It has been a long time since I last wrote and I apologize for that - writing that I have been under tremendous amounts of stress just doesn't seem to truly explain the magnitude of what is going on in my life right now. Dad has been living with me for close to sixteen months and as he continues to thrive I seem to be falling apart.
In the last year I have gained twenty pounds and I am at my heaviest - heavier than during pregnancy, heavier than all my stress-induced-food-binge-periods, heavier than all those years when I was in an extremely volatile marriage and subsequent divorce.
I am first, ashamed of myself - I vowed never to allow myself to be more than twenty pounds overweight, it provided a controlled environment, the minute the scale tipped at twenty pounds I would freak and start exercising and dieting to bring down the weight.
There have been a handful of times in my life when I was thin - gorgeous really. The perfect (hourglass) figure, the positive self-esteem, the amazing career(s). Each time I felt an inner peace and satisfaction in knowing that I could do it, if I really wanted to, I could be thin and healthy.
I would manage to keep the weight off for a couple of years only to start adding the poundage once the winds of change turned nasty in my life - Bad relationships, divorce, dysfunctional family relationships, disenchantment with life in general. It is not true when people say, "the weight just mysteriously came on overnight." I was painfully aware of each and every sickening pound as it comfortably melted into my hips and thighs. The excuses were plentiful - the empty promises to prevent any further weight gain, and the self-loathing I felt each time I had to look into the mirror only made me dig deeper into the refrigerator.
I used to think that "food addiction," was a made up excuse by some morbidly obese person struggling to justify their horrific predicament. How can anyone be addicted to food? It's nonsense and pathetical. But I am now a believer, since my father's arrival in January, 2011 I have found solace in a bag of challah bread. My taste buds have been awoken by the tantalizing tastes of moist and creamy petite fours. A good movie and a bag of Twizzlers became my best friend during the lonely hours between 1and 4 in the morning, while I nervously listened as my father roamed my home - yelling my name in a drunken stupor, and finding him on the floor - his legs stuck between the bathroom toilet and the wall. Laying there, blankly staring up at me, then violently accusing me of making it all up the next morning.
Caring for my dad has made me fat. It reminds me of my childhood - a nervous child, who found love and comfort in food. And just like that nervous child, so many decades ago, I too struggle with the guilt and shame of being out-of-control. "How does my father do it," I wonder? I am a (although I hate to admit it), a middle-aged woman still seeking the love and approval of a man who is incapable of such basic needs. I see him and I revert to that scared little fat girl, terrified of the man hovering over me, and scolding me, "why don't you use your brains? you are such a stupid child," he would say with distain.
Two weeks ago, for sixteen weeks, I entered a stringent, medically managed, weight loss program, that has been around for decades, called OPTIFAST Please join, support, and encourage me as I take this journey to take control back over my emotions, my body, my life! and maybe, along the way I might be able to help a few people struggling with the same issues too.
Linda Mundorff
In the last year I have gained twenty pounds and I am at my heaviest - heavier than during pregnancy, heavier than all my stress-induced-food-binge-periods, heavier than all those years when I was in an extremely volatile marriage and subsequent divorce.
I am first, ashamed of myself - I vowed never to allow myself to be more than twenty pounds overweight, it provided a controlled environment, the minute the scale tipped at twenty pounds I would freak and start exercising and dieting to bring down the weight.
There have been a handful of times in my life when I was thin - gorgeous really. The perfect (hourglass) figure, the positive self-esteem, the amazing career(s). Each time I felt an inner peace and satisfaction in knowing that I could do it, if I really wanted to, I could be thin and healthy.
I would manage to keep the weight off for a couple of years only to start adding the poundage once the winds of change turned nasty in my life - Bad relationships, divorce, dysfunctional family relationships, disenchantment with life in general. It is not true when people say, "the weight just mysteriously came on overnight." I was painfully aware of each and every sickening pound as it comfortably melted into my hips and thighs. The excuses were plentiful - the empty promises to prevent any further weight gain, and the self-loathing I felt each time I had to look into the mirror only made me dig deeper into the refrigerator.
I used to think that "food addiction," was a made up excuse by some morbidly obese person struggling to justify their horrific predicament. How can anyone be addicted to food? It's nonsense and pathetical. But I am now a believer, since my father's arrival in January, 2011 I have found solace in a bag of challah bread. My taste buds have been awoken by the tantalizing tastes of moist and creamy petite fours. A good movie and a bag of Twizzlers became my best friend during the lonely hours between 1and 4 in the morning, while I nervously listened as my father roamed my home - yelling my name in a drunken stupor, and finding him on the floor - his legs stuck between the bathroom toilet and the wall. Laying there, blankly staring up at me, then violently accusing me of making it all up the next morning.
Caring for my dad has made me fat. It reminds me of my childhood - a nervous child, who found love and comfort in food. And just like that nervous child, so many decades ago, I too struggle with the guilt and shame of being out-of-control. "How does my father do it," I wonder? I am a (although I hate to admit it), a middle-aged woman still seeking the love and approval of a man who is incapable of such basic needs. I see him and I revert to that scared little fat girl, terrified of the man hovering over me, and scolding me, "why don't you use your brains? you are such a stupid child," he would say with distain.
Two weeks ago, for sixteen weeks, I entered a stringent, medically managed, weight loss program, that has been around for decades, called OPTIFAST Please join, support, and encourage me as I take this journey to take control back over my emotions, my body, my life! and maybe, along the way I might be able to help a few people struggling with the same issues too.
Linda Mundorff
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