Drug Medical Information

OVEREATERS ANONYMOUS: THE VALEDICTORIAN

In a family of painfully thin people, I was labeled the "fat" one. My parents and sisters were so thin they avoided cameras and the females cried after trying on clothes because they were so bony. During the Depression years it was considered healthy to be plump.

When I look at childhood pictures of myself, I realize that I was quite normal. But I thought of myself as fat.

During adolescence I amazed my friends by eating voraciously without putting on a pound; but by high school graduation I was carrying 25 extra pounds, all below the waist, hidden as well as possible by dressing carefully.

The conflict between school and home life was in full bloom. At home I was a clumsy drudge, always striving for perfection (which I thought was possible with a little more effort on my part) and always falling short.

An old French tradition led my parents to seek a balance in our behavior to avoid that most hateful of sins - conceit. The news of any success at school was met with a reminder of failings at home. My self-esteem was very low, although there were moments of great exhilaration - being valedictorian, winning scholarships, cheerleading, election to organizational offices, and important roles in school plays and as a vocal soloist.

My family thought college was a waste of time for a woman, but allowed me to go when I agreed to pay all costs, provide my own clothing, continue with household chores and make a token payment for room and board. What perverse pride I took in being so self-sufficient! The comfortable feeling of martyrdom took the edge off the hardships. Those were busy years. I was hoping to become a woman lawyer, a rare ambition for a steel worker's daughter in post-World War II days.

I worked in a local dairy store, famous for its imaginative creations at the soda fountain. I began to refer to myself as a "foodaholic." It seemed funny then.

After two years my enthusiasm began to wane when one of my friends became an attorney and related discouraging tales of a woman's limited prospects in that field. It was a period of disenchantment for me. College lost its mystique when the academic work proved easy to master, a pattern that was commonplace in my life.

I frankly felt superior to most of the women I knew and had men pegged as an interesting, if unknown, quantity - but certainly intellectually inferior. The men I would have liked to date were put off by my arrogance.

When I began to date often, my parents were concerned about my sexual behavior. Being supersensitive, I took their inquiries as accusations and determined to rebel in my own way I soon left school, pregnant, to be married. We had three children and a shaky marriage.

I reveled in my "disgrace." I kept friends and neighbors in stitches, pointing out the shortcomings of my husband and my misadventures as a housewife. I used to say that I would rather be hated than pitied. Now I realize that my stories were filled with self-pity and all pointed back to "poor me." I loved to help others but would never accept any help for fear that I would then "owe" someone something.

When I was twenty-eight I learned that I had uterine cancer. I had never heard of anyone who survived such a diagnosis and prepared to face death. I wanted desperately to regain my childhood faith but found it out of my reach. I did survive, more confused than ever. The "spayed dog" jokes began and my weight fluctuated wildly. I became overly protective of my children, who were of school age. It didn't take much encouragement to become the forerunner of today's retread college students, this time as a prospective language teacher.

Eventually I was asked to teach at the university level, a position I loved so much I would have paid to do it. Astonishingly, I was never hungry until I arrived home at night. I could easily fast every day until noon, but the minute I opened the refrigerator all resolve melted. In the past, I had read about celebrities who maintained their figures with creative low-calorie dishes prepared by their cooks. If only I didn't have to spend so much time in the kitchen; if only I didn't have to stretch our budget with high-carbohydrate fillers, I could be slim, too.

I gained another 25 pounds which were impossible to hide.

When my youngest son was in high school, I declared my independence from the kitchen and from any valet duties in the house. I stated that we were all adults, that there would be food in the refrigerator, and that each person was responsible for cleaning up after himself.

I was running out of excuses for my overeating. Even declaring my independence from the kitchen didn't stop me.

Then everything fell apart. The industry for which my husband worked closed its doors. He turned increasingly to drink. Times were changing at the university, too. I was publishing but doomed to perish without my Ph.D. My husband started at the bottom in a new job with the merchant marine and suddenly I was alone and inactive. My weight hit a new high. I was on my way to becoming fat-lady-of-the-circus obese.

It was comforting to stay home because I could see the shock on my friends' faces when I appeared in public. I had always been a chameleon, changing the color of my personality according to what I assumed was my reflected image in the eyes of those around me. I hated that reflection and those who mirrored it. It wasn't the real me!

But maybe it was. The frayed inseams on my pantsuits said so. I was falling down often. What had happened to my figure skater's grace? It came to me that I had chosen one of the ugliest and slowest ways to commit suicide.

