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Everyone likes to see a woman with a Burberry scarf and a Birkin bag wobble on her Jimmy Choo’s and fall flat on her ass.  It’s just a sick little part of being human.  It’s schadenfreude.  If it happened to me it just wouldn’t be amusing.  As a matter of fact, when it does happen to me, people run over in a panic and ask if I’m okay.  That’s how I know I look like an everyday citizen.  I get help but at the price of knowing that I’m not high fashion.  It’s a trade-off.

Saturday night I felt like if anyone else had seen what unfolded there would have been laughter at my expense.  I was temporarily raised up from the level of middle class suburban wife and office worker.  Josh and I went to the restaurant at the hotel where we got married to celebrate our first anniversary a few days early.  I put on one of my best dresses, wore my best jewelry, spent real time on my hair, carried a designer bag, and wore the most expensive pair of shoes I own (this isn’t saying much when you live for the buy one, get one sales at Payless, but still).  I felt hot.  I felt like the best version of me that is possible.  That feeling should have been my warning signal.

I got up to go to the bathroom four times during dinner.  I think the baby had some part of herself on my bladder.  On trip number two, when I finished peeing, I used the toilet paper, threw it in the bowl, and then pulled up my panties as I started to stand.  I guess the wad of paper had only gone into the bowl halfway, so the bottom was soaked, but the top of the wad was sticking up at the level of the seat like the tip of the iceberg.  I’m only guessing, because had I actually seen it, what happened next might have been avoided.  This is my Titanic.

Somehow the top of the wad of t.p. got caught in the bottom of my panties.  When I came to a fully standing position I had a large wad of soaked and soiled toilet paper dripping down my leg, onto the floor, onto the toilet seat, and still attached to the panties themselves.  My problem solving skills went into action.  I was far too mortified to get maintenance, so I needed to handle this myself.  Step one, remove t.p. from panties, and place inside bowl in its entirety (if only I had thought of this several moments earlier).  Step two, clean self with hand soap.  Step three, attempt to sanitize and dry toilet seat.  Step four, wipe up floor (feet go there, no sanitization required).  Step five, say a little prayer of thanks that the hotel lobby has completely self-contained toilet stalls with floor-to-ceiling doors, that contain toilet bowl, sink and soap dispenser all at once.

When I got back to the table, I attempted to tell Josh what had happened.  I laughed so hard describing the scene that I nearly peed my pants.

Last night I was on the phone with my mother, and tried to explain the difference between “normal” people who just eat too much and people with Compulsive Overeating Disorder.  I don’t know if it sunk in, but it was a good first attempt.  I did let her know that it hurts me to hear the language she uses when talking about weight sometimes.  She tosses around things like “willpower”.  My will never had anything to do with it.  The fact that I let myself get to 280 pounds had nothing to do with a weak will, and my losing that weight had nothing to do with a strong one.  I felt I needed to say something so that she could begin to understand how hopeless it feels when I, with strong will perfectly intact, could still not stop myself from eating to excess.

I thought that maybe I could get everything to sink in by explaining with an example.  I told her to think of someone who is a drinker, but with no alcoholism, versus someone who is an alcoholic.  On a Saturday night, you might not be able to tell the difference.  In fact, if you saw either one at a party, you’d expect to see her enjoying a drink.  If there was no drink you might say “it’s a party; have a drink!”  It’s similar with food.  At a dinner party, everyone, including me, expects me to eat.  Perhaps to even indulge a bit.  It would be MORE abnormal to sit in the corner with a salad than to have one or two treats.  It’s so natural and expected to eat a little in excess at a party, that the next morning it would still be difficult to determine if I had just enjoyed my one treat for the week, or if I had taken the first step towards a massive compulsive binge.

The biggest distinction between alcoholism and food addiction is of course that the recovering alcoholic refrains from all alcohol consumption.  Any consumption at all is considered a back-slide.  Back-slides are normal and expected, and the definition is very straightforward.  The problem with a food addiction is that every day food must be consumed.  Failure to continue to consume food is simply the flip-side of the same problem and won’t fix anything.  So, eating on the Pyramid is my methadone.  Back-slides are a lot harder to pinpoint.  It’s not necessarily a back-slide if I have dessert, because dessert is a part of life.  A part, in fact, of the Pyramid.  It’s only a problem to have the dessert, or the entree for that matter, compulsively.  This is a very difficult to determine and subjective standard, and it can drive my brain into a self-defeating circle of second guesses.

It hurts to admit addiction to someone I love, but maybe it helps both of us to confront the problem I have instead of the one I wish I had.  It would be a lot easier on me if I just needed to step away from the Cheese Puffs or something.  Weight has never been that simple for me.  Someday I hope I can wake up and feel confident about eating the food that keeps me alive and healthy, but for now I’m just trying to get by.

My brother got married this past Saturday.  It is a pretty awesome thing to imagine him married.  Both of us married.  We were both single for so long that this never seemed like a realistic outcome.  And yet, here we are.  We’ve both managed to grow up, in every sense.  For a long time we both wanted to be married but did everything the opposite of how you would do it if marriage was your goal.  Sex with random people, dating emotionally unstable people, carrying on long distance relationships…the inevitable outcome was that we were always on our own.  When the time was right we both wound up with exactly who we should be with.  I found my sensitive geek, and Paul found a person who is strong enough to fight him and sensitive enough to need him.  Our perfect matches.

Every little thing that went wrong, and it really was just little things that went wrong, was completely overshadowed by the unbelievable joy that I felt.  I loved seeing Paul so happy.  I have a great new woman to call “sister-in-law”.  And actually, I’m claiming an additional sister-in-law in Nicole’s sister, just because I can.  I have such a small family that I’ll take what I can get, especially if it’s someone cool.

And check us out.  I may have had to struggle to be content in the family I have, but we’re just stronger for the struggle.  It’s a good place for me to be, and a good home in which to raise my child.  From left to right, my family is Josh (husband), me, Nicole (new SIL), Paul (brother), Emily(1st cousin) and Jon (1st cousin).  They’re good people.  I’m a lucky girl.

Every time I try to leave town there’s something at work that I simply cannot believe I’m leaving.  Right in the middle.  No one else to do the work.  This is one of those times.  I think I’ve kept the sky from falling, but only time will tell.  I’m glad I’ll have a laptop with me.

I’m away until July 13th.  First I’m visiting friends in Chicago.  I’ve never really seen Chicago, and I figure, here’s my chance.  From there we’re going to Montreal for sightseeing and French food.  Then off to New Jersey for my brother’s wedding.  My little brother’s wedding.  So excited for that.  Work will seem a relative calm when I return.