I heard at a meeting once that to forget your last binge could be fatal.  At the time, I was concerned by that statement because I don’t remember my last binge, as it was not overeating that brought me into FA, but the torment of restriction. I understand now that my last period of restriction was my “last binge,” and forgetting it could result in my returning to the food, and, ultimately, progressive insanity or death.

I was 26 and dry in AA (Alcoholic Anonymous) for a year. I still smoked marijuana when I could, took various psychiatric medications which I had manipulated my doctor into prescribing, and was using food full force. In the early months of not drinking, my weight peaked at its highest level ever, and I felt horrendous—fat, ugly, dirty, and ashamed. My reaction to this was to restrict my food and over exercise, a pattern I had been stuck in for years since starting to control my weight as a teenager. Every day I drank at least six liters of diet coke, smoked the equivalent of 40 cigarettes in rolling tobacco, and ate as little as possible. I got back down to a normal weight. In a pattern that was typical for me, my obsession deepened as I lost more pounds, and as a result, I ate less and continued to lose weight.

My dad was getting remarried, and four months before the wedding I found a slightly too-tight dress. I decided I would need to fit into it, and cut my food intake accordingly. As an addict, though, I didn’t know when to stop. By the date of the wedding, the dress was much too big and I was significantly underweight once again. My concentration dwindled and my over-activity bordered on hysteria. For the first time in my life, I honestly wanted to stop restricting. I found that I couldn’t. I could not force myself to eat more and I realized that the powerful control I thought I had over food was an illusion. I realized that, instead, food controlled me.

Reading “The Doctor’s Opinion” in Alcoholics Anonymous, I recognized that, for me, food was “alcohol in any form.”  I was using food obsession in the same way I had used alcohol. Great, I thought, all I have to do is apply the Twelve Steps to my eating and I’ll be fine.  So, I wrote about my powerlessness, prayed to be restored to sanity and asked that my will be aligned with God’s. Of course, it didn’t work because I was still trying to find recovery without a fellowship or definition of abstinence. My AA sponsor suggested I try FA. With the help of my Higher Power, I was granted the courage to call someone in this program. The member was on vacation at the time and so I was blessed with the space and time to become even more desperate and ready for FA. A week later I sat in the park near my flat, wretched and hopeless. I did not know what to do or where to turn—food was not an option. Right there on the grass, I dropped to my knees and silently said a very simple prayer, “Help.”

The desperate moment passed and I felt calmer. Walking home, I bumped into the psychiatric nurse who was assigned to my care but had been off sick for several weeks. Relief hit as I said those powerful words again, out loud this time, “I need help.” Reaching home after making an appointment with her, I saw my answering machine was flashing. The FA member had called back. I was terrified as I picked up the phone to return the call. Listening to the member talk, I heard my own story reflected back to me, although hers encompassed many more years of suffering.

I cried throughout my first three FA meetings, tears of identification and relief. Despite my Twelve-Step background, I thought FA was a cult, but the hope of a future without food obsession kept me going back. That was seven years ago now, and much has changed. I have been a stable weight since then and have not returned to bingeing, purging or starving. Through studying and beginning to practice the Twelve Steps in my life, I have been able to step outside the bubble of fear that I had no idea I lived in, and become a part of the world.

Despite this growth, I have struggled with doubt, depression, and anger—my emotional sobriety. Ninety days ago I was ready to leave program because I had become so despondent that I saw no point in continuing. I doubted that I was truly connected to God and my prayers felt empty, so why bother? I resented God, too, and stopped getting on my knees. Luckily, God didn’t take offense and stepped in. I was honest with my sponsor about how I felt and about how little effort I was putting into my program. She lovingly suggested that I could make the decision to re-start my abstinence and make changes in how I approached my program as an alternative to leaving. I actually made the decision to leave anyway, but the words that came from my mouth when we spoke next were the opposite. Something inside of me wanted to get well, and thank God that healthy part of me spoke up.

Over my first 90 days in FA, I have saw differences in my attitude, and I gained some important insights. One of these insights is that I had forgotten the willingness borne out of the desperation of my “last binge.” I knew I needed this program but I had lost the want and that genuine desire to get well.

I know today that I never want to forget my “last binge.” It could be fatal.