ObesityHelp

In the beginning, there was a thin me...

Obesity Road
By Dawn Stuller

I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment my addiction with food, and lots of it began. Yes, that is what it was, an addiction. One day shortly after surgery, I caught my teenage step-daughter smoking. To that I was told “you know nothing about addiction”. I was shocked and pretty much floored at that point. How could I NOT know about addiction? No, I was not addicted to cigarettes, alcohol, sex, or booze. I was addicted to the very thing that each and every being on the planet needed to survive. I was addicted to the one thing that is harder to quit than anything else out there. I was addicted to food.

Maybe it started when I was a child, and mom always told us we needed to be a part of “the clean plate club”. Maybe it was because being the oldest of six kids, and from a poor to middle class family, I was always afraid there was not going to be enough food to fill me up, and I would have to go hungry. I was always the skinny scrawny kid in the class, thin as a stick. That was, until I went to High School. One local school was a trade school, and our town was part of the district that could opt to go there. I chose that path, knowing full well that I wanted to go into the Culinary Arts program. As a freshman, we had to try out all the different trades the school had to offer. One week was academics, the next week was shop week. So, as a good student, I went from trade to trade, “trying them on” to see if any of them fit. I actually liked the Auto Mechanics shop. Looking back, maybe that would have been the less fattening choice for me. I also liked dietary arts, wood shop, and graphic arts. However, I could not shake the NEED to be in the food trades shop. When it came time to choose, that was my first choice. Can you imagine my elation at being accepted into the program??

Early on, they made us try out both sides of the house, and all of the stations the shop had to offer. As a freshman, we always got the crap jobs. You know, dishes, clean up, veggie peeling. The food trades shop at my school also ran a restaurant that was open to the public. We served breakfast to teachers, and lunch to anyone that happened in. We served patrons full meals, with soup and salad, main course, and dessert.

At the end of most days, when there really was not too much to bother saving, they would let us eat. In between the end of customers and clean-up, we got to eat - even the desserts. This was very dangerous for me, as I really did eat my fill, and did whenever they allowed us.

The end of freshman year, I showed interest in cake decorating. I had a wonderful teacher who saw my potential, but knew I was lazy, and lacked determination. He also figured out I was stubborn and pig-headed. One day he simply told me to "give it up, that I lacked the talent for cake decorating" never in my life did I become so intent of proving someone wrong. Needless to say, I was the only freshman ever to be decorating wedding cakes, and my obsession with pastries thus began.

By the time I had hit my senior year, I hat also hit 150 lbs. Going from about 95 scrawny pounds freshman year, to 150 senior year. I was hooked, good food, gourmet food, pastries, cookies, donuts, anything and everything, nothing was safe. I was addicted. No denying it, and you know, I did not think I would ever be considered "fat". You see,, all my life I had been told I had a fast metabolism, like my Italian grandmother. Something I now know is not true.

Once out of High School, I wish I could say things got easier for me, but they did not. I was away from the food environment, or so I thought. I got a job working at Burger King, and at the time weighed 150 lbs. I was madly in love with a boy I met at work. Let’s call him JJ. JJ and I dated for months, but it always seemed he was scrutinizing my every bite. Yes I was not the size 6 I once was, but was a 10 that much bigger?

Young and insecure about myself, and self image, my insecurities slowly killed that relationship. Never one to be kept down long, I quickly re-bounded into the arms of another abuser, who eventually became my first husband. He was a full-blooded Italian, with parents straight off the boat from Italy. Sunday dinners at their house were just heavenly, especially for me, a carb addict.

By the time we got married in 1990, I was about 170 lbs. I had yo-yoed prior to that, going to Weight Watchers to attempt to lose weight so I could look better on my wedding day. I had talked myself into a ritual. I’d go to my Weight Watchers meeting on Tuesday mornings, and if I lost, and more importantly, if I did NOT lose, I would treat myself to a D’Angelo’s steak and cheese sub, with onions and mayo. Let me tell you, it was a 20 minute drive from the sub shop to my house, and by the time I got home, the filling of that sub made the bread soft and squishy, and just wonderful. I always ate the whole thing.

That was where I encountered my next issue. Feeling guilty after eating that sub, I would drink as much water as possible, and then force myself to throw up as much of that sub as I possibly could. This became an addiction for me. Overeat, throw up. Too much Chinese greasy food? Throw it up. I was bulimic, and my self-image got worse and worse. You see, I did not lose any weight doing what I did. I kept gaining. My marriage at that point was one of abuse. My husband spent all his time either at work or out drinking and shooting pool with the boys. He got me a TV for my bedroom so I would not have to sit in the living room, and possibly hear him and his girlfriends playing around down in our cellar. At one point he yelled at me “you are fat stupid and ugly, and I would not touch you with a 10 foot pole”. As depression got worse, the Bulimia did too. Finally a friend got sick of catching me purging in the bathroom at work, and sought out my supervisor to get me to seek help. I was now about 190 lbs, and was at the lowest point in my life, or so I thought. I entered a counseling program, got on anti-depressants, lost a whopping 5 lbs., and was starting to feel better about myself. That was until New Years Eve 1995. A date that changed my life forever. My husband came home drunk, and because I turned him down for sex, he proceeded to pin me to the bed and rape me. That was a turning point for me, and I decided at that point to put aside all the money I could, and get the hell out of there. My weight dropped down to the high 160’s. I met a boy who saw me for me, and loved me anyhow. Although nothing sexual happened between us, just his believing in me was the strength I needed to just walk away from the marriage, the money, the secure life I had convinced myself I needed to stay in.

I moved out on MY Independence Day, July 1st. It shocked my then husband that I could just walk away like that. He begged me to come back, but I was free of that situation, and becoming happy again. Yes, I was still depressed, and started binging and purging again. However, I was never going to be abused by my abuser again.

I spent the summer following my Independence Day Hanging out with friends, drinking and smoking pot. Although I am not proud of this. I did it anyhow. It was my summer of freedom. My weight was stable in the 170's. I have no idea how it remained stable, but it did. I was living on my own for the first time in my life. A little 3 room apartment was all that I could afford. It was filthy, cockroach infested, and probably unsafe, but it was all mine. I cleaned it, and de-infested it, and made it home.