My relapse is over.

As I wrote about in Jan 30 | How the Souplantation and Marvin Gaye Turned Me Into a Jedi, I made the decision that I have suffered enough.

I will never binge again.

Audacious, I know, but if I don’t make a bold statement to save my own life who will? If I don’t take a stand for myself, who will?

This is, after all, me we’re talking about.

I have a broken eater.

Now, don’t get me wrong.

In no way am I fooling myself that I don’t have a disease. In fact, if anything, I am embracing that fact that, as I heard in a meeting, I have “a broken eater with no spare parts.”

A huge driver of relapse was the faint hope that I wasn’t really a compulsive eater. That I didn’t really have a disease that would drive me to eat myself to death, despite years of evidence to the contrary.

To paraphrase the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, somehow, and in some way, I was desperately trying to control and enjoy my eating.

My dream was to wake up one day cured.

I’d get up, work out, eat a plate of whole-grain pancakes for breakfast, pack a protein bar and Kombucha for lunch, and then dash off to work.

And how did that work out for me? 

Not so good.

To paraphrase The Grateful Dead, what a long strange trip it’s been.

When I took that first compulsive bite on March 9, 2018 – a bag of dried apples that I figured I’d just trade in for my usual salad, which makes no sense – I thought I would only eat for that one day.

But then that one day turned into two, which turned into a week, and then a month.

The next thing I knew, it was eleven months later and I was 20 pounds heavier, looked ten years older, became a full-time smoker, and was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

So when I surrendered in the Souplantation, I gained my freedom. I stopped fighting.

The war was over and I lost.

But along the way, I learned, you know, stuff.

Scrappy. I am scrappy.

Never once throughout the months of Googling, binging, downloading diets, listening to podcasts, and then binging again, did I ever consider giving up. Not once did I say, “Screw it, I’m not going to try anymore.”

I was determined to keep searching until I found something that worked.

Thank frickin’ God.

It turned into a full-time job.

The maddening thing about eating disorders is that there are just way too many recovery options.

Unlike alcoholics who can go to Alcoholics Anonymous and call it a day, overeaters have to wade through shitloads of food plans, eating approaches, 12-step programs, exercise routines, high-carb, low-carb, no-carb … you get it.

I’ll do me.

I’m going to take you through what I tried and learned along the way in increments over the next few days so as not to subject you to a tome. I do this with the hope that sharing my experience will help you. 

But here’s the thing I want to stress – this is my journey. So, please take what you like and leave the rest. What works for me may not work for you.

And you do you.

But we’re in this together. One day at a time.

See you soon.

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