tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79514167111043977882024-03-21T14:03:40.148-07:00BerthaButtNoMoreAn examination of a world colored by food addiction and its outward manifestation, morbid obesity. A soul destroying world filled with obsessive thoughts, mind-numbing fantasies, and pain, mental and physical. But there is recovery in the 12 steps. I'm living it.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-18488798341429398442015-06-18T12:24:00.003-07:002015-06-18T12:51:12.038-07:00This would have been me<b>Saying a prayer of gratitude for the gift of recovery today, and sending a healing prayer to this woman and everyone else who is trapped in the hell that is food addiction. </b><a href="http://r.ddmcdn.com/s_f/o_1/cx_0/cy_0/cw_2001/ch_1334/w_2001/TLC/uploads/2015/04/my-600lb-life-309-03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://r.ddmcdn.com/s_f/o_1/cx_0/cy_0/cw_2001/ch_1334/w_2001/TLC/uploads/2015/04/my-600lb-life-309-03.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><br />
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From the TLC Channel: Marla's Journey</div>
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<a href="http://www.tlc.com/tv-shows/my-600-lb-life/photos/marlas-journey-in-photos/" target="_blank">/Marla's journey</a></div>
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<b>The highest weight I saw on a scale was 400 pounds. I hadn't weighed myself for years, and the typical bathroom scales back then (around 2000) only displayed weights up to 300 pounds. I was obviously over that. But I needed to know how much I weighed because I felt that if I saw the numbers, it would shock me into taking action. My opportunity to see the numbers came. One day I was in grocery shopping in Safeway, and I went to the ladies room. On my way there, I saw a huge scale that I assumed the store's butchers used to weigh huge pieces of meat that was brought in from their wholesalers. It was a digital scale. After looking around to see if anyone was nearby, I stepped on it. The LED display briefly flashed at 400 pounds, and I very quickly stepped down. Then I left as fast as I could. </b><br />
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<b>Looking back, I can't believe the amount of emotional pain and worry I caused my family. There are no words to describe the amount of regret that I have about that. But the best thing I can do is continue to recover and work on accepting that I can nothing do change the past, but I can do a lot to make sure that I am living in recovery today. Just for today. I don't know about tomorrow; it isn't here yet. But just for today, I have a program, and I will work it to the best of my ability. Thank you, God.</b><br />
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<b><a href="http://www.foodaddicts.org/" target="_blank">Food Addicts In Recovery</a></b>Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-493059219251066212013-11-22T16:43:00.001-08:002013-11-24T01:59:43.346-08:00What causes someone to be morbidly obese?I'm in a 12 step program for food addiction, and most of the people come in with anywhere from 40 - 100 pounds excess fat that they often say is the result of eating "a ton" of sugar. For those of you who don't know, the word "sugar" is used in the food addiction recovery meetings to indicate food like candy, cakes, pies, donuts, cookies, ice cream--you know, the sweet stuff. Now, I'm not averse to eating sweets myself, but only after I have had what my family called "real food", which was usually high fat protein (steak, fried chicken or pork chops, homemade hamburgers or meatloaf), LOTS of bread slathered in butter and some kind vegetables as a side dish. Then it was dessert. Snacks could be anything from a soup bowl filled with cereal and milk or a hot link sandwich with mustard, mayonnaise, ketchup and hot sauce. Oh, you thought I meant potato chips or popcorn for a snack? Yes, but that stuff was usually paired with the hot link sandwich. And I topped it all off with cookies and milk. THAT, my friends, is how a person eats their way into a 400+ pound body by age 40. By the grace of God, I don't eat like that anymore. It's truly a miracle, but I have to remember that it's a one day at a time issue. I can't afford to forget that I am a real hardcore, self destructive food addict who, without the help of a Higher Power Who I don't really understand (but pray and ask for help with this addiction all the time), and the food addiction recovery program, my family would have buried me a long time ago.<br />
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Here's some food related stories and videos that I recently found. Please read the Huffington Post story that I've posted, and watch the Jamie Oliver video that's posted below that. By the way, I was more than appalled that even though the kids in the video knew that those chicken nuggets contained ingredients that they all said "EWWWW!" and scrunched up their noses at when Jamie showed them what goes into the nuggets, when Jamie asked them if they wanted to eat any, they all raised their hands and said "yes". Why? "Because we're hungry!" Wow. Nice, Madison Avenue. You've effectively brain-snatched America's kids.<br />
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I nearly fainted one day when a young mom with a toddler in a stroller asked her little one "Do you want Wendy's or Taco Bell for dinner?" I saw another one giving her infant some Fanta orange soda one day. The child couldn't have been older than six months. That's like shooting diabetes into your child's veins! I kept my mouth shut, but I was screaming inside. In my opinion, this what mass marketing does--encourage people to become zombie consumers. The messages to buy that garbage are so persuasive that there isn't much resistance to keeping large quantities of it in their homes. My parents didn't feed me that stuff all the time; they did everything they could to limit my portion sizes, encourage me to eat all my vegetables (which I HATED), and stop me from drinking more than one soda a day.<br />
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It bears mentioning that the sugar content for sodas was different back in 60s because the soft drink companies used cane sugar instead high fructose corn syrup. Cane sugar still creates "sugar cravings" and metabolizes the same way in the body, but there's something about HFCS that seems to cause people to pack on the pounds faster and put them into hard core sugar addict mode. One example: when school districts were voting to take HFCS sweetened sodas out of their vending machines back in the late 90s/early 2000, a very obese teenaged girl who was being interviewed by a local Sacramento (CA) news station claimed that she was going to stop coming to school if they got rid of the sweet stuff because she HAD to have her sodas. (Unfortunately, I can't locate that news story, but I believe it was done by either<a href="http://www.kcra.com/"> KCRA Channel 3</a> or <a href="http://www.news10.net/">Channel 10</a> in Sacramento.)<br />
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However, I think I was one of those kids who was genetically predisposed to food addiction. There's nothing my mother and father could have done to prevent me from being a food addict, and they spent a lot of money trying. No amount of diets, nutritional consults with doctors, hypnotherapy or even locking up the refrigerator worked for long. I became a sneak, creeping into the kitchen to get another slice of my mother's meat loaf for a sandwich, or grab a bowl of her amazing (and VERY rich) homemade macaroni and cheese. My mom would yell, "Get out of the kitchen, now! You've had enough to eat!", but that didn't stop me from coming back when she was busy doing something else. I learned to wait until she was caught up with arguing with my father, which usually happened as soon as he walked through the front door. Yes, there was a connection. But that's a whole 'nother story.<br />
