This is the culmination of what I wrote out yesterday.
I have another 'letter' to type today.
172.5 my scale, but 174.8 doc's scale !
This is an open letter to you because I must have a frank discussion about our relationship. As advised to do so, I see the wisdom in facing you like a thing, like a person, like something solid and objectionable. I am in relationship with you just like I was with boyfriends, with cigarettes, with earning a living, with clients. And even with the creative side of my personality.
But I will write this letter out in stages.
Right now my fingernails are long enough to interfere with fast typing and that means I'm hitting wrong keys constantly. I also have two priorities that must occur today with no room left for procrastination. Which is the method by which stalling, stuffing and staying stationary all have compulsive eating goals in common!
Doc visit completed.
I have to be willing to get soaking wet daily to rebuild my walking and aerobic levels. Fighting numbing my body by accepting and allowing me to be in my body as uncomfortable as it can be through exercise in place of food numbing. So phase two in this several part letter pauses a second time to get out there and sweat as I must.
soaking wet from 4 mile walk,
it isn't as bad as I was prepared for it to be. I'll cool down, write, gather my social services forms together and drive our to renew my dead lined app continuing food stamps today.
Food, you had me so shook up that I even ate a graham cracker at the doctor appointment! I mean really, I had to demo to the doc that you are in control to this degree? Yup. I have been saying "chicken little, the sky is falling" to no avail. Up until now! My key weapon: A condition exists... up until now. My working with a sponsor and allowing the vulnerable underbelly of my happiness to expose for examination has been avoided for too long. Up 30 lbs now, climbing weekly, I have wanted you, food, to keep me safe from harm. That you can't just makes me want you to harder and that's been the truth of it.
I know how feeling needy has always been something to be ashamed of.. and how food's job is to block fearing myself, fearing that I am not good enough in some special dependable way. People love my gushy body hugs, and you food, are the substitute for strong arms to embrace and protect me. The more I turn to you, the further I get away from my core.
The core is the original betrayal of trusting that I am safe, and I've always known how food is a defective substitute.
Self awareness never gave me an intellectual leg up in keeping myself in healthy balance. Feelings are the mix of ingredients that can't make any nourishing clarity on their own. So, dear food, I have the backing of a strong sponsor to bring me back to my courage of writing out all this confusion.
Self letters were my only confidant for so many of my years, and I've long ago stopped needing to come here. Except that I see I am overdue to return and relieved to find I am working this through and on out once again.