Just when I thought...

I came to my blog tonight to delete it. I'm looking at some new options for my life (aka a new job, possibly new city) and I thought a possible employer doing a background check wouldn't want to read about my problems. I also didn't think I could keep this thing up, and that no one would EVER read this thing. But just when I thought...

I got a comment. Two comments in fact!!! And those two comments gave me some renewed faith in this idea o blogging, and just why I wanted to do it in the first place. I'm not alone. I can share my story and others WILL respond. I can change my life, and maybe grow to a point where I can help someone else.

I don't have time to write much tonight. But I have to say THANK YOU to Cindy. Thank you for reading. And thank you for your kindness. I am not going to give up on this now.

That being said... Two sessions into therapy, and I've already hit a key point which has made a difference in things for the short term. The main ray hope... There IS hope. When I started I lost hope, any possibility of hope, I may have forgotten how to spell H-O-P-E. That combine with what I found on my blog... I might just be on to something here. STAY TUNED!

There's one in every family

I'm still trying to figure out this blogging thing. So far, I think this is the lamest attempt at blogging in the history of the web. I have been reading some really great blogs that have been inspiring, motivating, and given me a sense of comradery with other women who are struggling with some of the same issues. Even in my secluded little world, I now know that I'm not alone.

I also feel insecure in my inferior little blog, with no readers, and no bells and whistles. I hope that will change.

So, for those reading, if and when you read, I give you this thought.... You always here the saying "There's one on every family." If you can look at your family and think everyone is normal, chance are you are that "one." Apparently I am that one. (Which is scary if you know my family)

I went to another new therapist. I think I'll like her. The most reassuring thing was that she didn't try to push a diet on me right away. She actually wants to help me through the issues behind the eating. As Lewis Carol wrote, "Begin with the begining..." Which is what we are going to do. I have to deal with the depression and then tackle my relationship with food. I already feel better after speaking with Susan. She made me feel like there is hope, which is something I've been missing. I'm a little less scared of facing my deamons than I was yesterday.

Inside the mind of a compulsive eater

I'm having a bad day. That only means one thing in my mind... EATING.

Part of the reason I'm writing this blog to to give someone out there an insight into the mind of someone like me. Most of the people around me fail to stop and think about why or how I am like this. I'm making myself highly vulnerable here and now to hopefully shed some light on what goes on inside my head. Maybe too, I'll be able to find someone out there who experiences the same.

Wake up this morning... I can barely swallow. I cringe every time I try to swallow. It's going to be a long day. My new kitten has crapped on her bed, spilled her water and food. And I was running late to begin with. Eighty two unanswered emails at work. It's already begun. Rush to get it all down, double check to make sure its all right... It's not its wrong. I'm an idiot. And it was confirmed publicly by my boss. Cry in the bathroom.

This is when the stress becomes too much, and the food cravings begin. The thought process goes a little something like this...

"I can't believe he said that. I can't take much more today. I'm trying my best.... I smell pizza. Dammit! I just want to be home. On the couch. TV on. Dog at my feet. Pizza. Large pizza. Chinese food would be good too. Damn, I have the baby this weekend. He brings snacks with him. I'm so pissed! I suck at my job. I want chocolate. I want a new job. Chocolate first....."

Why in my time of stress and frustration does food come to mind? It's my drug. Some people turn to cigarettes, booze, drugs, I turn to food. I have a comfortable place, that is far away from crying in the bathroom, where I feel safe. It's at home, on that couch, with food. Food it the key here. I'm not even hungry, but I feel like the only way to release the emotions and stress is by the taste of pizza.

Now, many well meaning friends and family will say things such as:

"You should try meditation"
"Prayer is the only thing that will help"
"Get out of the bathroom and go for a jog around the building"
"Eating isn't going to help. Try a xanax"

Again, all of these people are well meaning. But those are all things that help them. I don't understand how these things bring them comfort, just the same as they don't understand how food brings me comfort. I wish so much that they would stop themselves short of speaking to me and just keep their advice to themselves. The more ridiculous advice I get, the more alienated I feel, and the more I want to be alone with food.