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Families these days are at an even greater disadvantage when it comes to trying to preventing food addiction and childhood obesity. We didn't have the overwheming sensory overload of food commericials or the abundance of high fructose corn syrup and chemically additives in food like we did now. Couple that with the fact that many parents grew up eating even more of that non-nutritional junk than I did, add that with the fact that they never learned to cook well balanced meals for themselves, you have the perfect recipe for <a href="http://www.allhealth.org/briefingmaterials/lancetobesityrev-393.pdf">childhood (and adult) obesity</a>. A lot of parents probably don't realize this, but they are potentially <a href="http://www.nih.gov/news/pr/mar2005/nia-16.htm">taking 10-15 years off their kids' life span</a> by feeding them all that junk. Unless they make a very determined effort to provide very nutritious meals with no processed ingredients in them, their children stand a good chance of developing nutritional deficiencies that could lead to obesity at an early age.<br />
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That's why I don't let my grandson watch television (and feed him the same food I eat), and I insisted on unleashing my critical analysis of food (and toy) commericials when my three children were growing up. Of course, they didn't appreciate it at the time. ("Mom, can we <b>just watch</b> T.V.?!!") But they know how to <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=drink+the+kool-aid">keep away from the Kool-Aid</a> as adults, and I'm taking credit for that. :) Yes, they wanted to eat the junk food like all the other kids, and I did give in sometimes. But none of them had the horrendous problems with obesity like I did growing up. And I'm very grateful for that.<br />
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/11/20/fast-food-truths_n_4296243.html">Fast food truths</a><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Az-7Qb7tDy0" width="459"></iframe>Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-19424285529284506892013-09-22T02:34:00.000-07:002013-09-22T02:34:10.658-07:00Brotherly Love Goes Viral, Big Time Rush Surprises Bullied SisterI saw this post...um, somewhere. My brain hasn't been holding on to much information lately, as far as remembering things is concerned. This disturbs me, but that will probably be the subject of another blog. If I remember to write it, of course. (Oh, wait, now I remember! I get email notifications from the web service <a href="http://www.upworthy.com/">UpWorthy</a>, then I watched it on YouTube.) Anyway, I had several flashbacks when I saw this story. I had to go through bullying in elementary school, but it was primarily about the color of my skin. A few kids teased me about my weight, which was 135 pounds by the time I was 9 years old. I was also five feet, four inches tall, considerably taller than most of my classmates at the time. Actually, I was harassed more for the color of my skin than my weight, which is something I discussed on my other blog, <a href="http://angelfly72.blogspot.com/2013/08/thoughts-as-result-of-marchonwashington.html">"Yeah...and so, anyway..."</a>, which was inspired by the 50th anniversary of the March On Washington. Basically, I didn't have to go through the same type of abuse that this dear child has to endure because I was very, very good with my fists. It's a shame she has to go through all that.<br />
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But it's wonderful how passionate her adorable twin brother is about protecting her. I was very touched by this story. But I wish she didn't have to deal with that horrific bullying issue. I understand how deeply words can hurt when you are only a child. It's so ugly, and depressing how cruel other children can be. There's no reason or excuse for that unacceptable behavior, either. Don't get me started. I've had to fight my way out of several bullying episodes, and after all these years, I can definitely tell you that it isn't the pain from punches that I remember so vividly. It's the words. Forget "sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me". That's not how I experienced bullying, and apparently, this little girl doesn't either. I can't remember any of the punches that the bullies managed to land, but I can tell you every single derogatory term that they called me. It's not that it has an emotional charge on it anymore because all that happened in the 60s and 70s, and I look back at all that as experiences that have made me emboldened and strengthened me as far as going out into the world and dealing with people and situations. What disturbs me is how nasty the bullies have become these days. It's deplorable. How do these children learn to be so vicious? Is it television, the music or the video games like some people like to claim? Or is it something else? I hate to say this, but even in the post Brown vs. The Board of Education era that I grew up in, I didn't have to put up with the daily torment the young people have to contend with these days. And my siblings and I were often the only black kids in the school.<br />
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The planet healer in me wants to reach out to her and her mother, and share with them about what I've been through so they know that other people have faced bullying, and conquered it. I'm not proud that I had to fight my way out of those situations because the bullies thought physical confrontations would frighten me into be as submissive as a toy poodle trained to do somersaults on command. But it worked. They learned that I was not the one to play with, and that it was very prudent to leave me the hell alone. That discovery on their part, and the subsequent reputation I gained as hard hitter followed me all the way from elementary school to graduation from high school. Unfortunately, I don't think that's a viable solution for this young lady and her family. These are very different days, and I think she would find herself in a lot more trouble if she ever turned physical on her tormentors.<br />
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I wish I could sit down and have a private conversation with her mother. I know what she's going through with being a single parent, trying to deal with raising her children, work, and the on-going pain of being obese. I don't know if the mother is a food addict, but if she is, it could be that her daughter has also picked up the tool of numbing the pain of daily life with food. In my experience, very little good comes from being obese and using food as a drug to get through life. It's a pretty miserable way of living. But since I have no idea how to get in touch with them, I'll take the next right action--pray for her and her children to be free of that abusive behavior, and that the bullies learn a very memorable lesson about the very negative consequences of their behavior.<br />
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There's a positive side to this story, however--the young lady (whose name I can't remember) had how much her mother and twin brother love her, and she was serenaded by the boy band "Big Time Rush". I've seen them on Nickelodeon a few times over the past three years while I was waiting for a cartoon to come on. (Yes, I love cartoons and comic books--I'm a SERIOUS tomboy/geek girl!) The band sang a beautiful a cappella song (They can SANG!) appreciatively well during the Good Morning America broadcast for their very excited fan. I'm sure she will remember that for the rest of her life!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ztIC8JYxSsM" width="459"></iframe>Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-72751430917655187402013-07-28T20:16:00.000-07:002013-07-28T20:16:23.169-07:00Aaaand, the headline shouts...<span style="color: red;"><b><a href="http://video.foxbusiness.com/v/2546917459001/former-biggest-loser-sued-over-weight-gain/?intcmp=sem_outloud">FORMER "BIGGEST LOSER" CONTESTANT BEING SUED OVER WEIGHT GAIN</a></b></span><br />
