Chris - "Buck up or shut up thinking"...what a perfect way to describe it! It was in my family growing up, too.

Welcome, Kmarie - it sounds like you are on the right track.

Originally posted by Suchaprettyface125:

I'm a binge eater, overeater, whatever. I'm a food addict. My parents - drug addict, alcoholic. Everyone in my family is addicted to either drugs or alcohol. I guess it does run in the family, or just having that experience leaves you so empty that the only way you can fill yourself up is through bingeing or having a life full of chaos results in chaotic eating, or maybe I just love food and can't get enough of it. Don't know, My mother wasn't there most of the time, my father wasn't there most of the time, mentally or physically, when he was he was very cruel to me. Food was always there, never cruel always fulfilling. All my friends used me and hurt me, all my boyfriends treated me like crap and abused me.

My life, either at home or school or work or where ever was full of chaos and pain. I even got fired for being overweight, not because it affected my performance at work cause I was there almost everyday and was one of the top sales reps, it was because the boss didn't want to see an ugly fat chic everyday. I found this out 3 months later when they wanted to hire me back. After that I stayed in the house for 2 years and gained 80 pounds. Bingeing every single day. Not just taking an extra helping cause that's far from being a compulsive eater. I would eat more than i could fit into my stomach, I was sick pretty much every day and swore i wouldn't do it ever again but as soon as the evening came I was bingeing again.

It wasn't until OA that i started feeling bad cause they said I had a problem, and I felt like I shouldn't be eating like that. Everyone in my life was out of control. I was never out of control, but my eating was. It's hard to notice or feel bad about when that's all you see or know. I think For awhile eating to me was to get back at everyone. Kind of a stupid way to get back at them but everyone, even my father put me down for being fat. No one accepted me, and I hate this, even with the few that were nice had a way of stabbing me in the heart. "You have such a pretty face, it's a shame you hide it behind all that weight." GOD i hate those people. It's like ok you see i am pretty, why can't you just say I'm pretty, why do you have to insult me? It's not like I have to tear away the layers of fat surrounding my face so they can see it. I've always wanted to say back to them "you have such a great body it's a shame you hide it behind that ugly *** face." Or "you're so beautiful it's a shame that you're such an a-hole." It's like "ok you don't accept me, I'm going to eat more and make it harder for you to look at me" I guess that's the only way I could get back at people cause i was too quiet to say anything, I never stood up for myself.

Anyway, I've been to eating disorder hospitals several times. I had bulimia but that costs too much. The more you throw up, the more you eat. Don't mean to make it sound like a joke but it's true. I didn't like getting rid of what I ate anyway, I liked being full.



So here I am 25, my life is pretty good. I have a wonderful boyfriend who loves me unconditionally and treats me good, My life is no longer chaotic, my family is doing well, I have a wonderful niece who I love more than life. I have acceptance and love, yet i still like to eat a lot. I have to say I'm much better now. I don't eat as much as I use to and I can go days without compulsively overeating. I'm trying to strive for progress not perfection. In my eyes a few days is progress cause I couldn't make it one hour before. I know I have a problem, I'm not trying to get back at anyone by overeating, but I still do it. I don't know if i could ever commit to not overeating ever again.

I have a lot of fears and worries that food takes away. When I'm eating I'm not thinking. I've been journaling more and that helps cause I don't worry as much. But I still like eating. I know a lot about OA, I was apart of it for 4 weeks, that's the longest I've ever gone in my whole life without overeating. I really want to have a life, I hate always wanting to eat. I don't know what to do.

Hmm.... it is 5 am and I should really be asleep. But I am dreading tomorrow... Tomorrow is the funeral for my fiance's grandmother, for my daughter's great-grandma. I will be speaking. What else is there to say? Tomorrow is going to be ROUGH.

But... here I am, after having read through all your stories and I feel the need to share mine. There's something healing in sharing our stories with each other, in getting the past all written down on paper (or posted in a forum or what have you). I know I am once again at that point in my life that I am in crisis mode. I feel that maybe sharing my story will help me to take the next step that I need to, to get help.

I had a good life growing up. My parents separated when I was very young, but they still loved my brother and I very much. We travelled all the time, as my dad works for the airlines so flying was cheap for us. They gave us everything we needed and lots that we wanted. We lived in a beatiful small town, in a nice house on a quiet culdesac where we were close friends with all our neighbours. Our life, looking from the outside in, was idyllic.

I can remember, as a young child, my bed was right above a heat vent. Unbeknownst to my parents, I heard every argument, every word spoken, every crash of a door or cupboard being slammed, through the heat vent. I guess they never realized how well the sound travels through those vents. To this day... I am absolutely terrified of any kind of conflict. If someone is mad at me... I shut down, or I run away. It changed me in ways I never realized, up until these past few years. I don't remember them once fighting in front of us.

