The Food Conundrum
eating to live, eating to die
I’m a mess. I’m not even talking about the disarray of my house or my emotional state right now. I am physically a mess. And it’s all my fault.
Going to the doctor can be a humbling experience. Hearing that there are things wrong with you, and that most of them were preventable, can really do some damage to your psyche. In my case, I injured my leg. One day I got out of bed and just couldn’t stand on it, couldn’t put any pressure on it without agonizing pain. Walking was difficult. I laughed to myself, thinking about how I’m old to enough to get injured getting out of bed. But it was a cynical laugh, one that turned to tears when I attempted to walk the dog and could barely make it down the walkway.
I knew right away that if I didn’t weigh so much, the healing would happen quicker, the pain wouldn’t be as intense. The doctor I saw told me as much. And while I was at the doctor, I had to get two hepatitis vaccines because my liver isn’t functioning correctly because of the cholesterol medicine I’ve been taking for years. If I didn’t weigh so much, if I wasn’t so unhealthy, I wouldn’t need that cholesterol medicine. We also talked about my Type 2 Diabetes which - if I didn’t weigh so much, if I wasn’t so unhealthy - wouldn’t be an issue.
I left the doctor’s office to go get an ultrasound on my leg and spent the drive thinking about what I was doing to myself, and what I wasn’t doing for myself. My relationship with food is a dangerous one; I eat for comfort, I eat when I’m sad, I eat when I’m happy. I feed my feelings constantly, sugar for the good moods, carbs for the bad moods. I eat when I’m hungry, but I also eat when I’m not hungry, but just bored. I eat because I love food. Food tastes good. Food makes me feel good where other things just don’t.
I eat with guilt. I am constantly thinking to myself I shouldn’t be eating this. I eat anyhow, and then when I’m done I’m wracked with regret. I’m hyper aware of my weight, my blood sugar, my cholesterol numbers. Those numbers roll around in my head like the scoreboard on a pinball machine, constantly rising. I know all this, I know things are bad, I know I’m destroying myself, and I do it anyhow because I have no will power. I am weak, I am self destructive. I am in a constant battle with myself about food and weight. It’s exhausting.
I’ve gone through weight loss phases. I used to run every day. I used to belong to a gym. I used to have a Peloton. I did Weight Watchers for a year. I went vegan for six months. I’ve lost 50 pounds here, 50 pounds there, and gained it all back because dieting and exercise are not things that stick with me. I’m manic, I have a mood disorder, and the phases where I exercise and eat healthy always start off great, but fade as my mood wanes and my will disappears. And the thing about corporate diets and exercise apps is that they are designed to make you feel bad when you fail. I am tired of being made to feel bad about myself. I’ve tried crash diets and fad diets and nothing about them made me feel like I was doing something healthy.
I know I am killing myself, that my remaining years will be spent in various kinds of pain and bad health if I don’t get a grip on things. But how, after 50 somewhat years of viewing eating as a mental health cure, do I stop feeling this way? How do I get on a path to better health, one that will last? I’ve searched for these answers and realized that as long as I have mental health issues, I will have eating issues. I know I need to exercise, I know I need to diet but oh how I hate that word. It represents abysmal failure to me.
I made a grocery order for today and opted for all “healthy” food which is to say, healthier than I normally buy. Lots of fruit and vegetables, no carb heavy snacks, no candy, no processed foods. I’m not dieting, per se. I’m just trying to change what I eat, a little at a time. I’m terrified that I’m going to kill myself with the way I eat, with the way I don’t take care of myself. But I know. I know this is the manic me speaking. I know I’ll immediately lose weight and talk about how good I feel and my numbers will go down and there will come a day when I don’t want to do it anymore, when the phase winds down. I have to figure out a way to not fall into old habits again. You’d think that keeping myself alive and healthy would be enough impetus, but my diseased brain thinks otherwise. I am at the mercy of myself.
Knowing that all my bad health revolves around my weight is demoralizing. But it means it’s also something I have control over. I have to harness that control and keep it going even when my “let’s eat healthy” phase wanes. I have to push harder, work myself harder if I want to be around to see my future grandchildren, to enjoy retirement. I don’t want to be one of those old people who just complains constantly about their aches and pains and ailments. Every ailment I have is an ailment I have the power to eliminate. It’s humbling and it’s empowering at the same time.
I know that therapy might help me dig into the reasons why I eat the way I do, why diets don’t work with me, why I sabotage myself constantly. But I’m not in therapy at the moment and I have to figure out on my own how to get out of this eat/guilt/eat rut I’m in. Switching from caramel popcorn to cucumbers is all well and good, but making that switch stick is going to be the real challenge. I don’t have to just change my eating habits, I have to change my mindset. I don’t know if I have it on me to do that.
I’ve always had a distaste for diet culture, even when I was taking part in it. I want to just be left alone to be who I am, which is a person who likes to eat, who needs to eat in order to feel good. That this is also what’s killing me is the conundrum of a lifetime.