Runaway Train

One of the things I like most about Andie Mitchell is her ability to find exactly the right words to describe something. Her word pictures are spot on. I know this because the disorder that she has fought is the disorder that I fight. Every day.

During my morning route my mind drifted to stopping to get Chelsea something to eat before her nurse showed up at 8:15. Since McDonald’s is being rebuilt completely from scratch now and won’t be reopened until October, the nearest Mickey D’s is at the junction. Not wanting to drive ten more miles once I was finished driving for the morning, Casey’s was the next most logical breakfast stop.

I remember exactly where I was when I started e̶n̶t̶e̶r̶t̶a̶i̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶o̶f̶ planning my next binge. I was about to turn onto 15th Street, when suddenly I could think of little else but two sugar cookies from Casey’s, complete with that famous sugary, white glazed icing that is surely made in heaven. Not just one sugar cookie, mind you, but two.  If I’m going to go off-plan, I may as well make it worth my while. I had a really good day yesterday, I reasoned with myself, I can have another one tomorrow.

Once I give myself permission to do something–actually “promise” is more the word I’m looking for–it’s hard to go back on that promise. It’s hard to let all those sugar-laden thoughts and mouth-watering expectations go unfulfilled.

Andie Mitchell of It Was Me All Along wrote, “Once you’ve decided on a binge, it’s almost impossible to stop. Turning back is driving all the way to Florida from Massachusetts, straight through the night, and arriving bleary-eyed and exhausted, only to decide it would be better to turn around and head back up north rather than nap in the sun on the beach for a bit.”

It would make absolutely no sense to turn back once you’ve gotten your taste buds in an uproar. Deliver what you promised!, they scream.

All the way to school I considered this word picture, and I was willing to concede that it honestly was way yonder too hard to resist what I’d already purposed to do. I wasn’t up for the battle. I’m spineless and weak, after all, and, in the whole scheme of things, does the world really care whether I cave in to those two sugar cookies or not?

And, while I wasn’t considering the word picture, I was picturing how utterly depleted I would be if I gave in. I was picturing the sugar cookies being gone within ten minutes, but the guilt lingering far into the afternoon. There may even be enough guilt left over to have a heaping helping of it tomorrow, too.

Still battling as I got back to the bus lot, an angel on my right shoulder and a devil on my left, I slid the gear shift into neutral, engaged my parking brake, switched off my lights, and pivoted in my seat, grunting as I grabbed hold of the dashboard and the safety rail to hoist up my sugar-addicted body onto my aching and stiff knees.

“The sugar won’t help you feel better, Dirinda,” I said out loud. I walked down the aisle of my bus toward the child-check button, continuing my mini lecture. “You may think right now that it will, but it won’t. It will only make you feel worse. Sugar isn’t going to help your knees. Sugar isn’t going to help you get around easier.”

I started making another plan. Chocolate cake (in the form of a THM plan-approved muffin-in-a-mug). “Yep, that’s it. New plan.”

I walked into Casey’s and glanced at the counter for the sugar cookies. I saw some cookies, but I wouldn’t let my eyes settle on them for long. I walked over toward the kitchen and selected a sausage croissant for Chelsea from the turning, heated display case, and then I got her a chocolate milk from the refrigerated section. I found my place in line where I had another moment or two to survey the donuts behind me.

I heard a fellow customer report, “They don’t have any cake donuts.”

“Are you kidding me?!” said her companion who had hobbled in with some kind of surgical brace covering her whole foot and half her leg.

But they do have those airy French twist donuts, I observed, with the delicious white frosting. And they have plenty of those delectable, yeasty glazed donuts, too.

I turned my attention toward the front counter where the cookies are always lined up in rows of cheerful greeters to welcome you when you walk in the front door. Sometimes they go all out and sport colorful, birthday-party sprinkles.  Hmm, I thought, chocolate chip cookies and sugar cookies with no icing. Marshmallow Rice Crispy squares with M&Ms and peanut butter Rice Crispy squares with chocolate icing. Both of those would do in a pinch–and have before– but I paid for Chelsea’s breakfast and headed out to my car without incident or mishap.