I wish I could remember what I was thinking as my babysitter raped me when I was maybe 5 years old. Of course then I didn't know what rape was... and he made it seem like a game, and we giggled afterwards like it was funny. All I knew about that stuff was that daddy said it was wrong to touch myself, and I wasn't allowed to watch 'adult shows'. I blocked the memory out of my mind for many years. I remembered when I was around ten years old, but dismissed it as strange dreams I was remembering. But every encounter with that guy afterwards was incredibly uncomfortable. I couldn't be alone in a room with him. I couldn't look him in the eye. And I didn't know why. Then the memories came back again when I was 17. I never told my family, or hardly anyone else. My mother's fiance is *his* father. I love Les like my own father. But I feel nothing for his son. I could never tell.... it would either rip the family apart further or I just plain wouldn't be believed.

I was a bubbly, energetic kid. At night, I would write in my journal that I wanted to die, but I didn't want to die fat. My father always made comments that I needed to watch my weight. Starting at nine years old, he began to buy me exercise videos, subscriptions to weight loss magazines, a gym pass.

The road to **** is paved with good intentions. And how.

See, my problem was never really that I was fat, or even overweight... I was always a little taller and a little heavier than all the other kids because I hit puberty a lot sooner. So on top of raging hormones and all that... I have to hear every day how I need to "watch what I eat" and etc ad nauseum.

We were vacationing in Hawaii one year, and I remember I was in the hotel room by myself, watching some stupid show... I don't know if some of you may remember a short lived "Models Inc.", it was called. Well... one of the models proceeded to purge after eating a meal with her agent or some other shmuck. And I thought...."hey, you know, dieting and eating right and exercising are not working for me, I could try that."

I was 11 years old at the time. I never forgot that show.

Fast forward a year or two... Puberty is really catching up to me. My weight was at its highest (whatever the **** that means.... I was still growing) and I was desperately depressed. I half heartedly began throwing up after meals. I remember the first time I purged. It took me so long... and it hurt so much. I think I was 12. I would give ALMOST anything to have that day back and do it differently. I lost part of my soul that day. Well... whatever was left of it from all the other hells I had endured.

Fast forward to junior high... moved from my small home town to the big city. Left my life behind and had to start over. I was incredibly depressed. I hardly slept... my nights were consumed with binging and purging, and constant thoughts of suicide. My weight remained fairly steady at 145. I was in grade 9. I thought I was a whale.

Eventually the bulimia started to interfere with my life to the point that it was obvious SOMETHING was wrong. In 11th grade, I started cutting class, I would cry at the drop of a hat, just generally doing irrational things. My dad confronted me one day about a call from the school saying I had missed a class. I broke down and told him I had an eating disorder, thinking all the while we would cry in each others arms, and he would tell me how much he loved me and he'd do anything to make it better. Instead, he just looked at me blankly and said... "Ok."

Then began the endless rounds of visits to the doctors, and therapists, and all the other specialists. This went on for 3 or 4 months. I became VERY good at lying. I told them all how much better I was feeling, I was so much happier, had stopped b/p, I didn't think I needed the meds anymore... blah, blah, blah. I guess they all bought it cause I stopped going to the doctor and therapist every week. I stopped taking the meds.

Uhoh, my baby's awake ... I'll have to finish this later, after the funeral I suppose.

Take care for now,
Dietrie

Dietrie

How was the funeral? Losses can be so hard, my grandfather dieing just about killed me

"The road to **** is paved with good intentions. And how."

I can definitely see myself here, and unfortunate for me after reviewing the evidence I wasn't a fat child either I just believed I was and it became a self-fulling prophecy. Come back. Finish your story and join our daily thread we need you and you need us.

Chris

Thanks for your words Chris.

The funeral was beautiful and I did survive. The piece I read was lovely and I managed to make it to the very end before I started crying. I have been to quite a few funerals in my life and I have to say this one was the nicest I have been to. What an odd thing to say... Now back to my story.

Let's skip ahead to grade 12. On my 17th birthday, I smoked pot for the first time. Shortly after that, my friends and I started drinking pretty regularly. I had given up on trying to make my father happy. Good grades, a busy athletic life, piano, band, arts, choir, and being a live-in house maid for him just weren't enough, so I gave up giving a crap. I tried to kill myself twice by overdosing on pills. Fortunately I'm still here but my liver is a little worse for wear. I never was taken to the hospital though... both times I just suffered through the overdose for weeks after. I tell you that was entirely the worst thing I have ever felt in my life. The pain of childbirth does not compare, to me, probably because of the huge reward you get at the end. But I went partially blind... I went deaf as well. My head felt like it was made out of putty. My body didn't want to move or function properly. I had to endure that **** for over a week until all the drugs were out of my system.

The funny thing is... my body, after all the years of throwing up, after having swallowed so many pills, I could not keep them down. I threw up twice shortly after having took the pills. I know if I had been able to stop myself from throwing up, I would have lost consciousness. I know I would be dead. Weird the way these things work.