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All right, I shouted the headline with all caps too. Bad writer, bad, bad writer (slap). I've never been a fan of "reality" television shows since they have been gained a stronghold in American pop culture by exploiting what is inherent in every single one of us who is a member of the genus and subspecies <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human">Homo sapiens sapiens</a>: character defects. None of us have been spared from having these, in fact, I say that it our journey in life to discover what they are and, over a lifetime, dispell them by any means necessary. It's hubris for some people to think that they are the fortunate ones who are <span style="color: red;"><b style="background-color: white;">inhumanly</b></span> perfect, and have the indisputable right to judge, ridicule and cast aspersions on the hapless lots baring their personality warts before millions of people. Yes, it's so easy to do from the comfort of one's living room couch. I haven't been a fan since the first season of MTV's "<a href="http://www.mtv.com/shows/real_world/portland/series.jhtml">The Real World</a>" aired, which I watched with my then teenaged children. After two seasons, I started going back to my bedroom for my beloved reading time, which my children interrupted <span style="font-family: inherit;">with "Real World" updates during commercials. But that was enough for me. Little did I know that the barometer of "reality" shows was about to dip far below what I consider the lowest point on the debauchery scale. And even worse, people would eagerly sign up to be </span>humilitated in front of their peers on a weekly basis. I'm sure money has a lot to do with it. During an economic downturn, people become willing to do anything, a point that I feel was very aptly made in the Sydney Pollack disturbing 1969 movie, <i style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/They_Shoot_Horses,_Don't_They%3F_(film)">They Shoot Horses, Don't They?</a> </i>Altough it is not a reality show, it demonstrates how hopeless people can be easily manipulated into debasing themselves for the entertainment of others.<br />
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Now, I don't know if "Biggest Loser" star <a href="http://www.taracosta.com/">Tara Costa</a> was hopeless when she joined the reality show cast. Moreover, I don't know if the producers consider their show to be debasing. I wouldn't know; I've never watched it and I never will. However several media sources have been reporting that Ms. Costa apparently lost a lot of weight and, as that infamous <a href="http://www.tmz.com/2013/07/08/biggest-loser-tara-costa-lawsuit-fitness-weight-gain-fat/#ixzz2aJrqPsdg">web site TMZ </a> has declared, <span style="font-family: inherit;">"...<span style="background-color: white;">if re-gaining a bunch of weight wasn't bad enough, former "</span>Biggest Loser<span style="background-color: white;">" star </span>Tara Costa<span style="background-color: white;"> is now being SUED for porking up again." Porking up, huh? Yeah, that's really clever "journalism", folks. (Don't get me started on the current state of my once beloved profession; that's a topic for a different blog.) However, if Ms. Costa is a person like me, a food addict, then it was only a matter of time before the pounds would start coming back on. In fact, it won't matter how many Iron Man triathalons she runs, how many laps she swims or miles she cycles--it will never be enough to stop IF she has what I call "The Beast" pounding away at the sensible parts of her brain like I do. Furthermore, I don't know her and I can't rightfully refer to her as a food addict like me. Now, for the logical question: what is a food addict? I can waste a lot of time describing what it is, but Dr. William D. Silkworth, author of the article "<a href="http://www.aa.org/bigbookonline/en_doctoropinion.cfm">The Doctor's Opinion</a>" that is included in the book "Alcoholics Anonymous", does a much better job of describing the addiction process than I can: </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #003466; color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">We believe, and so suggested a few years ago, that the action of alcohol on these chronic alcoholics is a manifestation of an allergy; that the phenomenon of craving is limited to this class and never occurs in the average temperate drinker. These allergic types can never safely use alcohol in any form at all; and once having formed the habit and found they cannot break it, once having lost their self-confidence, their reliance upon things human, their problems pile up on them and become astonishingly difficult to solve.</span></blockquote>
Now, if you substitute the words "flour, sugar and excess portions of food" for "alcohol", and "food addicts" for "alcoholics", the meaning and implication of the above quotation will make more sense. Hence: "...the action of flour, sugar and excess portions of food on these chronic food addicts is a manifestation of an allergy: that the phenomenon of craving is limited to this class and never occurs in the average temperate eater."<br />
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What does that mean? For the food addict, eating flour, sugar, and excess portions of food creates this disturbance in the brain in which the addict keeps eating, and eating, and eating, even when the actual physical hunger has long ceased, and the stomach is so packed with food that it becomes painfully distended. Now, normal eaters do this from time to time during special occasions such as holidays, birthday, wedding and retirement parties, travel cruises...many people do "<a href="http://youtu.be/VFKifpMtlNs">I can't believe I ate the WHOLE THING</a>" scenario at different times in life. Dr. Silkworth would call those people "temperate eaters". But chronic food addicts do this kind of eating on a daily basis, even when they are watching themselves go back for more, and a part of their conscious minds screams out, "NO! What are you doing? You're going to eat yourself to death; you can't possibly fit anymore food in your stomach!" Yet, to their own horror, he or she fills up another plate, or stands at the refrigerator or stove eating out of cartons, containers or pots and pans until passing out, much like an alcoholic does. This uncontrollable behavior is the result of what Dr. Silkworth describes as "the phenomenon of craving":<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I do not hold with those who believe that alcoholism is entirely a problem of mental control. I have had many men who had, for example, worked a period of months on some problem or business deal which was to be settled on a certain date, favorably to them. They took a drink a day or so prior to the date, and then the phenomenon of craving at once became paramount to all other interests so that the important appointment was not met. These men were not drinking to escape; they were drinking to overcome a craving beyond their mental control.<br />There are many situations which arise out of the phenomenon of craving which cause men to make the supreme sacrifice rather than continue to fight. (From the book, Alcoholics Anonymous,<a href="http://www.aa.org/bigbookonline/en_doctoropinion.cfm"> "The Doctor's Opinion"</a>)</span></blockquote>
How many times has a person who is fat/obese or morbidly obese been told to "have some will power" or "self discipline"? Or, "I know the PERFECT diet for you; my cousin/best friend/coworker lost 85 pounds in three months!" And the overweight person tries these methods, and sometimes they work--for a short period of time. They lose 85 pounds, then to their dismay, gain 100 pounds back within six months or a year. What happened? Didn't they follow the dieting instructions and use all kinds of mental discipline to <b>prevent</b> that weight gain? Do they<b> like</b> being fat? All it takes is some will power; what kind of weak-willed "<b>loser"</b> goes through all that trouble to take off the weight, then gains it all back? What's going on here? Why can't they lose the weight and KEEP it off?<br />
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And, how many times has someone with a binge/purge disorder ate until they were in extreme pain, then "got rid" of the food through vomiting or laxatives or excess exercise (and in some cases, all three methods) because they KNEW they couldn't stop eating and dieting didn't work for them? They do this in spite of the fact that purging throws the <a href="http://bulimiasecrets.com/binging-and-purging/">body into extreme disarray</a>, causing a multitude of potential health problems. Not to mention that purging really isn't an <a href="http://www.helpguide.org/mental/bulimia_signs_symptoms_causes_treatment.htm">effective method of weight loss or maintenance.</a><br />
