Years ago, I spent nine years in Overeater’s Anonymous (OA), but they let me define my own abstinence, which didn’t work for me. My last diet before coming into FA was Weight Watchers. Week after week, I got on the scale and prayed I would weigh at least the same as I had the week before. It didn’t really matter what the scale said though, because if my weight was down, I would eat, and if I stayed the same, I would eat that day and then start back the next day. I thought that even if I ate that day, by the following week, I would have a weight loss. I often thought that if my weight was up anyway, I might as well eat. It always seemed that the best answer was to eat.

Food and I had a love connection from the start. Food was my friend, it kept me company, it loved me, it didn’t yell at me, and it was always there for me. I used it to soothe fear, loneliness, and anger. I always felt so alone, and I used to wonder why no one was around for me to play with. I just kept filling that hole, that vacant space that longed to be loved and connected. In later years, I turned to cigarettes, alcohol, marijuana, meth, and my favorite, cocaine. I almost didn’t survive that whole period in my life. I just kept trying to fill that empty hole.

When it became clear that I was going to end up arrested or dead, I made the decision that I had to quit drinking, smoking, and doing drugs. I now know that it was relatively easy because I had switched back to my drug of choice—food. By now I was in my early thirties, and my metabolism couldn’t keep up. I thought I had figured it all out when I discovered that I could stick my finger down my throat and get rid of it all. Sadly, I found out later that this was bulimia—a disease.

Food was my comforter and my savior, but now it had turned on me. I couldn’t stop eating. I was insatiable, and every diet I tried only worked for a while before I blew it up and had to try something new.  I knew I could lose and gain, but I never figured out how to stay the same.

Everything I tried failed. I sought things that had a promise of a maintenance plan, but I never followed the instructions, and eventually it all came back. I lost 100 pounds on a liquid diet and back came the weight. I lost 100 pounds on Phen-Fen and got heart-valve damage. Food turned into a vicious predator that would not let go of me. I tried everything, including eating whatever I wanted, but there was never enough.

There was no FA where I lived, so I never knew there was help for me. I tried spiritual programs and religious programs. I tried, literally (I believed) everything there was. I knew that bypass surgery wouldn’t work, because I knew that I would stuff food down whether I had the surgery or not, and I would just end up hurting myself more.

I was defeated, and I accepted that I was going to be fat. The problem was that I was going insane with food thoughts and had a dialogue running in my head 24/7. Food was slowly but surely driving me out of my mind. I had no room for any other thoughts. I remember thinking that God would never give me something that there was no answer for, but there I was, worshiping the food god and hating myself for it.

Quite by chance, I told another student in my life-coaching class that I couldn’t even think, because the night before, I didn’t do homework and sat in my hotel room stuffing myself and flipping channels. She advised me to look into a food program. I thought that she was thin and blonde, and what could she know? But for some reason, I felt that I had to ask her about a food program, just to leave no stone unturned. All she said was go to a meeting on Monday night.

I just went and listened. I was sure that this was just another dead end. Then I saw the pictures and heard the stories of people with big weight losses who still had the weight off months later. At the break, I latched onto a sponsor for dear life. I told her I had to start right away or I would change my mind. I did everything she said as if my life depended on it, because it did.  I told myself that if I didn’t do this exactly, I would end up hospitalized, so this was to be my outpatient program.

I did it for a day and it worked, but I was sure it was a fluke. I did it for another day, and it worked. One day at a time, it became four years. I finally had what I had always hoped for. I was on maintenance, and had a healthy relationship with food and freedom from insanity. I knew there was no magic in the food plan. I knew that this was a gift from God, a gift I must never give back or it might not come again.