Addiction

So most of my days at work are spent processing insurance claims of course. But between claims, or when the system is slow, or during breaks I spend the rest of my time talking with Amanda. Sometimes it’s hilarious, sometimes it’s sad, sometimes it makes me wonder, and sometimes it makes me think. Something I sent her this morning, however, is really making me think. Here is what I said. (If you’re not familiar, Carmen is the therapist Marty referred me to).

I keep thinking I need to figure out “why” I got fat. Like what triggered it. Something Carmen said last night makes me think I may never find an “answer” because there may not be one. She was talking about a story in the Cocaine Anonymous book. This guy was addicted to candy. He remembers the first time he was ever given candy, as a really little kid, and after that it was all he could think about. Candy. And then candy turned into alcohol which turned into cocaine.

I don’t remember the first time I felt addicted to food, but I remember some things. Like….I vividly remember moments that revolve around food. I can tell you what there was to eat at most important days in my life. The day we sold our house on Nina Street I ate an M&M cookie from Bakers at Frederick Square. The day my Aunt Marge drove us (my sisters and me) with Aunt Nancy back from Indiana to Omaha I had Pizza Hut spaghetti with meat sauce for lunch, and then chocolate milk and an m&M (again) cookie from the gas station at Little Amana (exit 240 on I-80). The day those pictures of younger me in the swimming pool were taken (they’re on facebook) I ate half a package of keebler m&m cookies, and I can still tell you how they tasted, I remember it so vividly. I ate some of them IN the pool. Those are my biggest m&m cookie memories. I have other memories based on other foods.
And I used to steal candy. Every single time we went to Bakers I would take a piece of toffee from the Brach’s Pick-a-Mix. Then while the carryout boy would put the groceries in the blue chevy astro van I would sit in the back seat and eat it real quick before my mom got in the car. Then I would eat my purple safety pop that the cashier always gave me.

So anyway…the point is, there may not be an answer. I may just be an addict. I don’t like that….but I think I’m starting to accept it.

So…this is something I think I may need to explore further. But I wanted to save that part of the email here, for my own reference. The past few weeks my therapy appointments hadn’t really been productive. I can tell I’m making progress when I feel terrible after. I don’t even know how to describe the feeling I feel after I leave a session, but it’s….it’s not good, it’s an awful feeling, but I know that it’s good FOR me.

The past few weeks I was frustrated, trying to figure out what was “wrong” with me, why I am the way I am, what triggered it. Figuring out last night that maybe there was no trigger, maybe it just is….it doesn’t make me feel better right now, but I think it’ll make me feel more peace in the future. If I can just….accept that as the case, that there was no huge trauma that caused my food issues, that I’m just an addict….then, maybe I’ll be able to figure out what I need to do to heal the addiction. Maybe.

I sure hope so, because the out of control feeling I feel so often is pretty scary. The not caring/giving up is even scarier.

I’ve almost been hoping for some sort of repressed trauma to pop up, so I would have an answer. I’m not happy now that I’m thinking there IS no answer, but then…at the same time, I feel some relief that maybe no answer IS the answer. Which means I finally found it. And I actually hope I’m right.