Back on Track...

So, my way was just not working.

My happiness in eating freely started to become binging freely, and pretty soon, I was sneaking and hiding food again. There is no joy in sneaking food. You pay cash. You carefully take out the trash, and hide pizza boxes and taco bell wrappers under large trash bags. You stuff your mouth so quickly, that you don't taste, you just feel, which is funny because what you feel is numbness anyway. Your numbness only lasts for about 15 minutes, and then you feel guilt. Terrible and Awesome GUILT. Then, all you want to do is find your next 'high.' You dream about it. You plan. You call your husband and make sure you have enough time to binge again without him catching you. Pretty soon, your work pants don't fit. You have no dress up clothes anymore because they don't fit. You're scared that if you get that interview at work, you have nothing to wear to it. You go shopping, and clothes don't fit. Undergarments don't fit. Am I really that big again?

Yesterday, I planned my food. I worked the pointsplus system from Weight Watchers. I let myself get hungry for the first time in months.
I weighed in today. I'm not ready to see the numbers. Maybe next week I will feel up to it. Maybe not.

I keep telling myself that I'll fail, that I'm not ready, that I'll want to use again. But, I have to be ready. At this point there is not choice anymore. If I keep on this path, I will end up a TLC special. I have to do this now. Forever.

Weekend Out

This weekend I went to Tampa to go to a high school friend's wedding reception. I didn't know what to expect. Matthew couldn't attend with me because he had a good friend's birthday party, and I had asked my best friend Sara to go as my date. I knew that I was going to see some people that I hadn't seen since high school. I was terrified. I knew that I shouldn't be. That Roxanne did not invite a particular dress size to her most special day, but nonetheless, since my walls have come down, and because my feigned self-confidence is gone, I felt helpless. For the first time, these people would see the real Evah. The real Evah that loves herself. Every one hundred and eighty nine pounds of her. No walls. No defenses. I knew that Sara would love me because she is my Sara and I love her no matter what, but these friends are new to know who I really am.

I had an amazing time.

I drank, I danced, I talked, I jumped, I kissed cheeks like a French person.

I was me!

Sara and I started the dance party, and it never stopped! I danced like me. Crazy, arms-flailing, jumping, mouthing the words, sprinkler system, pepper mill crazy me! I might have even done the running man at one point (I think MC Hammer was on, so it's appropriate).

One same thread through the whole night,

"Why weren't we better friends in high school? You're awesome!"

Hells yes.

Baby Steps

Mother's milk has a very distinctive taste. Salty. Sweet. Fatty. These three flavors are what taste good to newborn infants, so, God in His infinite wisdom made mother's milk embody what a child desires to consume.

I have been an infant in the last month. I have eaten salty, sweet, and fatty foods nonstop. That has been all I have desired. I have stopped tasting them in the past two weeks. They are flat. Tasteless. Bland. Awful. I have still been consuming them, because for some reason, I continue to desire them. I decided something today.

I am going to grow up.

I made a list of the foods I love to eat.

I examined said list.

I realized that I haven't eaten any of the foods that I love. No fruits, no vegetables. No unprocessed meats. No whole grains.

I'm ready to begin growing up. I'm weaning myself from the milk of suffering. The milk of self-destruction.

The milk of my mother.

Love

How can I love the way I look, feel, am, think, or sound, if I don't love myself?

I have renounced my self-hatred.

I. LOVE. ME.

Grocery Store

Today I will embark on a journey never taken before. I am going to the grocery store with no gloss and no glory. I am going to buy foods that appeal to me, and I'm NOT going to note the caloric content of every food. I'm not going to obsess over how many crackers are in one serving or is I should go with the reduced fat cheese or the more delicious full fat.

I'm not going to pretend I'm shopping for someone else.

I'm not going to purchase foods that I know I will not eat, or that I know will go bad.

I am going to fill my house with foods I love. Foods that nourish me. Foods that will satisfy me.