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IF Ms. Costa is a food addict or has a binge/purge eating disorder, I feel very badly for her. Unlike her, people with serious food issues can recover within the safety of a 12 step program's anonymity, and they don't have to go through the added stress and anxiety of people whose motives were to capitalize on her reality show popularity for their businesses. Sure, sure, she was a willing participant and received a considerable amount of money by signing that contract. However, <b>IF</b> she is addicted to food and had no awareness of that, there was no way she could have predicted her inevitable weight gain and, as many food addicts have experienced, the unraveling of everything she had worked so hard to create for herself in her life. Gaining weight is miserable enough, but to also watch helpless misery as your life spins out of control and all the commitments and promises you have made to yourself and others go unfulfilled? Nightmarish. On top of all that, the various news outlets have been reporting and broadcasting statements made by chief executive officer of <a href="http://www.newsday.com/entertainment/tv/reality-tv/tara-costa-former-biggest-loser-finalist-in-legal-dispute-over-weight-1.5649032">FC Online Marketing Michael Parrella</a>, which probably feels like someone pouring a salt and vinegar mixture into a gaping chest wound. I'm sure Mr. Parrella doesn't understand anything about food addiction or eating disorders. Even if he did, he probably wouldn't care. Just like the manager who fires the alcoholic/coke addict after repeated warnings to "get it together", his concern is the solvency of his business. And that is as it should be.<br />
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I can't help but wonder that if Ms. Costa or Mr. Parella had received some information about the devastating physical, mental and emotional effects food addiction and eating disorders can have on a person's life, that this situation could have turned out differently. Perhaps none of this would have been hashed out in the public; both parties could have met and discussed the issues involved, agreed that Ms. Costa would need some additional support, and resolved everything without the public airing of legal dirty laundry. But that doesn't satisfy the public's hunger for titillating gossip and scandals, does it? I mean, who needs to shoot horses when the entire world can read about the details of your professional and personal life crashing down around you with impunity?Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-70724117487680816482013-06-26T08:34:00.000-07:002013-06-26T08:34:15.244-07:00Well, it's official....The American Medical Association says obesity is a disease<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;">“Recognizing obesity as a disease will help change the way the medical community tackles this complex issue that affects approximately one in three Americans,” AMA board member Dr. Patrice Harris said in a statement." This statement made the usual rounds on <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/06/19/business/ama-recognizes-obesity-as-a-disease.html">many news sites</a> like <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/06/19/business/ama-recognizes-obesity-as-a-disease.html">this one</a> and <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2013/06/19/193440570/ama-says-its-time-to-call-obesity-a-disease">this one</a> AND including <a href="http://www.today.com/health/obesity-disease-doctors-group-says-6C10371394">the Today Show</a>. Impressive, isn't it? I'm not being sarcastic, for once. Obesity has been in the news from time to time, and a lot of people have opinions about it. Unfortunately, these same people don't have many facts about the recently named disease, other than "fat people need to diet and exercise" or "push away from the table, Tubby, or even worse, "They caused it on themselves; all it takes is willpower!". (There are other caustic observations that I've read on the various websites, but they are variations of the aforementioned themes. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22.5px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I know all too well the physical, mental and emotional torture of morbid obesity, as I have shared on this blog. I've done way too many diets, and the inevitable failure of each one became unbearably depressing. And I tried the "fat and happy" approach to life. It didn't work for me. Not when I was doing things like sobbing in excruiating pain becuase the cartilidge in my left was completely gone, and my hip bones were grinding into each other so much that they resembled a pretzel more than a normal hip on X-rays. And I haven't even got into my back and knees, which still give me a lot of problems, even though I've taken off a total of 158 pounds (It was 230, but I'm now coming out of relapse.) I couldn't resist to responding <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2013/06/19/193440570/ama-says-its-time-to-call-obesity-a-disease">an NPR story</a> in which made one of those variations on the same theme comments:</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #42474a; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Beg to differ. There's a lot of research linking the escalating rate of obesity amongst children and the proliferation of fructose corn syrup in soft drinks and many processed food. If you looked at the labels of soft drinks prior to cane and beet sugar shortage in the 70s, you would have found NO high fructose cane sugar in the ingredients.But corn syrup is easily processed and a much cheaper ingredient for the beverage industry. Obvious translation: higher profits. Same thing with snack foods, which does really good business these days. The beverage and snack food industry intentionally put ingredients in food that will appeal to the senses in a very profound way, creating a longing for their products. (NPR had a story about this not too long ago.) How many people haven't craved a Snicker's or a Pepsi when they are tired? (I've learned that a nap works much better.) That craving is precisely what the food and beverage companies are going for with their products. And young people, with their still-forming brains, are particularily vulnerable to addiction to that junk. When they grow up, do you think they'll suddenly become spectacularly healthy and fit? No. They are hooked. Even if they diet and exercise to a normal weight, the research shows that they will gain it all back within a year plus 10-20 percent more. Yes, parents have a responsiblity to monitor their children's food intake. But it doesn't make a difference if the child is hooked on Cheetos and Cherry Cokes or cocaine, as the imaging done on people's brains after eating sugary products has demonstrated. A 14 year old brain hooked on high fructose corn syrup is no different than a 14 year old brain hooked on crack, legal issues and moral judgments aside. Both kids believe they ave to have it, and they will lie, cheat and steal to get it. Ask any mother who has an obese child. She will tell you all about how all the treats she bought for a party "just vanished", according to her very overweight child. This problem runs far deeper than anyone can imagine. This decision by the AMA is a step in the right direction, in my opinion, but that's all it is. One step.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, will this decison made by the American Medical Association make a difference in the lives of obese people? Time will tell. But I really think it will make a monumental difference in the income of the pharmacuetical companies. They have several weight loss drugs lined up, just waiting for the doctors' prescriptions. </span>Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-76580506824207039042013-04-29T13:01:00.001-07:002013-04-29T23:50:36.234-07:00Similarities between my addiction to food and drug addiction<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR34DczdedmXvi60O8nBLq8_8pvyunZLnx-xCy6zCUcpUEi14I5uw" /><br />
<b>David and Nic Sheff</b><br />
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Last week, I started reading David Sheff's book <i><a href="http://davidsheff.com/beautifulboy/">A Beautiful Boy</a></i>, and his son Nic's book, <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9473116-we-all-fall-down"><i>We All Fall Down</i>.</a> I tried reading both of them at the same time, meaning, read a chapter of David's book, then a chapter of Nic's. But for some reason, I didn't want to read Nic's book. I told myself that the reason was that David's book was well researched and beautifully written. I come from the same generation, and I'm accustomed to reading the concise, descriptive style of writing the elder Sheff displays in his book. The more in-your-face, raw style of his son was jarring to me, or that's what I told myself. My first reactions to books and life situations aren't what they seem at the time. There's often something rumbling underneath the surface of my initial reaction. Usually, it's something I don't want to face.<br />
