Grieving

Everyone experiences loss in their life. Loss of a loved one or friend.  Sometimes that loss is innocence or courage.  I was once told that when a person who has an addiction gives up their drug of choice they experience the grieving process.  I laughed in their face as they compared me to a cocaine or meth addict.  This man even made the comparison to a porn addict.  Excuse me.  I am not an addict.  I have never had one sip of alcohol or puff of a cigarette.  The only time in my entire life I happened to see porn was when I was a freshman in high school.  I wanted to look up Britney Spears website, and spelled her name wrong.  Who would have thought that one misspelled name could evoke so much terror in a teenager.  I was offended that I was being classified in this demeaning and degrading way.  When you consider the definition of addiction though, it is hard to argue.

According to Psychology Today, "Addiction is a condition that results when a person ingests a substance (alcohol, cocaine, nicotine) or engages in an activity (gambling) that can be pleasurable but the continued use of which becomes compulsive and interferes with ordinary life responsibilities, such as work or relationships, or health. Users may not be aware that their behavior is out of control and causing problems for themselves and others."

Now the food that I love and crave so much is a substance which has become compulsive and interferes with ordinary life.  I can acknowledge my addiction.  This means that I have moved past the first stage of Grieving: Denial.  As long as I convinced myself that I didn't have an unhealthy addiction I could continue the charade of my "happy" life.  As I move through this journey I experience the other stages of grief:  anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  I move through each of these areas.  Sometimes I do this daily.

Today they were taking pictures at work.  We were asked to dress in business attire, and be ready to take a picture that will be used in our online profile for Outlook.  I was a little annoyed by the picture.  I didn't want to take one.  But I also knew I couldn't get out of it.  As the picture day grew closer I experienced so many feelings.  I was a grump.  Beau told me I was acting a little off, and he was totally right.  I was anxious and nervous.  All over having to have my picture taken.  Why is a picture so scary?  It is proof that I what I am.  No amount of sucking in my gut, or flashing my pearly whites is going to cover up years of this compulsion that has interfered with my ordinary life.  As I struggled with the idea of giving up my addiction, changing my habits and lifestyle, and correcting my path I have tried to return to my comfortable stage of denial.  But I can't.  This makes me so angry.  I am angry at myself.  I am angry at the mirror and the camera.  I am so angry at cupcakes, ice cream, and bread.  Then comes the bargaining.  Well if this picture is already going to prove that i have made mistakes then I am going to eat my came and be happy.  It is just one piece of cake, or an ice cream cone. Perhaps it will be okay if I eat a dozen cookies washed away with creamy whole milk.  Then enters the depression.  The knowledge that the cookie cannot enter my mouth, and the cake will throw off my whole day of good eating.  I hurt.  I am broken.  I can't do this.  I believe acceptance in the hardest part.  I am not there yet - at least not on a sustainable basis or for long periods of time.  I continue to move through the each of these stages.  I bounce around.  I appreciate the moments of clarity that the little voice inside says "Yes, you can."  Sometimes the voice is as small as the tiniest whisper, but the fact that the voice is still there is a comfort.

 I am frustrated that I still find making good choices hard.  I wish that I would wake up and my old mindset and thought pattern would be corrected.  However, this life's purpose is to learn and gain experience.  This is really hard, and I am constantly having to check myself and correct my course.  There are going to be many more bumps.  There will be much more grieving.  But today I am succeeding.  Today I came out on top.  I had my picture taken, and I survived.  Next time I have my picture taken I will be smaller.  I will show the fruits of this ridiculously hard labor.  I will be able to have proof that I am getting better.  Today I was amazing.  Tomorrow I can do it again.

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow.”

--Mary Anne Radmacher