I'm terrified.
I'm horrified.
I shudder.
There is a large pit in the bottom of my stomach.

I have to do it anyway. I want to become that person that has to throw away half a package of crackers because they have gone stale.

First step:
BUY CRACKERS

Romantic Dinner

My husband, Matthew (or just Matt, or panda... what I call him depends on my mood, and he doesn't seem to mind that I love him too much to call him one thing) and I had a romantic dinner on Tuesday night. I drove up to Macon and surprised him. This was no easy feat either. You see, I cannot keep secrets. Sure, I can lie about food and exercise and whether or not I'm ACTUALLY hungry, but if I am planning a special present or dinner or anything that could be considered surprise-worthy, I usually hint myself to death or break down and tell the supris-ee.

Anyway, I digress.

He walked in the door and I had laid the table with our new tablecloth, china, and glass goblets. There was a bottle of Pinot Grigio over ice in our new wine bucket with a platter of prosciutto wrapped cantaloupe. I had prepared some of his favorite foods. Crab cakes, roasted green and white asparagus with a balsamic drizzle, white mountain bread, and for dessert, double-dipped chocolate strawberries decorated with white chocolate. I was Betty freakin' Croker.

We begin our meal with a piece of melon each. He liked it. I couldn't decide if I liked it or I just thought that it looked pretty. I decided that I probably would never eat it again. Maybe with a saltier meat. He looked at me with curiosity. Me? Not like something? Not like something that I could easily eat the rest of the platter of? No, I decided, don't want any more of that. We sat down at the table to dine. I had left the bread whole as an earth-mother-we-break-bread-together thing. He gave each of us a piece and I unabashedly spread some butter on it. We dived into our crab cakes. I actually tasted them for once. I ate each bite slowly, casually. I was in no hurry. I had two cakes on my plate, and four were in the oven, keeping warm. There was no scarcity of crab cakes in our home. I tried the asparagus. I had cooked it perfectly. Still crisp, but no rawness. The drizzle was perfect. I decide to reduce two or three bottles of good vinegar to keep on hand for moments like these. I look over at my husband. He is eating like me. We are eating at the same pace. I haven't mowed through my food, gasping for breath, waiting for the appropriate moment that I can ask, "Want seconds?" I take a bite of bread and really TASTE it. Taste the yeast, the salt, the melted butter, the chewy inside and toasty outside. Matthew is on his second piece of bread, and I haven't yet finished my first. He looks at me as if to say, "Who are you and what have you done with my wife?" We both have seconds. One more cake and some more asparagus. I give him the bigger cake. This is big. I always always ALWAYS give myself the crispier, bigger, more perfect, saucier, better of ANYTHING I make for us. We finish our meal. I am satisfied. I'm not full, not stuffed, not uncomfortable. I realize that this is the only time in our lives together that I have made or gone out for a fancy dinner that I have not overdone it. I didn't eat to full capacity. I am completely comfortable. In fact, he ate MORE than ME! I share this revelation with my husband, and Matthew looks at me with amazement. He says, "You ate so SLOW! I ate more that YOU!" I love that look in his eyes. That look of astonishment, love, and pride.

He helps me clean up and lets me pick the movie we will enjoy. Later, we have some strawberries. I know that I could eat the whole tray, but I decide to savor. I savor two and I eat three. I caught myself going back for more. I ask, "Why am I eating these? They aren't going anywhere. I can have more for breakfast if I wish. What am I filling?"

I go to my husband.

The rest, as they say, is history.

HOW COOL IS THIS!

So, Geneen Roth is the woman who has turned my life around. Her books on compulsive eating are like Mozart's Symphonies. They speak to me. Her books are the reason I am blooming. I liked her facebook fan page and wrote on her wall. SHE WROTE BACK! I told my husband about it. I said, "Even if her minions did this, it means so much that I got a personal response." Matt responds, "Do you really think that she would have minions? That's her, baby."

SMILES!