When You Just Can't Stop

I know what has happened to get me to this place in my life.  Or I should say I know what things took place, I don't really know what happened.  

I was never a very active person.  Even when I was a kid, I was really a homebody.  I liked all the trappings of living indoors.. like heat, food, TV, plumbing, etc.. So it took a lot for my parents to try to get me to 'Go out and play'.  I was fine with staying in to play, and I showed it.  I was a husky kinda kid, but I was also tall and athleticly built.  I. started playing sports with Little League base ball which I failed at miserably at.  Seems that you can't play baseball if you are chunky.  It's harder to run in the feild and around the bases.  So, they let me pitch.  I took that up and was very good at it, I got to the point where no one wanted to be my catcher becauce I threw the ball way too hard.  Eventually I was cut from the team because they really didn't know what to do with me.  I shrugged and went home to watch TV feeling I had accomplished something.... to not have to go out and play baseball fit me just fine.

Next sport to come along was soccer.  I wasn't particularly good at it, but I was fair at playing defense, so that is where they stuck me.  I say stuck me because I knew being the fat kid that no one wanted me there. This is why I am such a social butterfly as an adult, btw, but more on that some ofher time.  So, I play soccer. I get on a good team even... we win... we win alot. 

Then one crisp Saturday morning in early October I was in a game and my life changed.  Myself and another larger player were both going after the ball.  When we colliged, my leg went one way and the rest of me went the other way.  I got up, and limped to the sideline.  It hurt, like more then anything I had ever felt.  But I was the tough big kid, so I decided it was nothing, and I told no one of the pain.  I had a noticable limp but I just told everyone that it was fine and I was sure it would be okay in a couple days.  Quickly days became weeks, and weeks became months.  I went for a routine physical at my doctor and he noticed my limp and I told him what had happened.  This was 6 months after the injury. He kinda freaked on me a bit and made me go see an othopedist that very afternoon.  Long story short by the next evening I was waking up from my surgery.  My hip had dislocated so badly that 4 pins had to be put into it to hold it together.  I spent the next few months on crutches, angry, bitter, and alone.  Thats when I found my friend.

Food was always there.  No matter how much pain I was in, physically, emotionally... it didn't matter. Food always made things better.  I started eating badly and obviously I wasn't getting much exercise, so I started gaining weight.  I eventually gained enough to make my other hip pop out of joint as well, requiring a similar surgery for that one as well.  After that, all hopes of any real exercise were gone, and I gained more, and more.  I went from being the husky kid that sucked at sports to the massive shut in that left his house pretty much just for school.  I was always embarassed by my appearence.  I took tons of abuse, even after I started loosing it and beating people up, it got better... for a time... but never went away.

Slowly but surely, food got it's hooks into me.  No matter how bad life got, I could always feel a little better when I had a good meal.  I could be alone, and happy with the right menu.  It was a sort of love affair, but like most affairs, the reckoning came.  

I had health problems throughout my life.  I eventually go type 2 Diabeties, Sleep Apnea, and a heart rythm issue from my continued wait escalation.  The entire time I went threw the drugs, the insulin, the nights laying in bed unable to sleep because of my heart palpitations, I never once really blamed it on food.  I blamed it on myself, my genetics, my up bringing, my friends/lovers.... you name it, I could find an excuse.  But all along, food was the one thing that never waivered.

Now, last year I almost died, due to complications with my lungs due mostly to my weight.  I went threw hell, litterally and I am still in a rehab facility trying to recover from it.  My biggest and constant issue is again with food.  I was ok when I was on their menu, eating only what I was given and occassionally stuff friends had brought in for me.  I lost a total of about 130 pounds.  I was proud to tell people this.  I honestly was hoping that I could loose more, and that food was no longer my enemy.  I was wrong.

Near the end of last year one of the staff members here in my facility told me that we were allowed to order food from the outside whenever we wanted.  So, after a couple weeks I decided to try it.  I figured I would get something on occassion as a treat.  So I ordered a little something from the local Dominos, mostly thinking that it wasn't going to be that great but it was something different for a change from the rather poor quality slop they were giving me.  But there was a problem....

It was wonderful! It was like I had never eaten before.  For the first time in a year or so I was full and happy on something I did with no one's help.  That started the terrible downward spiral that I am now in. 

Advance to now.  In the past month and a half, I have gotten food delivered almost every night.  In the past 3 months I have gained back 40 pounds.  I have spent littlerally hundreds of dollars.  Now I realize that all along, food has had control over me, and I am powerless against it.  I know I am killing myself, but frankly I am not sure that I care anymore.  I mean, yes, I care, I want to live... but I don't know how to stop this.  Litterally, I think about food all day. I lay in a bed, thinking of what I will eat that night.

I get physical thereapy every day or not, depending on if anyone wants to show up, and I get 10-20 minutes of bed exercises or to walk with my walker about 30 feet or so and back to my bed.  I would walk more but since it is so inconsistant I am left unable to walk more because of the muscle atrophy and pain.  I so want to get out of this place, but I can't if they do not help me.  But guess what... the food is still there. Staring me into my grave.

Comments

[c2p]

Damn, do I identify with this. I was the fat kid growing up, the fat kid in every class or group. Or, at least that's how I saw myself, based on cruel things other kids said, not to mention family. Over my lifetime I have lost around 300 pounds, in different increments. For about 12 years I "kept it off" and actually became a mountain climber. Then, regained 130. Working on coming back down from that, so I can live, and feel good, but it's always there, knowing I can walk off into the deep end at any time. Food addiction sucks (kind of like lollipops, only different). c2p