasn't been sober at all. Lying is characteristic in addiction. I have friend who has a history of addiction but has long been sober. He told me that when he was deep into his addiction, he chose to lie even when it made more sense to tell the truth.

In Williams case, lying about his sobriety isn't the worst of his problems. Becoming famous overnight, however, may have been the catalyst to set him off on a binge that he would not have recovered from. But in deciding that rehab was what he needed more than fame is definitely the right choice.

Dr. Phil Uncovers the Truth
When I watched a few excerpts of Williams appearance on Dr. Phil, and I really looked at Williams' face, the fear that I saw was undeniable.  In part of the discussion, William said he was already thinking of going back to Ohio. Dr. Phil told him that would be the biggest mistake he could make. And Williams got that "he knows my secret" look. I know that look. I know all he wanted to do was run and hide. And then drown out everything in river of alcohol.

The reason I'm discussing this today is that I identify wholeheartedly with addiction. While I've spent my life dealing with alcoholics, I've truly been no better off myself. What my family did with alcohol, I do with food. I use it bury what's really bothering me—stuff it down so it can't get out. And it endangers my health.

Some people say they eat no matter what their feeling—happy, sad, whatever. It's all the same. But in reality, it's what they do to feel good. And it's worked—at least for a while.

What is addiction?
Addiction has typically been thought of as a physical dependence on a chemical, such as alcohol, drugs, or tobacco. We usually think of this chemical as something that alters brain chemistry once it's been ingested. But addiction can occur when a particular behavior becomes a repeated pattern that we use to bring comfort to ourselves, despite negative consequences, such as overeating.

My Addiction

When I get upset, I begin to crave chocolate. I can almost taste it. That's how strong the urge becomes. And eating the chocolate make me feel good while I'm eating it. Afterward though, I'm disgusted with myself. I begin to feel guilty. Then I know that I'll never be the person I want to be. But isn't that a funny choice of words? I know I'll never be able to do it. Am I also fulfilling my own prophesy? Do I think I'm a fake? A phony undeserving of happiness? Is that how all addicts think? We just need to be medicated and put away?

Anyway, these are my thoughts these days. And today, I feel like I'm getting to a place where I have some control. So all of this self reflection has done me some good. I hope you find peace, too.

More later—

We are still snowed in here. WVU was closed today. That's like a once in a decade occurance. Being snowed in is making me a little stir crazy. It's also making me want to graze. I hope I get out of here by tomorrow.

I've been collecting nuggets of wisdom. Here are a few:
Carnie Wilson said: A friend of mine told me that you're only as sick as your secrets.
Dr. Drew Pinsky: Boredom really equals depression in an addict.

OK. So those are the only two I have. But they really hit home with me. Like I've said before, hiding things isn't healthy. Puttering around the house bored really means I'm too depressd to do anything else. I think I've been avoiding the world. There was a time when I wasn't like this. Ever since my husband died, though, I've been a different person. And I think the truth is that I'm scared.

How's that for an ending today?

When I said that I was thinking about talking more about my childhood, I didn't mean that I intended to constantly rehash the past. I'm finished with feeling sorry for myself. I do, however, want to understand "how I got this way." For me, what it comes down to is forgiveness. And forgiveness goes a long way in healing. It's when people hold onto their stories as a way of justifying their overeating, drinking, drug taking that they never get better—and get depressed.

All of the crutches that we refuse to let go and then believe that no one understands us comes down to this: Millions of people understand what we've been through. Millions of people know exactly what we're talking about. Hiding it helps no one. Relying on it so we can justify remaining bitter, angry, and depressed keeps the cycle going.

I'm tired of hiding my past. I have a friend who openly admits that he was an alcoholic and drug addict in his youth. He doesn't even try to hide it. And what he gets out of that is never having to worry that someone might find out. He doesn't hide behind who he was 20 years ago. I admire his courage. That's what I want to do. Let it go. Purge it. Forgive those who brought me pain. And then live.

How many times have you said, "Food is the only pleasurable thing I have, so I'm not giving it up"? I've said that too many times to remember. What I'm really saying is that I refuse to look for any other option to relieve stress, boredom, anxiety. . .and whatever else I can think of. I'm in denial about my food addiction (i.e. I am not a cupcake addict. It's just that cupcakes make me feel good.) And so, as long as I allow it to happen, my addiction continues.

Let's see. How can I say this? I don't define myself by my weight loss alone. But my weight is a part of me. While I was really fat, I could hide behind the fat. In this world, fat people are anonymous. No one pays attention to them—"ignore them and they will go away." I think that's more true for women than for men. Women are supposed to be these delicate little creatures. And if you don't think that way, you are in the minority. Anyway, for years I could operate under the radar. Now, I cannot. People—especially men—have noticed me. I get doors held open for me, a hand lent to help me descend the stairs of a bus—which I have taken—and many other things perhaps considered chivalrous but nice nonetheless. And I cannot say that I don't like it. But it feels strange.