That time I went to a meeting for food addicts.
On my unhealthy relationship with food, especially during prolonged depressive episodes.
“Food Addicts Anonymous? Like AA? “
Yep.
A couple of years before the pandemic, I went to my first meeting. After the group introductions and readings from scripture-based pamphlets, I was convinced that I did not need to be there. I was also shocked at the amount of thin-bodied people in attendance. My preconceived notions about what a meeting with people who struggled with food like I do would look like had me convinced that I’d see a room full of larger bodies—not thinking about the many ways disordered eating can present itself just like any other illness.
It was not long before I felt uncomfortable, disengaged, and like I was being initiated into a cult, resulting in me wanting to leave about ten minutes in. Especially because they kept mentioning God. At that time I was angry with who I believed God to be. Bitter and jaded because all my life I was taught He would never forsake me and there I was feeling very much so forsaken and not sure if I had any faith left in Him remembering me and my growing grocery list of struggles, no pun intended. But, my eating had gotten out of control; I packed on both happy-new-relationship weight and also I-just-binged-enough-to-feed-a-small-village-because-I’m-sad-af weight and I could not lie to myself any longer and pretend that I could fix my unhealthy relationship with food on my own this time.
After the introductions and once attendees who were allowed to speak started sharing experiences that mirrored mine, I felt an overwhelming sense of shame, guilt, and anxiety. Before I knew it, all those feelings felt as though they were going to physically escape my body. I hurried to the restroom to not cause a scene and once there, my body only slightly betrayed me and all the emotions I felt at that moment escaped me through tears and sobs.
While that specific setting wasn’t the right community for me to receive the support I needed, it confirmed that my problem was bigger than me and that I did not have it in me this time around to change things. Listening to the stories of folks whose urges mimicked mine confirmed that the solution to my problem was a bit deeper than the next fad diet I was going to try or boutique gym membership I’d buy.
Food. Food. And more food.
That’s all I could think about. It’s what I still constantly think about.
What am I going to eat next? When I am going to eat next?
I’m stuffed to capacity but I have to keep going.
Keep eating.
And then eat some more until the physical pain feels much greater than the mental and emotional and for a second that is all I can feel and complain about. I stopped being hungry ten bites ago, but I’m still sad and thinking about it so I’ll take another ten if I have to.
Just like my moods, it’s a cycle.
The other day I curiously stepped on the scale and was disappointed that it read 221 when at the top of the year I was so close to being under 200lbs again. That same shame, guilt, disappointment, and defeat came rushing in as I realized disordered eating might always be a deep struggle for me because mental illness will be.
I overeat because the physical discomfort of eating until I’m stuffed distracts me from the emotional and mental pain I’m feeling at that moment.
I overeat because I need to do something in that moment to distract me—when all the affirmations, meditations, workouts, and breath work no longer work.
I overeat because the dopamine hit I get rivals any high of any other drug I’ve tried.
I overeat because moments of enjoyment escape me so I have to find them where I can, even when that is a 1,000-calorie meal.
I often struggle not to eat overeat. I wake up in the middle of the night and sneak out to the 24-hour 7/11 across the street. I quietly purchase an ice cream sandwich and Reese’s, quickly demolishing both before returning to my apartment twenty feet away.
While up for another two or three hours (often before/above/after the sun/rise), I can’t help but to admonish myself for my lack of self-control. Guilt, shame, regret. How did I allow myself to overeat like that.. yet again? Why did I just HAVE to do it? Why don’t I feel like I have a say in whether I did or not?
I beat myself up so bad that I then get hyper-focused on losing weight. Working out 3-4x a week. Eating the right amount of food, not too much or too little. Fasting. Prepping. The happy medium that I never can seem to maintain.
Then life starts lifeing.
Some catastrophic event or just because it’s Tuesday sends me into a spiral of depression.
Just existing is a task. Throw in expelling the energy to eat right and move my body, and constantly feeling completely depleted. And then I felt guilty for not moving and not eating. So then I eat too much. I binge again. I hate myself for it. And then binge some more.
Gain some weight. Get sick of the weight.
Repeat cycle.
It's just another part of my exhausting reality that I feel like I’m constantly fighting a losing battle to change.
Hi, I’m Ashleigh, and I am a food addict.
Thank you for reading ‘here comes the sun.’
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I definitely relate to this. Emotional eating is something I tend to cycle with.
♥️♥️♥️♥️