When I got home, I walked Chelsea’s breakfast back to her room and set about making me a Trim Healthy Mama chocolate muffin-in-a-mug. I took half of one of those little 85% cocao chocolate bars and broke it up into pieces over the top of the muffin before I put it in the microwave.

Today I waged war against the monster of sugar addiction, and I made the wiser choice. Victory is mine, and right now it feels sweeter than a sugar cookie.

 

It Was Me All Along

I’m nearly finished with the book, It Was Me All Along, I ordered from Amazon. I am so happy that I bought it. Andie Mitchell is a talented writer, and the book has a conversational appeal that drew me in and kept me holding onto the book, continuing to read, even after I realized that I really should be getting to bed or doing other things.

Did any of you follow my suggestion and order it, too, so that you could discuss with me what you thought about it?

Andie’s life is easy to relate to, maybe not her family situation (but we all have our own stories, don’t we?), but I certainly understood her relationship with food and how she used it to cope with the fears, frustrations and angst of growing up with an addicted parent and always being “the fat girl” at school.

If you haven’t read it, yet, I know you will like Andie and appreciate the insight she brings to food addiction and how to break the cycle.

One of the main things I have come away with is what I have always known to be true, but have dragged my feet doing, literally, for about the last year–has it been that long? I need to get off my tush and exercise.

Since I am still eating mostly healthy foods and try to stay within the guidelines for Trim Healthy Mama approved food groupings, my level of activity just isn’t cutting it.

I’m not going to start off as a drill sergeant this time, however. I’m allowing myself to do just five or ten minutes on the treadmill, and then I’m stopping. I think I may stop even if I feel like going longer, just to prove to myself that I can be gentle and encouraging instead of harsh and demanding. I don’t know. I haven’t worked all that out, yet.

I just ordered another book to read while on vacation the first of July. I told Chuck I am going to order every book on food addiction until I get this monster under control. Here is the one I ordered this morning:

I read the “teaser” portion before my morning route just after I placed my order and I’m convinced this is going to be another entertaining and helpful read.

The following is a review I posted on Facebook, after having read my most recent book:

Chelsea and I recently read a book by Jojo Moyes called “Me Before You.” She had kind of wanted to see the movie, but read the book instead and now she says the movie couldn’t possibly have done the story line any justice. I agree. That is most often the case.

Spoiler alert. If you want to read the book or see the movie, do not read any further.

The book is about a successful businessman in London who takes over companies and has a very active, athletic lifestyle. A tragic accident takes everything away from him, except his very life. He suffers an extreme spinal cord injury and becomes a quadriplegic.

He goes from having the world by the tail to being dependent on other people for every single thing but the beat of his heart and the breath in his nostrils. He can’t even lift a fork to his mouth.

He determines that his life isn’t worth living anymore. In two years he contracts pneumonia three times, and the prognosis for his getting any better at all is beyond grim.

A caregiver his mom hires falls in love with him. She makes him laugh and, after she finds out that he has promised his mom six months more before he legally kills himself–with aid, of course–in Switzerland, she sets out to prove to him that life is indeed worth living when you are loved.

The man has lots of pain: bladder spasms, fevers because of inadequate body temperature control, muscle spasms, etc., but, on good days, there is laughter. On good days he enjoys music and films. There is always, always love, no matter what.

In all the book there is no mention that the man is a Christian. In fact, there is quite a bit in the book to make us believe to the contrary. Before his accident he lived a life marked by fornication and entitlement, and throughout the book there were instances of profanity and taking the Lord’s name in vain.

In the end, he decides that love is not enough to endure confinement to a wheelchair and the limitations of his once active and virile body.

His loved ones reconcile that it would be cruel to take the one thing he can control (the choice to live or die) away from him–even the girl who loves him and is initially horrified that his mom and dad have agreed to let him end his life grants him his wish that she be with him when he breathes his last.

Whatever the reader comes away with after reading this tragic tale, the one thing they aren’t given to consider is the afterlife.
The man’s family thinks they are helping him to escape the misery of his wheelchair and ill-health, but there is no escaping the misery of eternal torment in hell.

In hell there is no love, there is no laughter, there are no good days.

Summer school is already half over. Vacation is coming up and I have plans to be a reader! Should be a fun and educational summer!