The key here is to be alone. I want to be closed off from the judgemental eyes of the world. I go to any length to cover up my eating, for fear my neighbors see me bringing it in the house, or the empty boxes in the garbage can. I'll even pretend to call an imaginary roommate to dinner, so the delivery guy doesn't judge me or the $30 worth of Chinese food he's has for me.

Much like a drug addict or alcoholic, I will hide my binging. I will lie about my binging. I will spend money I don't have in order to binge. I will get a euphoric high from the binging. Most of the time I feel so alienated from the world that I wish I were a drug addict or alcoholic. Because then maybe people will understand. People seems to have that understanding about those abuses. No one understands food addiction. At least, no one I know understands food addiction. And that only makes it worse.

Adventures in PSYCHO-therapy

I went to a new therapist today. I'm not one of those people who lives my life in a therapist office, and is constantly doling out pearls of wisdom proceeded by "My therapist says." This new blogging thing is a therapy I discovered for myself. The therapist is another attempt to figure out what I'm doing wrong and what can I do to fix it. Medicine won't fix me. The therapist wont' fix me. But can she tell me what I need to do to fix myself?

Again, this is a new therapist. She's the 3rd person I've tried in the last 3 years. My first attempt at psychotherapy was in 2005 when I had what can best be described as a borderline mental breakdown. I got a phone number at random from my insurance company and gave this stranger a call. She was nice enough. She subscribed to the Stuart Smalley school of therapy. "You're good enough, smart enough, and gosh darnnit people like you!" Great, thanks for the kind words, but if I wanted to hear someone blow smoke up my ass about how great I am, I'll call my mother for free. The second therapist was delightful and sweet, but not on my insurance plan, so at $150 an hour I could have gone to therapy and eventually bankruptcy.

I did learn a few nuggets of wisdom from those first two attempts. So now I'm giving it one more try. Is it a bad sign at the end of the hour that the good doc says to me, "We should stop right here. You have a lot more issues that is going to take longer than I thought to get into."

Getting this party started

Hi. My name is Chris, and I'm a fat, depressed girl with self-esteem issues. Everyone: "HI CHRIS."

Okay, now that I got that introduction out of the way... Why am I blogging? I wonder why any one blogs, and if anyone will ever read this. More than anything, I guess I am doing this for myself, and hope to reach out to someone, somewhere who may be able to connect. I want to be completely honest, unashamedly candid, and expose myself and my struggles. Those struggles include an almost lifetime fight with weight and self-esteem, my health, and depression that I didn't know I had until I was almost lost to it for good.

My name is Christina. I also go by Chris, or Nash (I'll explain why later). I was born and raised in South Florida, in a big family, originating in rural North Carolina. I'm the youngest of five children. I grew up in a home where there was always love, a lot of people, and a lot of frustration. Most importantly, I remember growing up loved. Which I now know is not a given factor in many people's childhood. I went to college, first here in Palm Beach County, and transferred to Belmont University in Nashville in 1998. I stayed in Nashville a few years after college and moved to Alabama in early 2004. By May of 2004 I was back in South Florida, broke, practically homeless, and watching my father die from kidney failure.

My weight problems begin in adolescence. At one point in my life I was too skinny. But then the weight started piling on, and has never come off. Through the years I've eaten my way into a size 22, and my self -esteem plummet with each increase in pants size. In this blog I will be focusing a lot on my on-going battle with my weight and self image. That is why I am calling this "I have such a pretty face." It's the line every fat girl dreads. We've all heard it and cringed at the sound of each word. Many a well-meaning family member, friend, and stranger has uttered those words to a fat girl in hopes of offering comfort, and failing miserably. Note to reader... NEVER, EVER, EVER, tell a fat girl, "You have such a pretty face." Just keep it to yourself, it will be much more helpful.

Other issues I look to discuss in the open and public forum (good god, what am I doing) are contributing factors to my weight, and some of the devastating results of being a fat girl. Don't judge me for the things I write about. I'm going to expose 100% of myself. I'm going to do it because I know there is at least one person out there who will read my words and know they are not alone. I also know there are people out there who know me, but don't understand me. Or they know someone like me, and can't understand. I hope those who read this will take it for what it is, a way for one struggling person to reach out to humanity for help, love, and understanding.