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I wish I could say that since David Sheff is from my generation and a journalist that I identified more with his story. I admire his writing and his dedication to setting the stage, providing the research that is necessary for understanding the most complex pressing social and health issue facing this country right now. And, for the sake of pride (which, as we all know, cometh before the fall), I would like to say that I belong to his group of esteemed journalists. But that would be a lie. My food addiction and extremely low self-esteem obliterated every dream I ever had of working for a major newspaper or magazine when I was younger. And, he managed to earn a living doing what he obviously loves. That would be another no for me, for the reasons stated previously. And, if that isn't enough, he lives in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marin_County,_California">Marin County</a> (California) with his wife and two children, who are Nic's step-siblings. Yes, Marin County. I don't know if I would have lived there, but if I had pursued my journalism career to the best of my ability, I probably wouldn't have lived in the high crime, low income places as consistently as I had over the past 25+ years. And I probably wouldn't be broke now. However, I still would have been an addict, so my long term effectiveness in the career of my choice would have been questionable.</div>
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Even though I am 55 years old, have been married and divorced, raised three children as a single parent and now have a grandson, I realized that I had much more in common with twenty-something Nic than his father. The reason is simple: even though David Sheff was going out of his mind with worry and doing everything he could to help his son, he doesn't appear to have the same kind of problems with addictions that his son and I have. He's human, that's for sure, and he made plenty of mistakes. But when he discovered that his son was most definitely an addict, he approached the problem in a way that most addicts wouldn't...he gathered up all the information that he possibly could, and he asked for help. Would an addict do that? Absolutely not. No matter what the particular substance or behavior any addict is into, we all share some pretty basic characteristics: denial and a lifelong membership in the I-can-take-care-of-this-myself-so-leave-me-alone club. To sum it up, addicts are people who desperately need help, but they won't get it until some catastrophe, life or mental health-threatening situation happens to them and they have to say, "All right; I give up. Help me."</div>
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And sometimes even that doesn't work. I can tell you all about that. I've been in relapse. And, I think, so can Nic Sheff. He has relapsed countless times. Here's a few quotes from his book that echo my thoughts and feelings about myself, addiction and recovery a little too much: </div>
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Page 20, paragraph 8: "Writing my book--finishing it--getting it published--that's like the one thing I have to hold on to. I mean, really, since I was, like, six years old (age four for me, and I was frustrated because I didn't know how to write the alphabet yet), my dream has been to get a book published." Nic's treatment center counselor tells him to stop trying to write and talking about writing and publishing with other clients in treatment. I remember telling sponsors that writing was the only thing I do well, and it's only thing that keeps me sane during recovery. I had a lot to learn.</div>
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On top of page 139 is the ubiquitous "your addict is in control" speech. Unlike Nic, I never said anything whenever a sponsor or another recovery fellow ran that one down for me. But inside, I was fuming. I have to give Nic kudos, at least he voiced his discontent to his treatment counselor: "I can't talk about having doubts or anything? I mean, I'm telling you, I'm genuinely freaked about this whole thing. Should I just, like pretend I'm not feeling this stuff?" I always said, "Yeah, you're right." And I still did whatever I wanted to do anyway.</div>
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I also heard, "you are not unique, you just you think you are." That really pissed me off. I don't know if it's right, but at times like that, I automatically switch into "children should be seen, not heard" mode and clam up so tight that minutes of silence goes by. What I was thinking was, "Bitch, how do you know what I think? You don't know me!" I don't think saying that to a sponsor is appropriate, however. I guess those "I" ("I feel really angry right now.") statements is better than popping off with a smart-ass remark, which I never did because my mother drilled it into my brain to "be respectful" aka, shut-up-when-folks-who-know-more-than-you-do-are-talking. Hence, the silence. Actually, at the behest of some of my recovery fellows, I did try one of those "I" statement things about how I felt on a sponsor. Her response was, "So? Feelings come and go. They don't matter. What matters in recovery is taking the <b><i>next right action</i></b>." All right? Recovery folks say <b><i>"take the next right action"</i></b> a LOT. But what does that MEAN, exactly? I need some definitions for these terms, something I can understand and hang onto. After all, I know I am a low-bottom, gutter level food ADDICT. But what I don't know is how to "do life" without flour, sugar, and excess portions of food. The problem was, when I did ask, I didn't like the response: "Pray. Make phone calls. Read the Big Book. Write, not your kind of writing (as if "my kind of writing" had the cooties), but recovery writing." Well. That's not a whole helluva a lot of fun now, is it?<br />
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On page 177, first paragraph, Nic writes, "As much as I try to just be like everyone else, I always end up leaving feeling hollowed out, fucking gutted--like I need a drink--like I must be some entirely different species from the rest of humanity. I swear, sometimes I really do wonder if I'd be better suited as a hermit living off in a cabin somewhere--away from all people and pressures and judgements and responsibilities."<br />
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Yeah. Of course, I would rather have a deep dish pizza with garlic breadsticks or some fried chicken with greens and super-buttery cornbread (even though this kind of food would make me do the "vomitus projectus" thing because of my gastric bypass surgery), but other than being addicted to a different substance, I relate to Nic's sentiments about being better off living in a cabin somewhere 100%. In fact, whenever I read about people being locked in solitary confinement, I would think, what's so bad about that? At least no one would be bothering me. And being like everyone else? Yeah, I've always been hopelessly inept at that. I don't know how to do it, even with people in my recovery groups. I know it's me and my messed up thought patterns, but it's difficult for me to come up with something to say. Someone approaching me and saying, "How are you, Angela?" completely freaks me out. Do I tell them what I think they want to hear or the truth? Like Nic, I've always opted for what I thought people wanted to hear. Life seems so much safer that way.<br />
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And finally, this little gem from the second paragraph on page 326: "My whole life I've been looking for the easy way out. It's like I've been wearing those little plastic water wings, pretending that I could swim but never actually taking the time to learn how. So here I am, twenty-four years old, and I can't even swim. The water wings are gone, and I'm sinking--I'm going down and I'm gonna die if i can't get someone to teach me how to swim."<br />