My grade 12 year was so messed up that I can't piece together all the events in a straight line. I ran away from home for 3 weeks. My beloved Grandma passed away shortly after I returned home. I began smoking pot and drinking like it was going out of style. I smoked pot over lunch and then would skip the rest of the day, sleeping off my high in the band room. I would wake up at 6am and decide it would be fun to go to school drunk that day. I would drink myself into a stupor and then wake up at 3pm to find I had missed yet another day of school. I was lucky to have a father that travelled often a left me home alone a lot. And all the while, I kept throwing up and my weight kept dropping.

In the midst of all this chaos, as my weight was at its lowest, I began restricting food as well. The only meal I would eat in front of others was dinner at home, which I would purge until I was bringing up nothing but stomach acid (keeping up appearances, don't ya know). I hardly slept because the grawing hunger would keep me awake. Each night, around the time I should have been sleeping, I would allow myself one cracker and one jellybean. It would take me two hours to eat both of those. I fainted often after coming out of the shower. My doctor eventually perscribed me sleeping pills. I was drinking more than ever. I had become an alcoholic.

During my last year of high school, I had my first two boyfriends. The first time I fooled around with my first ex, my fragmented memories of childhood abuse came crashing back. I lost my 'virginity' (are you still considered a virgin after being raped??) to my second ex. We were both very, very drunk. The two of us were together for the last couple months of high school. Eventually we broke up, because well, he was an ***.

Eventually grad came and went, and shortly thereafter I moved out of my dad's house and didn't speak to him for some time. I moved in with my ex and his parents, as we were on 'friendly' terms (ok, we were f*ck buddies) and his parents loved me. I got a job with some marketing company, which was of course very short lived. About a month after graduation, a friend and I got our very own first place. My eating disorder subsided for a little while. I was happy; away from my father, out of school, working, enjoying my new-found freedom. I started eating again. My clothes started to fit a little better, if not a little snugger. I was definitely happy. I was drinking and partying a ton still.... but definitely enjoying myself more. Three days after I moved into that place with Sara, I met Tim.

We met at a party. His little sister came up to me and asked me what I thought of her brother, then proceeded to tell me he thought I was cute. Long story short, I asked him home with me that night. A one night stand has turned into 3 years. I just couldn't get rid of the guy . But he has stuck with me through a lot of ****.

Three days after we had met, and had spent day and night and every other waking moment together, he asked me a very strange question. He asked me when I had last gotten my period. Curious to know why he wanted to know, he pointed out to me that I was peeing an awful lot. We checked out some stuff on the internet then we went to the drug store to get a test.

I can't really remember all that happened that day or the following weeks either, nor do I really care to recount the memories I do have. I know I made the right decision at the time, for ME. I had an abortion. I was 17 at the time. There is a lot of guilt and shame that goes along with this admission. At the time I met Tim I was 2 months pregnant and did not even realize it. Because of the ED my periods were irregular at best so I thought nothing of it. Maybe another day I could revisit this time in my life but for tonight it's too painful.

But just to show you the kind of person Tim is... having just met me, and finding this all out.... he stuck by me. We are engaged to be married, next July. We have a beautiful 4 month old baby daughter. I count my blessings every day that she is so very healthy. I often cry and hug her and pray to God that I can show her the love I never felt, and show her to love herself the way I could never love myself. I hope and pray she will not be robbed of her innocence the way I was. You guys... in the very fiber of my being I know I would lose my mind and kill whoever dared lay a finger on her.
Tim gave me a reason not to die. Now, he has given me a reason to live... our daughter.

Sigh... there's so much more to tell. I'll just tell you one more little bit.
My mother passed away when I was about a year old. She suffered from post partum depression (as do I). They called it an accidental overdose on her anti-depressants. I also suspect she suffered from an eating disorder, as the photo album that I have, the progression of weight loss in the pictures before her death are alarming. She was very slender even just after I was born. Before she passed away, she was too thin. So I am left wondering. ... and worrying, for myself. I don't want this to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. My mother died when she was 21.
I am 21.
I am the spitting image of my mother in every way. I know she lives on in me. But I know I am killing myself as well. I gained 50 lbs in my pregnancy and in four months since Chloe was born, I have lost 65lbs. I know I need help, but I keep telling myself, X more pounds and THEN you get help... ridiculous, I know but I'm sure you all totally understand that mentality.
I want to be better but I have been living with this monster for over 8 years. I know it is much bigger than me now. But more than anything.... I WANT TO BE HERE FOR MY DAUGHTER.

Well after all this soul spilling, I am not too sure how to end this post other than to say... I know my story like all of your stories doesn't really have an ending yet. One day, I hope to be able to put into writing that I am on the road to recovery, and I hope and dream for the day when I can put it into stone that I am recoverED. I have learned lately... it's important to have few regrets in life. So I've learned to let some of the past go, so that I can concentrate on loving and living my best today.

Well I'm sure you have all figured out by now that I have more to say than I have time to type. I'm sure you'll be hearing much much more from me. I'm glad I found this place, and you guys. But its late again... sigh. So much to do.

Enough about me.... How are you all?!?!?
take good care everybody. And go hug your loved ones.

cheers,
Dietrie