Taking Back Control

You’re not alone. A lot of people have a hard time opening up. I mean, who wants to put their business out there? I was scared to first start this blog. Who would judge me? Who would say things behind my back? Who would leave nasty comments and try to discourage me? Amazingly, putting my business out there has helped me begin the healing process. I can say will all honesty that writing my life to you has slowly helped me open up and be honest with myself.

My sweet reader, I know this is something you can do too. It’s scary, embarrassing, unknown and unfamiliar but it’s also liberating! I’m trying not to worry about what people think of me. I’m me. Love me or hate me. The choice is yours. I’m taking back control. No one is allowed to damage me, control me, or deceive me any longer. Repeat after me, “I’m taking back control.” Close your eyes and repeat it once more. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Makes you feel just a bit more free, doesn’t it?

Many of my readers have sent messages of encouragement and inspiration. It makes me feel so good that I want to pay that forward to you. I want you to know that a complete stranger cares about you. A complete stranger gets you and understands your pain. Healing is a day by day process. Today, take back control. Tomorrow you may feel different and that’s OK. Really. By the way, why is it that we don’t give ourselves the credit of the good things we do. We beat ourselves up because we’re supposed to fit society’s “normal.” We are expected to be skinny, successful, happy….perfect. Well f*** that! I’m me. Get over it. Some of my closest friends are not skinny, successful, or happy. I love them for that. It’s like, “Finally!! People like me!” 

Be crazy. Be loud. Be happy. Be over the top. Be dramatic. Just be you…

Check out the video below. Really think about how these things make you feel. I bet by the end of the video, you’re smiling.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPmA6W-WD90

The Devil’s Hold

god and food

The smell of seasoned steak over an open fire, teasing your senses with a longing for more. The taste of a warm cookie fresh from the oven. The melted chocolate kisses your lips and caresses your palate. The feel of a warm croissant on a cold day cupped in your hands ever so gently. Opening it’s buttery layers one piece at a time. Hungry?

This is my food addiction. Sensual, sexual, romantic, food addiction. It’s a relationship that is hard to let go. I mean, let’s face it, you HAVE to have food to live. There is, however, an ugly side. It’s killing me. Slowly, it wraps the rope around my neck and lowers me enough to gasp for air but not enough to completely shut me down. It slowly raises me back up with the alluring taste, texture and touch of its beautiful ugliness.

Food, I refer to as the devil, will over power you and convince you that you’re not full. It plays with your mind until you can no longer hold on. You give into seconds and thirds and before you know it, you’re snacking at midnight and crying at 2 a.m. Because you’re now sad, you open your night stand drawer and reveal your secret. Your eyes widen and your mouth waters. You open it and eat your divine treat until your tears dry up and relief kicks in. Then shame. Shame that you must have a secret to begin with. Shame that you have to hide it because it’s yours and no one else will understand. Shame because it’s now 3 a.m. and embarrassing enough, you want more.

You weigh yourself and become sad AND pissed off that you gained weight. The scales flashes your numbers back at you as if to scream, “You fatass! Look what you did!” You look down wondering how the hell it happened. Promising that you’ll never eat like that again, you head to the kitchen. You open the fridge. The cupboards. The hiding spots. Back to the fridge. The devil is toying with you. Convincing you that there’s food to satisfy your desire. You leave the kitchen and try to get your mind on something else. No matter how much you try, craving, boredom, and a sense of needing to feel satisfied overtakes you. This revolving door leads no where and you know it but it’s not enough to stop you. Addiction. A nasty vicious cycle that hates you but that you love more than anything.

Disease has finally caught up. Diabetes, sleep apnea, joint pain, trouble breathing, high blood pressure, peripheral neuropathy. The devil smiles, “Come here, I will take care of you. Everything will feel better. All you need is this large plate of carbohydrates and fat. Remember, you need me to live.” You feel alone in your darkness but food is there to help ignite a passion in you that no one and nothing else can. The devil steps back with a low laugh and whispers, “Eat.”

Somewhere Over The Sugar Rainbow

“What do you mean I can’t have pizza for breakfast?” I don’t think my doctor is taking me seriously. “Look, Tonia. You’re going to get diabetes among other health issues that you don’t have already, if things don’t change. You’re not 20 anymore. You have to start thinking of your health and well-being.” I stare at him blankly while smacking my sugar-free gum. I leave the office feeling like nothing was accomplished. On another note, I did get a new pill and an increase in another. One for anxiety and the increase in depression medication. That’s right, Doc. Dope me up. That should help.

