Bornfamous

It’s all crap. I feel like crap and I look like crap. Yesterday after Christmas dinner, I farted FOUR freaking times in front of the in-laws [Robby's girlfriend's parents, might as well call 'em in-laws, they will be soon enough.] We all made a joke of it but I was very embarrassed, of course, because the cause of my flatulence was obvious:

I. Can’t. Stop. Eating.

I didn’t even try to hide the eating yesterday. Or on Thanksgiving, when the in-laws were also here. Emily’s parents don’t have an ounce of fat on them, not because it’s fashionable to be thin but because they are too poor to overeat. I won’t go into details because they have a right to their privacy, but my compulsion is even more obscene in contrast to them.

I woke up hung over this morning, like it was New Year’s morning instead of the day after Christmas, and I didn’t have a drop of alcohol. It’s been building up to this for weeks now, every morning worse than the last.I am in pain from morning to night, even though I know from experience exactly what is causing my pain: sugar and gluten.

I know I have to stop, but you don’t know how many false starts I have made in the past year. It’s very discouraging. I’ve gone through withdrawal from sugar–a week-long exercise in migrainous agony–at least three times, all the way through the pain to the other side where I was feeling good and hopeful again, only to slide back to–well, this.

And please, let’s not even talk about the weight gain. Last week, I watched “The 650-pound Woman” on the Discovery Channel and cried to think of how much she must have suffered if I feel like this at a bit over a third of her weight. After gastric surgery and horrible complications, she had lost over 200 pounds by the end of the show–nice how they package it all up with a happy ending in an hour. I’ve been tempted to have that surgery in the past, but after reading that some post-gastric surgery patients still can’t stop overeating, and now after seeing this poor woman’s suffering–there is no way in hell I would do it. Ever.

You can argue all you like about willpower, but what we’re talking about is addiction, no different from alcoholism. Let’s face it, alcohol is just fermented sugar. In fact, I can recall actually feeling slightly drunk and then passing out on the couch after more than one ice cream binge. And yes, we’re back in that territory again.

Well duh, I’m hypoglycemic! How could I forget?

Okay, let’s just agree that I can’t afford to wait any longer. Yesterday, I really wondered if I might have a heart attack or a stroke, I was feeling so bad–and yet, I kept eating. My mother and grandmother–both obese–had strokes. My mother was only a couple of years older than I am when she had her first stroke. My sister had to have triple bypass heart surgery, thanks to diabetes, and pretty much everyone in the family–except me for some reason–had diabetes. Maybe I already have it and don’t know. I get it checked every year or two; it’s that time again.

So yes, I have to do something. Not sure what or how yet, but it’s a start.