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At fifty five years old, I feel exactly the same way. Sad. But Nic pulled himself out. And others have, too. I'm going to have to swallow my pride and ask for help. I have to let someone throw me a life preserver instead of sinking by myself. And also like Nic, I need a lot of help, not only from my food addiction 12 step program, but also from mental health professionals. For people like me with "<a href="http://www.164andmore.com/words/emotional.htm">grave emotional and mental disorders</a>", there has to be more than one source of help: God (of course), my 12 step fellowship (who I will have to learn how to trust), psychiatrists and therapists. After all, it is MY recovery, no one else's. For the very first time ever, I recognize that I need to do this, and to stop being ashamed of the fact that I do need extra help. Thanks, Nic, for sharing your story and helping me see myself reflected in your words.<br />
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Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-86394470155605314832013-03-28T19:06:00.002-07:002013-03-30T19:21:02.645-07:00Post. Traumatic. Stress. Disorder.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #414141; font-family: arial, verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px;">Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that some people develop after seeing or living through an event that caused or threatened serious harm or death. According to the 2005 National Comorbidity Survey-Replication study, PTSD affects about 7.7 million American adults in a given year, though the disorder can develop at any age, including childhood. Symptoms include strong and unwanted memories of the event, bad dreams, emotional numbness, intense guilt or worry, angry outbursts, feeling “on edge,” and avoiding thoughts and situations that are reminders of the trauma. <a href="http://report.nih.gov/NIHfactsheets/ViewFactSheet.aspx?csid=58&key=P#P" target="_blank"><b>National Institutes of Health report: PTSD</b></a></span></blockquote>
It was my oldest daughter who insisted that I show signs of the Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. I scoffed at the idea. That's what my father has, and for good reasons. He's served in both Korea and Vietnam. I really didn't see it as being an issue in my life. Besides, don't I have enough "issues" already? Recovering from food addiction, in my experience, is quite enough to have to deal with. But after many up and downs in my recovery, I finally had to concede that <i><b>maybe</b> </i>something is going on within my mental/emotional processing that keeps causing depression, anxiety, despair and finally, the inevitable "first bite" of food that I have for years had difficulty restraining my consumption. So, I got on my computer and did the research. Unfortunately, I didn't like what I uncovered.<br />
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Since I'm a Kaiser Permanente patient (sorry, I can't link to their site; but you can go <a href="http://www.healthyplace.com/psychological-tests/ptsd-test/"><b>here</b></a>,<b> <a href="http://www.examiner.com/article/ptsd-self-assessment">here</a></b> or <a href="http://www.adaa.org/understanding-anxiety/posttraumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd"><b>here</b></a> for more information), I went to their website, read everything I could about it, and found an self-assessment form. I filled out the assessment and looked at the scoring ranges, which was:<br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">If your score is:</b><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>0 – 16 = No symptoms of PTSD.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>17 – 20 = No to minimum symptoms of PTSD.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>21 – 29 = Mild symptoms of PTSD.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>30 – 49 = Moderate symptoms of PTSD.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>50 – 86 = Severe symptoms of PTSD.</b></span><br />
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My score? 73. Pretty solidly PTSD. Who knew? I sure didn't.<br />
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Suddenly, the memories began rushing in, and even though I was extremely upset and sad by their appearance, I felt like I had finally found the missing puzzle pieces. I'm not "<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.southbayaa.org/howitworks.htm"><b>constitutionally incapable of being </b></a>honest with (myself) themselves</span></span>" , as the book "Alcoholic Anonymous" states. Nor am I looking for the "softer, easier way" to recover from food addiction. Just because I could have PTSD doesn't mean I expect special consideration, i.e., a "pass" on eating "weighed and measure meals with nothing in between, no flour, no sugar, and no excess portions" or using the tools of the program to get from one meal to the next. It simply means, as far as I'm concerned, I get counseling that focuses on decreasing the effects PTSD has had on my life, and especially, my recovery.<br />
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But what does PTSD look like if you aren't a military veteran who has been in combat situations? I don't know about anyone else, but mine began with a military veteran--my father, who had served in Korea and Vietnam.<br />
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I was fourteen years old in in the spring of 1972, and already in the point of absolutely no return as far as food addiction goes. At that time, I weighed anywhere between 210 to 220 pounds, and I was ashamed of my body and miserably depressed about my inability to stay on diet most of the time. One day, I sitting on my bed listening to my radio, and I heard my mother saying something to my father. As usual, I ignored them and continued gazing out of my window while listening to the music. My father appeared in the bedroom doorway and told me to turn the music down. Like most teenagers, I was annoyed with that directive, but I reached over to turn down the volume. Next thing I knew, something that felt like large rock struck the right side of my face, and I went flying backwards across my bed. Stunned, I looked up and saw my father glaring at me. He pointed a right index finger in my face and snarled, "You better move faster when I tell you something to do, you hear me?" I couldn't say anything. My throat closed up and I could feel the tears dripping off my chin. He had never, ever done anything like that before, and fortunately, he never did it again. <br />
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I don't remember much of what happened after that. I know I stayed in bed crying, and I wasn't allowed to go to school until the black eye had completely healed. Maybe my mother gave me an ice pack for my eye, maybe she didn't. Maybe she came in my bedroom and tried to explain my father's irrational explosion to me, maybe she didn't. All I know is that nothing was ever said about the incident. The message was unspoken, but clear. I was to act like it never happened and tell absolutely no one about it at school or anywhere else. And I didn't, until I wrote this blog forty years later.<br />
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Being addicted to food is catastrophic to one's physical and mental health, but over the years, I found it to be an excellent <i style="font-weight: bold;">temporary</i> balm to any emotional wound, including my father hitting me in a sudden fit of rage . The downside is, like drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling or shopping, it takes rapidly increasing amounts of the substance or behavior (for me, it was food like a double cheeseburgers with bacon, lettuce, tomatoes and onions, large fries and a large chocolate shake) to get that calming, drowsy relief from the mental and emotional storms that raged (and persist to this day) inside me. By the time I graduated from high school, I was stuffing down enough food to bring my weight up to 240 pounds. When I was an English major and a supposed to be a graduating senior at California State University at Sacramento, I weighed 265 pounds. I rarely showed up for my classes, and when I did, all I could do was either think about what (and where) I was going to eat as soon as I got out or I fantasized about having a boyfriend. My once honor roll grade point average dropped to 1.85, and I was on academic probation. So I left school, went on a starvation diet that made me drop 57 pounds in four months, found a job as a newspaper writer, AND...lo and behold, a boyfriend seemed to magically pop into my life. I thought I had found the answer to all of my problems. Lose weight, get a job and a man--life is good.<br />
