Let me make it perfectly clear, I hate food! I hate it and I hate it! Maybe, just maybe, I hate the control he has over me. Both physically and mentally; I want it; I need it; I treasure it; and I fantasize about it. I yearn for it more than anything physically known to man.

I am a compulsive eater.

I started piling up food in my closet and bingeing at night on what I had hidden at the age of seven. I smoked for ten years, mainly to have an alternative to food. When it was time to push, he would rather smoke than eat. During those ten years, my bingeing lessened. Oh, but when I quit smoking, which I did all of a sudden, the food and bingeing came back with a vengeance. First, I was pregnant and eating for two, three, maybe ten! My group of doctors tested me for diabetes on numerous occasions, because I gained weight so fast. It was always negative. He was just eating too much, bingeing. One doctor even warned me that I would probably have a big baby if I continued to gain weight. And big it was: a whopping 10.4 pounds!

The weight accumulated over the years, and I tried every diet and drug known to man. I even tried drugs that are touted as highly dangerous! I lost weight twice using hypnosis. Above all, I would say that I lost a total of over 300 pounds. One thing throughout my weight loss successes that remained consistent, and never addressed, was my physical and mental addiction to food, my binges. Even at my smallest size, a size 10, I was always on the verge of weighing three hundred pounds again. I felt, for lack of better words, on the brink. Which means it was only a matter of time before I gave up and admitted defeat. I did everything, including prayer, to stop the inevitable. But again, he would sacrifice everything! I betrayed myself, put my health at risk, and gave up! I threw in the towel! Once again I was a failure.

This latest defeat was the worst yet. I ate massive amounts of food, so much so that after more than thirty years of marriage and familiarity with my eating disorder, it scared my husband. In truth, I even scared myself. In the two short weeks of Christmas vacation, I gained over 23 pounds. People say it can’t be done, but I am living proof that it can and was done. He weighed 177 pounds before the break. After the holidays, I got on the scale and saw that I was over 200 pounds. I jumped off that damn scale before I could set a number. Twenty-three pounds was a kind estimate.

Let me tell you what goes on in the mind of a compulsive eater or food addict. We are going to use a soft icing sugar cookie as our drug of choice. Did I say drug? I mean the food. I will list the process that occurs:

• I imagine it in my mind.

• I fantasize about every sensation I get from eating it, including but not limited to the soft cookie resting on my lower lip, my upper teeth slowly pushing through the frosting and cookie, only for the sugar to dance on my tongue and sing it all the way to my stomach, giving me the immediate sensation of a high, a sugar rush.

• I get in my car and drive to the nearest market that probably has them. The fantasy is intermittently interrupted by the annoying task of driving.

• I go to the store and buy 2, 3 or maybe even 5 boxes. I lie to the cashier: “I sure hope my son’s class likes these treats I’m buying for them.”

• I get to my car, almost running, but I stay cool. I open the plastic container that seems to challenge my intellect. The anticipation is exciting but excruciating.

• I pull one with high, almost unreachable expectations, place it in my mouth and gently push my teeth through the frosting and cookie eager for that sweet high! That does not happen. Where is the dancing and singing?

• I eat another and another and another and another trying to have that singing and dancing high like I did once. I eat every last one of them. My expectations fade.

• Now I get hit emotionally by the amount I just consumed. I hit low and I hit hard! I am brutal

• Then comes the remorse. Now I am tired and suffer the physical effects of what I have consumed. (I secretly dispose of any evidence).

• I promise myself once again that it will not continue. I tell myself that I’ll be fine. I might even ask my husband for help! That will never happen again!

Until next time.

There is hope my drunken companions! Binge eating is now considered by the American Journal of Medicine and the medical community to be a medical condition that can be successfully treated with medication and / or therapy. It’s called binge eating disorder (BED). Finally, doctors understand that it is more than a simple matter of will. There are physical data and evidence showing a medical phenomenon.

Please stop berating and criticizing yourself if you binge. You are not weak! You are not alone. You have a medical condition called binge eating disorder (BED) that is verified, recognized, and treatable.

Call your doctor and ask for help today. There are well informed, educated and competent doctors. Don’t stop until you find one!