When I was in college, back when I first started gaining the weight that I'm trying now to get rid of, I stretched myself far too thin in terms of commitments and obligations. I suppose bingeing was my way of taking in more than I was expending, although it's pretty shoddy logic. I'd gained the freshman fifteen (or 18), a noticeable amount in a person who is only 5 ft tall and stocky to begin with despite regular exercise, and my family decided that they wanted to monitor what and how I ate to keep me in line. In the dorms, I had eaten a diet primarily comprised of pasta, in an effort to be vegetarian, but later discovered that I'm hyperinsulinimic and need more protein than carbs, etc., and I generally only ate in the cafeteria and seldom brought snacks to the dorm room. At any rate, my family just assumed I had grown fat simply from eating a lot of junk food when no one was around to keep an eye on me ad decided that I was untrustworthy and incompetent; today, my fatness is still cited as a reason for my failure in life, despite 3 (nearly 4) graduate degrees and many awards in a competitive field. Why is it that poor control of the body is often seen as a sign or poor mental control in women, so often? Erasing that assumption would go a long way to helping people become more responsible about their nutritional habits and less ashamed of their weaknesses! (rant over). However, my sweet tooth is only occasional and I don't often buy candy, except in times of serious stress or depression or a feeling of loss of control, except for chocolate which I crave every month when it's that time of the week. I don't deny myself a little bit, then. Bad habit, but I'm being honest about the embarrassing experience, here.
One day, during summer vacation, exhausted from work (two jobs over the summer) and battling an out of control depression and being that time of the month for me, I was reading a book at home when my cousin (who lived with us for a while) brought home an enormous bag of chocolate bunnies. They were on sale (after Easter) and she got them for a bargain and figured she could give them away or make gift baskets or something that used these bunnies which were roughly the size of my forearm. Everyone else had a taste, but I wasn't allowed to have any because of my weight and my diet (I didn't actually ask, though I was definitely tempted). I didn't want the chocolate so much, but I must have been bothered that I didn't have the choice to say no. I didn't give it much more thought, but the bunny must have haunted me or something because it apparently called me out of my sleep to eat it (joking).
Somewhere in the middle of the night, I woke up and wandered over to the closet where the chocolate bunnies had been placed (there were more than two dozen in there). I took one of the bunnies, opened the package, and ate it's ears. Instead of replacing the partially headless bunny, it seems that my somnolent self put it under my pillow. I have absolutely no recollection of doing this -- not of going to the closet, not of eating the bunny, and not of placing its chocolaty torso under my pillow. Since I was a kid, sleepwalking has been an issue for me, and so has talking in my sleep, but only twice that I can think of have I been guilty of sleep-eating. On one separate occasion, I woke up and found myself eating ice cream in the kitchen that I had refused earlier in the day; horrified and disturbed by this turn of events, I threw the rest away before going back to sleep, unobserved. It seems that the other time was this bunny incident and while my recollection hasn't changed, I can assume this is what happened, only my shame in this instance was far less private.
The next day, my sister went into the closet and found the empty wrapper and wanted to yell at whoever would leave an empty wrapper out as ants could get into the closet, but no one took responsibility for leaving the wrapper. I, having eaten part of this bunny in my sleep, did not even know I had done it and so, obviously, didn't fess up. However, my sisters (generally quick to jump on my faults as a way of feeling better about their own, as I was a "goody two shoes" in childhood) decided that it must be me because no one else had admitted to it. They decided to search my room for evidence and eventually found the headless chocolate bunny under my pillow. Such a ruckus of laughter and humiliation ensued! I swore up and down that I didn't put it there, but they insisted that I was lying. Assuming that this was an incident of sleep-eating, like the ice-cream, I eventually just explained that it might have been that I ate it in my sleep, but didn't know. They laughed for a long time at what they thought was my lying in an effort to evade my diet and subversively be a glutton.
I have never been so ashamed or embarrassed before or since that day. Of course, the story now gets repeated often for its comedic value at family gatherings involving reminiscing about the past. I've come to find it funny, myself.
I can say this to you about your experience: one day it will seem funny, even to you; you could use this as an excuse to hide and repress your feelings, or just own up to your emotions and be positive in your efforts to better cope with your sense of failure, whatever it might be.
So, you're not perfect, so any possibility of an illusion of control might have been burst in that moment, so what? You don't have to be perfect! Just don't let that momentary low defeat you. Think about the day when you'll be the size you want to be, super-hot and sexy and in a bikini on the beach savoring an ice cream and everyone watching you will think you're subversively naughty in the best way because you have learned how to balance the desires of your tastebuds and the fitness demands of your body while still enjoying yourself; and then your own love of yourself and your accomplishments in that moment will be even richer because you overcame a moment of humiliation and shame that overlapped it and defeated it.
Anyway, great thread! I'm enjoying hearing all of your stories.
It takes courage to admit the embarrassing things, but, that vulnerability does make us stronger in the pursuit of our goals, I think.