My therapist and I are having a stare off. “Why are you here?” he finally asks. “Where do you want me to start?” I reply with a chuckle. “Let’s start with why you sought help in the first place.” I really hope he has all day. I don’t think I can squeeze this all into a hour. “I have mother issues, anger issues, trust issues, sexual issues, and food issues. Just to name a few. Shall we start there?” Oh, God. He’s writing. Jot that down, dude. You’re going to need to remember this. Got enough ink in that pen? “Ok. Let’s start with your food issues. Why do you think you have issues with food?” I laugh hysterically inside. “Because I have mother, anger, trust, and sexual issues.” He gets paid for this stuff? He isn’t the first therapist I’ve seen and I have a suspicion he won’t be the last. This session has stressed me out. Guess I will treat myself to KFC and wash it all away with a root beer float.

My feet are starting to tingle. I work from home so I sit at the computer 9+ hours a day. I chalk it up to long periods of sitting. My legs start to ache. I try to get up and move around but my job has me glued to the screen. At night the tingling is worse. I elevate my feet and ignore it. Eight months later and I am feeling numbness. I change doctors and the new Doc schedules a diabetes test. “No biggie,” I tell him. “They’ve poked my finger before and sugars are always fine.” He laughs. Little did I know that it takes much more than that. The results: Type 2 diabetes. I barely hear the doctor talk about long term damage and dietary changes. My mind goes into a fog. “Is this going to be it? Is this going to be the wake-up call I need to change my life?” I stuff a large chunk of Kit Kat into my mouth and then take a long swig from my Pepsi. Can’t imagine how the diabetes arrived in the first place. Hop aboard the sugar train! I need to ponder this.

Portion Out of Control

If two heads are better than one, then what about double chins? On that note, I will help myself to seconds.” 
― Jarod KintzThis Book is Not FOR SALE

I’m such a bread whore. There’s something about walking through a bakery that leaves me excited and tingly. The smell kisses my lips and leaves me wanting more. The warmth whispers in my ear and entices me to try a sample. It’s heat sending shivers through my body. The softness wraps around my body and squeezes gently leaving me toasty inside. Ah. Food Porn.

Going to the gym today. I am totally going! Don’t look at me like that. I’m really going! Where are my shoes? Where’s my gym bag? Damn it! Keys?? Forget it. Just getting out of the house is too much of a hassle. Besides, looking for all those missing assholes gave me my own workout. Tomorrow. Yes. Definitely tomorrow.

I swear it only took a week to gain 100 pounds. It’s going to take the next 100 years to lose it. I can look at a candy bar and gain 50 pounds. I hear myself getting fatter staring at the yellow packaging on the Butterfinger. If it’s in ONE package together, that’s ONE serving size right? So king-sized is a perfect portion for me. This is my belief and I’m sticking to it. I’ve come to a point where it’s like, “Eh, I’m already this big. What’s this ONE piece of cake going to hurt?” Before I know it, that sucker is gone and I’m a cave woman on the hunt for more.

phil

My stoic expression seeps through my face as I blink at my nutritionist. She hands me a pie chart. Mmm, pie. “As you can see here, this is the portion size that is considered the normal portion size to maintain a good weight,” she says, trying to convince me that what she’s saying makes sense. She’s a tiny, little thing and as I’m sitting next to her, the room seems to get smaller. “Look, I appreciate what you’re saying but I don’t think this is the correct portion size for a 400 hundred pound woman. I mean, could you imagine if I tried to eat protein the size of my fist?” She stares back at me with a smile and nods.  “Yes. You’d lose weight.” She’s trying to be nice, bless her heart but I am over this conversation and am looking at the door wondering if I’m quick enough to make a break for it. If only I had gone to the gym, I’d be fast enough to make the exit before she could say portion size.

 

Black and White Part 2

He’s been in jail 4 months. Now there’s no income. The cable is the first to go. Then the power. Then the food. This is all my fault…

I’ve made very few friends in the three years I’ve lived here. I break down and ask for their help. They bring over a few things to make sandwiches but I know they’re having struggles of their own. I feed my kids and go without because I’m not sure when we will get food again. Forget asking the neighbors. They hate me anyways. They’ve made that perfectly clear with the rocks thrown at my screen door and the yells of “cracker,” “honky,” and my personal favorite, “white bitch.”

From the dark living room, I hear my kids going through the Sunday newspaper that I took from the broken newspaper box. I hear my son exclaim, “Oooh I want that! And that one! Oh my God that one looks really good!” I walk towards them to see what they’re reading. “You can have that one. I will have these three.” I see little bodies lying on the floor, faces illuminated by a flashlight. His precious, short, little, five-year-old fingers touch the pictures of burgers and fries. “Sunday newspaper ads always seem to have the best deals and coupons on fast food,” I sadly think to myself. I turn my head and begin to cry. I’ve done this to them out of my own selfishness. What kind of mother am I?