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As that old saying goes, history has a way of repeating itself. In my case, I didn't see the signs or recognize the familiar patterns.<b> <a href="http://www.creators.com/advice/tales-from-the-front/childhood-trauma-leads-to-repeated-mistakes.html">Like many people who grew up in alcoholic families</a></b>, I had no idea that I was repeating my past, and even if I had some inkling, I would have denied it. "I <b style="font-style: italic;">never </b>saw my father hit my mother," I would have told a person who might have suggested that I was turning into a carbon copy of my mother. And that would have been an absolutely true statement. He didn't my mother. And he only hit me once. Yeah, it was pretty harsh; my eye closed and it was red, black and blue for almost two weeks, but so what? He never did it again, and that's all that matters. It's in the past.<br />
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Well, that boyfriend became my husband (now ex) and the father of my three children. I didn't know it back then, but he had, and still has, one the most maniac<b> <a href="http://www.webmd.com/bipolar-disorder/guide/bipolar-disorder-symptoms-types">types of bi-polar disorder</a></b>, a heavy addiction to cocaine, marijuana, crack and sex with numerous women, and an aversion to finding and keeping suitable employment to help his growing family. Worst of all for me, he had been severely abused by an insane, autocratic step-father. No, I didn't see it coming. Repeating the past? No way! My dad not only hit me <b>JUST</b> that <b><i>one time</i></b>, but he <b>ALWAYS</b> worked and provided us. How could anyone say I was repeating the past? Besides, that's all over and done. I've "moved on".<br />
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During the six and one half years we were married, he slapped me numerous times, usually because I didn't respond to him "with respect", or I wasn't "paying attention" to him. It was true; I didn't respect him, or to be even more honest, like him. Pay attention to him? Please. He was a full grown adult; his "attention time" should have happened with his mother, so as far as I was concerned, his neediness was not my problem. Our children, however, were a different story. They needed to be cared for by at least one rational thinking adult. Not only that, I had a household to run with whatever money I managed to hide from him to pay the bills. He hated holding down a job (I did that most of the time), took what little money we had and spent it on drugs and all kinds of women, then expected me to be his adoring fan, no matter what he did. I found very little to respect.<br />
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(By the way, the behavior and attitude that I've described in the previous paragraph is known as "<a href="http://www.webmd.com/sex-relationships/features/signs-of-a-codependent-relationship"><b>codependency</b></a>". In this excerpt from the WebMD article that I've linked to, you can read what kind of codependent I was):<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 16px;">Still, the codependent partner often finds some type of reward in this setup. "Probably the most significant theme is a sense of control," Bochner says. "The other person plays the out-of-control person, and so the codependent partner gets to be the person who is in control and thus respected."</span>He says the partner who is codependent can be "the better person, the smarter person, the person who's recognized as having it all together. They're defining themselves as strong enough to deal with it when actually they need to realize that maybe they should be taking care of themselves instead of proving their strength."</b></i></span></blockquote>
I won't go into detail about the physical abuse involved in that marriage because even though it has been nearly 30 years of numbing out the pain and stuffing the memories down with food, reviewing that period of my life feels very raw. But this is what happened:<br />
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1. He became angry because I had to go to a work related event, and he wanted me to stay home and cook for him. He shoved me down on the ground, grabbed the still-hot iron that I was using to iron my clothes, and held it over my face, telling me he would burn it off unless I promised to stay home.<br />
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2. After a July 4, 1981 argument, he pinned me down in the back seat of his mother's little Datsun beater, and smashed his fist into my face repeatedly. According to the x-rays, his fist came within a millimeter of crushing my temple, the doctor in ER said. He was upset and wanted me to call the police. My parents did it for me. A few days later, I entered the hospital to have reconstructive surgery on my face.<br />
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3. After another argument, he grabbed our oldest daughter, who was about 16 months old, and our son, a one month old infant, held them over the balcony of our two floor apartment and threatened to drop them. I completely broke down to the ground, crying hysterically. He told me, "You know I wasn't going to do that. You know I would never do that." He frequently said after threatening me or the children.<br />
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4. He broke down the front door after being on the run for two months with a teen-aged girl who was a foster home resident, screamed at me about how I was "keeping him away from his kids", pulled out a very long, serrated Bowie hunting knife out of his pants pocket and tried to stab me with it. I fought him off with a closet pole.<br />
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After we split up, I numbed the pain with<b> <a href="http://suite101.com/article/the-diet-of-king-henry-viii-a391714">King Henry VIII sized portions of food</a></b>, and ate my way up to 400 pounds. I'm no longer anywhere close to that weight, but I've been struggling with my recovery for almost two years now. Hopefully, with therapy and support of my 12 step friends, I will be able to "<a href="http://anonpress.org/bb/Page_164.htm"><b>trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.</b></a>"<br />
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<br />Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-50831752057383074182012-02-05T21:50:00.000-08:002012-02-05T23:08:05.140-08:00Food Addiction Speaks<div style="text-align: left;">
I received this from a friend who is also a food addict. It's a humbling reminder of what I and so many other people are dealing with. Recently, I have been experiencing the thoughts expressed in this article (I have no idea who wrote it, but whoever it was nailed the target). This is quite frightening because I can't afford to let up on my program, especially with my health issues and history of family addictions. It's no joke. Food addiction KILLS. </div>
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<a href="http://www.foodaddicts.org/">www.foodaddicts.org </a></div>
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Hello... just in case you forgot me....
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I am your disease.....
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I Hate meetings....I Hate higher powers. I Hate anyone who has a
program. To all who come in contact with me, I wish you death and I
wish you suffering.</div>
<div>
Allow me to introduce myself, I am the disease of addiction,. I am cunning, baffling and powerful</div>
<div>
Thats Me. I have killed millions and I am pleased.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I love to catch you with the element of surprise. I love pretending I am your friend and lover.
</div>
<div>
I have given you comfort haven't I? Wasn't I there when your were lonely?</div>
<div>
When you wanted to die, didn't you call on me? I was there. I
love to make you hurt. I love to make you cry. Better yet, I love to
make you so numb you can neither hurt nor cry. When you can't feel
anything at all. This is true gratification. And all that I ask from
you is long term suffering. I've been there for you always. When
things were going right in your life, you invited me. You said you
didn't deserve these good things, and I was the only one who would agree
with you;. Together we were able to destroy all the good things in
your life. People don't take me seriously. They take strokes
seriously, heart attacks, even diabetes, they take seriously. Fools.
