Monday, July 16, 2012

Home: where the heart is, where the mines are hidden

Home. It's where the heart is. Let me state that I love my family.

While I was away, it is where some unsanctioned, fat laden, sugar encrusted food not normally in our home were being consumed by my family. There was leftover pizza and some canola butter in the fridge when I got home. When I am away the mice will take years off their lives and spike their blood sugar, play.

I had a great four days in Miami and will write more about that tomorrow. Last night my mice acted as if there was something they were not telling me. I thought we had won Powerball, someone has scratched my car, lost a job or perhaps, someone else had died. (God forbid) Even after I found the evidence of gastrointestinal malfeasance, they seemed by their demeanor to be hiding something. Assuring me that nothing was up, I thought I relaxed and I ttossed out the remaining butter and asked for the pizza to be eaten or removed from the house. Someone in my family stepped forward to fall on a sword and eat the offending pizza. I didn't touch it.

Later in the evening, when I was the only one still awake, I started trolling around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets and the refrigerator. ' I cannot tell you how grateful I was not to find any dietary contraband in my path. It was an 'afters behavior. I didn't want to eat but I might have done so; when in fact, what I wanted was to feel something that I could not distinguish at that time. I wanted to feel - period. I had held off sharing my feelings from the weekend or ask about my family's re-telling of their weekend, from the moment I found the leftover pizza. I was unaware of my clutch on my emotions until I got into bed and then I was again grateful to have the night to recharge my brain.

They did not mean for me to find it. Not having the same issues with the same foods, they can have leftover pizza in the house and forget about it being there. That is a normal behavior. I do not keep pizza in the house because I am not normal. I will not become normal. I can be aware and I can do what I need to do for my well-being. I do not get normal. That is okay because I love me today as I am, even if I treat pizza in the fridge like an insect in the kitchen.

I can also pray to accept that life comes on life's terms and that means that sometimes pizza is hidden in the fridge. They can have their pizza. I can get over it. I can ignore it. I can remove it. I can leave it for their next meal. I can do anything that works for me, just as long as I do not eat it.



Unknown said...

Hi Jane! I greatly empathize with this post. I'm not normal for eating either. But I do find strength in the fact that I know who I am, and what I'm not. It's a better life than living in denial.

:-) Marion

Norma said...

It's always our choice. I know of a recovering alcoholic who had the word "Don't" tattooed on the backs of both his hands to remind him that if he ever reaches for liquor, that he does not drink liquor. Constant vigilance, mon amie cher.

Lauren said...

That second container of blueberry sorbet I bought while you were here? It went untouched until last night when I took it out of the freezer to move something else. I forgot about it. When I got out of bed this morning, it was completely melted. I felt a little betrayed (by myself) and then I blamed you, assuming that you had somehow possessed me and made me melt my sorbet. I realized later that this was irrational but, just in case your ears were itching a little earlier, it was because I was swearing vengeance. Love you!

Jane Cartelli said...

I do not believe it is always our choice. I know it is not always mine to control. I truly believe it is an illness and that it goes beyond my abilities to have choice. I didn't choose to be 385 lbs. While no one ever force fed me anything, I know that in a rational state of mind, I would never have eaten the crap I ate. Sure, I would have eaten unhealthy food, but it would have been better quality of crap, you know what I mean. IF I were rational at those times in any sense, if I was in control of my brain and body, I would have gained my weight on the best quality chocolates and only the best pizza, cheeses, and creams - not on bargain ice cream brands, not on cold pizza, and certainly not on junk sugar foods I threw into the kitchen trash can and then retrieved later because they were wrapped and still edible. Once the phenomenon of craving is met by the allergy of my body to these foods, the mind is not a sufficient defense against it. Like the alcoholic, I must rely on a power greater than myself. I have nothing without that. I relied on me and on MY control for 14 years and only gained weight. When I was willing to accept I was not in control I lost the weight and it is only it daily acceptance of that lack of personal control that I can maintain this loss of 220 pounds. I have spent the last couple of years trying to find another way to maintain the loss and control my food without giving up my grasp on the idea that I have all I need within me. It isn't there. I need that power greater than myself. I think this is why I have not lost this last 20 pounds. I want too much control.

Oh, and I have to tell you: that picture in my mind of the recovering alcoholic you know who tattooed "DON'T" on the backs of both his hands - - While I do understand that thinking, it gave me a great laugh - because I was thinking of a perfectionist trying to live with those hands and seeing don't every time he wanted to eat, drink, blog, wave, masturbate. . . .

Jane Cartelli said...

Lauren, I am sad for your blueberry sorbet. It died a tragic death however, it lived a longer life in your fridge than it would have in mine.