I have GOT to fucking do something! I walk through the projects to get to the only payphone. There are young black men everywhere. Standing around as if waiting for a taxi. I hear, “You straight?” “Hey sweetheart, you straight?” Lingo for, “are you looking to score drugs?” NO MOTHERFUCKER I’M NOT STRAIGHT! My rent is due. My power is off and my kids are hungry. You gonna fix THAT? Ignorant. I reach the payphone after weeding through the drug dealers only to have a dozen more at the barbershop asking me the same question. I break down and call mom. She’s my only hope. I beg her to send money. Just a bit for the kids to eat. “I’m broke too, Tonia. There is no way I can send money right now.” I’m every emotion possible. All at the same time. I’m losing it.

There’s another shooting. This time, a prostitute was left in the bushes next to our apartment complex to die, naked and humiliated. There’s a backwoods club down a dirt road about 150 yards from the complex. I stay indoors when the club is open because there’s no way I’m letting anyone know a white “bitch” lives here. One night, shots rang out and four policemen….FOUR policemen show up. There are hundreds of people swarming the streets. I watch from my second story window. The police are outnumbered. What the hell can they do? I feel so safe. *insert sarcasm and hopelessness*

The police are no better than the drug dealers. Example, the neighbor’s son got pulled over with three pounds of marijuana in his trunk. When he went to court the judge told him he was being charged with two pounds. Now you tell me, what the hell happened to it and are you going to argue? I was pulled over on my way to work. I received a ticket for no proof of insurance while driving my cute, little ford focus, didn’t pay for it and didn’t appear in court. I was arrested and taken to jail. On the way there, the officer says, “You smell great. Don’t worry about Hall County Detention. Those officers like pretty girls and are usually pretty lenient.”  Think someone would believe me if I told? Do you believe it? I know I didn’t but that’s the way it went down. The feeling of helplessness and defeat will overtake everything innocent that you believe in.

Tonia

My husband was finally released after 8 months. The power came back on, the fridge was full, and the kids were happy. Life went on but we were never the same. After spending 5 years in the projects, I had had enough. I moved back home to Montana with the kids and left him in Georgia.

Georgia left me hateful and blind and I couldn’t stand how that made me feel. I learned to hate because I was hated.  Eventually, I moved on and learned that things didn’t have to be that way. The world was full of color and flavor and it was up to me to reach out and taste it. When will racism, poverty, hate crimes, and general judgement cease?  It’s up to you, my dear readers. The world is not always……..black and white.

Carnival Ride To Nowhere

“It seems like you may be an emotional eater.” I stare back at my therapist blinking rapidly, thinking about him sitting at a desk in college taking notes on paper instead of an electronic device. He seems totally outdated. He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t think he quite gets food addiction.

Way back when my grandparents were growing up, everything came from their OWN fields and hen houses. Now, it seems like everything is genetically modified. Sprayed chemicals on our fruit and veggies to help them grow faster and larger. Hormone injections are put into our cattle so that they grow faster and larger. Anything to feed our hungry and obese. I am the starving fat lady. God knows I need my over-sized burger and gigantic fruit!

So perhaps it isn’t the food itself we are addicted to. Like a heroin addict during withdrawal we are addicted to the chemical. It leaves us wanting more. It tickles our insides when we finally have it. Add a dash of convenience to the mix and you’ve got a hot ass addiction. We try to do good. I know I do. I can’t count how many diets and life change rodeos I’ve been to. Just eat better and exercise. Oh, that’s it? Thank God you’re here to tell me that. What a break through! meme Can you imagine if I tried to exercise all the calories I consumed? There aren’t enough hours in the day OR night to burn those suckers off.

My shame is unlimited. I walk into a restaurant and the first thing I look for is whether or not the booth tables are movable. Before going to an unfamiliar movie theater I call ahead to be sure their seats are large enough. Carnival rides? Forget about it. Being overweight you are constantly reminded just how fat you are. Every where I go I have to think about my weight. Can I walk that far? Can I fit? Will I be looked at and judged?

So do something about it! *nods at the stupidity of that statement* You know those little excited wind-up toys? You wind it up until it takes off real fast and then eventually it burns out and slowly winds down until you crank it up again. Well, that’s my “doing something about it.” I start out excited and ready to go. I take off! Full steam ahead! Then, I start to wind down. I no longer have the energy or care to try and I am back where I started until something else comes along to wind me up again. The roller coaster is unreal. All I know is, I want off this damn ride. Get me back to the concession stand. I’m starving.

cake

 

Rewards With Consequences

“You’re going to finish all that is on that plate.”