After experimenting with every diet plan I read about, I joined a commercial weight-loss group, lost one dress size, and then despaired. I had heard about Alcoholics Anonymous and was jealous that they could attain sobriety while I had to take that first deadly bite to survive. I saw an article about OA in Dear Abby and sent for" information. There was a group in my city. Still, I felt that if I could muster a little self-discipline I could licks the problem. Surely the same drive that had worked soo well in school could be channeled into this area. I had an inspiration. I would make a verbal promisee to my husband that when he sailed home again, hee would find a thin wife waiting. I could lie to myself„ but my word to another was my honor. Oh, how I tried„ feeling more hysterical with each failure. My eating^ was out of control. My hunger was never appeased.

It took me a year to walk into my first OA meetings humiliated and belligerent. Why should I seek help from a bunch of fatties? (I have since come to love theirr sensitivity and intelligence.)

"Give me your diet and don't mess with my mind," H told them. They smiled at me. My best sarcasmo couldn't penetrate those tolerant smiles. I grabbed! some literature. I would read it and judge it and returrn to tell them how they could improve. Those smiles would evaporate next week.

I lost 26 pounds in the first month and it seemed! easy. I kept going to meetings, now smiling back at fellow members with silent smugness.

Unfortunately for my plan to sabotage OA, someone lent me a copy of AA's Big Book. I devoured it in one sitting and began to cry, a feminine weakness I rarely^ allowed myself. They were telling my story in that book. It took a little translation from alcohol to food , but I recognized myself on every page.

Then my appetite reappeared. I quickly surrendered!! to it, thinking how little willpower it would take to geflt started again. But I couldn't get restarted and I learned! another truism: It's easier to stay on than to get on.

I went to my next meeting ready to listen to what they were saying about the disease, and it began tea make sense - except for some of those twelve steps. How could I have injured anyone? Hadn't my veneer of ladylike politeness prevented me from doing anything worse than using witty sarcasm? Later, when writing my fourth step inventory, I was to discover that my frequent expression, "I hate people who . . . and institutions that ..." was only the tip of an angry, hurtful internal iceberg.

I began to realize that I had been dieting again and that, unless I made some drastic changes in myself, I would never achieve abstinence. I had to stop analyzing and start acting.

Luckily, I was able to attend a state OA convention where a wise speaker told us that our program was a double trail - without working the step program we would find abstinence impossible and without abstaining we couldn't work the step program well. My mind opened just a tiny crack. I had been afraid to be vulnerable, teachable, but with willingness came many good things.

Recently, I visited a friend who was undergoing treatment for alcoholism. "Aren't you afraid that we are being brainwashed?" she asked. We thought about it for a while and came to the mutual conclusion that our whole past had programmed us into negative thinking and that it would take some welcome "brainwashing" to begin to think positively.

My progress has been terribly slow. Being a quick student in school hadn't helped my plan of action. Often, those whom I sponsor seem to take gigantic leaps forward, inspiring me instead of vice versa. After two and a half years, I have finally lost all but 10 pounds of my excess weight and I have maintained instead of gaining during the plateaus.

My family life has become a great joy to me. What a revelation to find that my husband manages his life much better alone than when it was a joint venture. I simply had to step back to appreciate what he is - a much better person than I was trying to make of him.

My children willingly communicate now without having to defend every action. When I talk with my mother, I know that she has a right to her own actions and that my only responsibility is to love her and control my reactions. Before, the slightest hesitation in her voice told me I had displeased her and threw me into a panic.

I no longer see myself and my world as a reflection in the eyes of others. My perceptions come from a new confidence in my ability to view my surroundings without judgment.

A day of abstinence in my life is a thing of beauty. The fattest abstinent person at a meeting is in a better place than I am if I don't have abstinence.

I have become aware that I have an addictive personality. Maybe that's why I unconsciously denied myself too much liquor, too much impulsive spending.

I find that the void left by all these potential addictions is being filled by the only healthy addiction I have - love. I accept that there is a Power greater than myself and that the love that flows from It enables me to stand ready to love every person with whom I have contact - even the one in the mirror.

It's funny how nice other people have become. On my last birthday I welcomed being forty-eight because physically, spiritually and emotionally I am a much better me than I have ever been.

Someone told me that I have a long way to go if I expect the world to be equitable and fair. I'll never be well, but I am getting better. I have fallen on my face dozens of times, but I can stop branding myself a failure and, with the direction of my Higher Power, pick myself up and grow - a day at a time.

*28\245\2*