“But I’m full.”

“Don’t move from that table until it’s gone.”

Ever hear this in your home growing up? It was always important to eat everything on your plate even if you’re not the one that dished it all on. So what you’re telling me is, you piled all this food on my plate not knowing how much I would eat and you want ME to finish it? I’m sure my parent’s parents told them the same thing. So, who breaks that cycle? Who will tell their child that it’s perfectly OK to throw food away? That wasting food is OK. That making your own choices about how much you put on your plate is OK. Once we’re adults it’s embedded so deep in our minds that we don’t even realize that we’re doing it. So we dish up our child’s plate and control the portion ourselves, not knowing our child’s OFF switch. So why not scoot Johnny up to the counter and have him dish his own? Within common-sense of course.

What about advertisements? Stop for a moment and think. How often do you see a food commercial after 5 pm? How many food advertisements on billboards did you read on the way home? How many grocery stores announcing great deals on their orange-bulb sign did you read?

Two for five!

One free when you buy two!

Kids eat free on Tuesday!

Buy 1 Get 1

The list goes on. Think about how much our grocery bill would shrink if we only bought what we NEEDED. Because it’s on sale, does it mean you should buy it? Do you write a grocery list to shop and then pick up a “few extras?” Does convenience outweigh obesity?

Rewards with consequences. Food becomes the reward. Obesity becomes the consequence.

When I first learned to tie my shoes, it went like this:

Over, under, around and through,
Meet Mr. Bunny Rabbit, pull and through.

“You did it! You tied your shoes! Every time you tie them on your own you can have a Twinkie!”Ah grandma’s house. I love grandma’s house.

Besides feeling hungry, when do you eat? My nasty cycle is, “You celebrate, you eat. You’re rewarded,  you eat. You’re fussy, you eat.  You go out with friends, you eat. You’re sad, you eat. You’re happy, you eat.” And again, it doesn’t help that there are signs and colors and smells… oh my! So today (just try for today) step back and take a look at your surroundings. Count up the billboards, the signs, the coupons, the sales! Take a list to the store and only get what is on that list. I will walk this with you and will post results! You can leave yours in the comments. Are you going to be the first to break the cycle?

My results done on 4/10/2015 within a 15 miles radius

  • 4 fast food commercials in 2 hours.
  • 6 food billboards
  • 4 family restaurants with large advertisements.
  • 18 fast food restaurants!

Thirty-two!! So at the least, 32 times a day I am subjected to food advertisements and how great food is and how cheap and easy it is!

 

Are you ready?

Four. One. Two. Not dollars. Not calories. Not the number of times I have hit the snooze button on a Monday morning but POUNDS! When I stepped off the scale and turned to look at the petite nurse I about fell over. The only thing stopping me was the fact there was no way in hell this little thing was going to absorb my fall. How did this happen? Well no, I know HOW this happened but WHEN? I bet it was that time I did the juicing diet for a week and then cheated by adding ice cubes to make me feel fuller. Yes. It was the ice cubes. Aside from the 4 slices of pizza and 2 king-sized candy bars that “ONE” night, I can’t imagine when this happened!

I am a small town girl (small TOWN, not GIRL) who loves her food. Fast food, Soul food, Mexican food, Chinese food, OLD FOOD, NEW FOOD, GROSS FOOD. I. Love. Food. Hello, my name is Tonia and I am addicted to food. *insert sarcasm* I get so pissed when I drive by a Dairy Queen and see all those skinny people with their skinny kids and their skinny dogs in their skinny cars ordering their skinny cones and mini blizzards.  My DQ conversation goes like this:

Hello welcome to Dairy Queen, may I take your order?

Yes, I would like the large Oreo blizzard, a Peanut Buster Parfait and …..a large water. Oh! And a corn dog.

Is that all?

Oh God I hope so.

I slowly roll up to the window and the sweet, young cashier peeks into my car. Yes. It is only me. Take my money so I can roll over to the grocery store parking lot and eat away my shame.

I started this blog because I am tired of living my lie. I tell myself that I am still 130 pounds and try to convince the world along with me. People tell me, “You don’t ACT like you’re 412 pounds.” Really? Oh thank God! I mean, am I supposed to be bed ridden? Walk around with a Twinkie in my mouth…mmmm…Twinkie. How does a 412 pound person…..act? I will venture on. I will make goals and lifestyle changes. I will cry, bitch, moan, laugh and have excuses. Most importantly  I will have you, my dear readers. My supporters. My bashers. My fatties. My lifeline.

So there you have it, my honesty on a plate. With potatoes and creamed corn.