Without my help these things would not be possible. I am such a hated
disease, and yet I do not come uninvited. You choose to have me. So
many have chosen me over reality
and Peace. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
More than you hate me I hate all of you who have a 12 step
program. Your program, Your meetings, Your higher power. All of these
things weaken me, and I can't function in the manner I am accustomed
to. Now I must lie here quietly. You don't see me but I a growing
bigger than ever. When you only exist, I may live. When you live I may
only exist. But I am here....</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Now until we meet again, If we meet again, I wish you death and suffering.</div>Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-42193607924027327272012-01-23T17:10:00.000-08:002012-01-23T17:10:59.421-08:00Relapse sucks. Seriously.It started real slow, real sneaky after I noticed that could "get away with" eating a "little bit of this" and a "little bit of that". The weight was still dropping, fast. It just kept coming off, so I thought those little bits didn't matter. But I was wrong...very, very wrong.<br />
<br />
I'm a food addict. I need boundaries, especially with food, and moving on from there, with living my life. But before I began a program that addressed my food addiction, I didn't know how to stop eating. Let's get real here--I'm the type of gutter-level food addict who binged so bad for a 14 hour period that I ripped a hole in my stomach lining (hernia). I didn't know that at the time, of course. I was too busy eating more food. I felt something in my stomach had stretched and popped after I had been throwing all that food up (even I have limits, apparently) for four hours, but I didn't do anything about it. It didn't even occur to me to call a doctor. I was morbidly obese, somewhere over 350 pounds at the time. I knew the drill by then--go to the doctor, hear the "lose some weight and your symptoms will disappear" speech, go home feeling lower than sh*t, open the refrigerator to get something to numb that feeling. I wasn't aware that this was the pattern I had developed over the years. It was what I did, unconsciously and automatically. If I was taking a breath, I was thinking about what I was going to eat, where I would eat it, how much money it would cost (I had contingency plans in case I didn't have enough money to eat exactly what I felt like I wanted), where I would eat it...on and on.<br />
<br />
That has been my life, day after day, month after month, year after year, decade after decade, from the time I got my first "hit" eating a half bottle of chewable vitamins at age 5 until...well, we'll see how I do today. It's all about staying in today, which is something that I'm not in the habit of doing. That's all I can handle because I'm in that emotionally agonizing infernal place of knowing that I have to work my recovery program to keep alive, but hating every second of it because it leaves me emotionally vulnerable. Like most food addicts I've talked to, I love comfort, ironically enough. I have always been very uncomfortable and revolted by the appearance of my body, even when I working my recovery diligently and I was 65 pounds thinner than I am right now. But that encompassing hatred of my body has been superseded by the irresistible need to succumb to the familiar calm and the anesthetic effect food has always had on me.<br />
<br />
"Face your fears, get out of your comfort zone." That's what my sponsor tells me now. How do you do that when you are accustomed to reaching for some of this and that before you can answer the telephone or say hello to someone? It freaks me out, to be honest. I was calm and in charge on food, at least that's how I felt. I clearly remember that I never felt the level of anxiety on a minute by minute basis the way I do now. I don't know how people get through the work day without having a stash in your desks drawers, and taking vending machine breaks throughout the day. Maybe the rest of you have your own addiction problems that don't show up on your body the way mind do. A part of me wishes I did have one of those "hidden" addictions--you know, being addicted to relationships (and that's in spite of the fact that I'm a relationship anorexic; I'll take a down home Southern food or working on my writing over a man ANY DAY), playing video games, collecting coupons, going to comic book conventions...actually, I take back collecting coupons and playing video games. Those might not show up as pounds on the body, but I can't see myself doing them. They're way too complicated.<br />
<br />
These are the facts: I know the food plan; I don't have to scramble around trying to figure out how to buy and fix the food the way I did when I was a newcomer. What I have do now is pray for the courage to remain abstinent from flour, sugar and excess food, call my sponsor on me, do my prayers and quiet time, call my fellow food addicts for help and write down what I'm gong to eat the next day and how I've been feeling during the day--EVERY SINGLE DAY WITHOUT FAIL, something I didn't do with any consistency in the past. It's simple enough plan for living. But it's definitely not easy. When I went on diets, I never changed my thoughts and behaviors. My recovery absolutely demands that I do both. And I have to do it, if I don't want to die If you want to know what I'm talking about, check out my previous posts about all of my health issues <a href="http://noberthabutt.blogspot.com/2009/04/recurring-hernia-rupture-toothaches.html">here </a>. And<a href="http://noberthabutt.blogspot.com/2009/09/put-your-left-hip-in-take-your-left-hip.html"> here</a>. And <a href="http://noberthabutt.blogspot.com/2010/08/life-under-knife.html">here</a>. Oh hell, if you don't have anything better to do right now, read this <a href="http://noberthabutt.blogspot.com/2010/04/open-letter-from-food-addict.html">here</a>.<br />
<br />
Until next time, folks.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-33777770487377084712011-05-30T17:58:00.000-07:002011-05-30T18:00:45.296-07:00Wondering about "Half Ton Dad"<iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/KoPmwn3vV9k" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><br /><iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8jQ3GwM1YTY" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />Whatever happened to Kenneth Brumley, also known as the "Half Ton Dad" on TLC/Discovery Health shockumentaries about morbidly obese people? Is he dead? Or if he's still alive, has he re-gained all of his weight, plus more?<br /><br />I'm not a doctor, but in my years of experience as a food addict, I can tell you that unless some very <span style="font-weight:bold;">DRASTIC</span> changes took place in Kenneth's life, he had weight gain and/or death to look forward to after he left the Renaissance Hospital. I wish I could say something different, but I know how powerful food addiction is. It's way too much for any one person to handle by him or herself. Besides, Kenneth didn't have a supportive environment waiting for him at home after he was released from the hospital. Granted, the program only provided the audience with glimpses of his home life. For all we know, his girlfriend, her children, his children and grandchildren all eat lean protein, plenty of fresh veggies and fruit, and whole grains on most days. I <span style="font-weight:bold;">doubt</span> this, however. Although some of the family seemed to be of a normal weight, they were shown heartily chowing down on very high fat/calorie fast food. In the first video, Kenneth talks about eating three cheeseburgers and drinking two liters of soda. He didn't specify what kind of cheeseburger, but one Big Mac provides nearly half the calories that a <span style="font-weight:bold;">healthy</span> person should eat in one day.<br /><br />Don't believe me? I'm not a dietician of course, but here's the nutritional breakdown:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.thefatlossauthority.com/fat_loss_tips/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Big-Mac-Nutrition-facts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 255px; height: 360px;" src="http://www.thefatlossauthority.com/fat_loss_tips/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/Big-Mac-Nutrition-facts.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />My guess is that when the Big K said three cheeseburgers, he wasn't talking about the small ones that come with onions and pickles. He was talking about the BIG ONES, the triple cheeseburgers, or the "Angus" burgers that come with heaping amounts of extra stuff--extra cheese, grilled mushrooms, the proverbial lettuce, onions and tomatoes (personally, when I thought of vegetables, that is what I thought of--the stuff on top of a burger.) Yeah, you get the idea. That's what I was talking about when I said the word "cheeseburger". I could only handle one with some small fries and a medium chocolate shake. Even THAT was a helluva a lot of food, and trust me, that wasn't my only meal of the day. <br /><br />This is what Angela used to eat when she went to <a href="http://nutrition.mcdonalds.com/nutritionexchange/nutritionfacts.pdf">McDonald's</a> (pre-food addiction recovery):<br /><br />Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese: 9.8 oz; 740 calories, 380 calories from fat(or 42% of the total daily amount of fat recommended for a healthy diet); <br /><br />small fries: 2.5 oz; 230 calories, 100 calories from fat or 11% of the daily amount of fat (we are now over half the amount of fat that a person should have in one day) <span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><br />AND<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span> one 16 fluid ounce Chocolate Triple Thick Shake: 580 calories (we are now OVER the recommended amount of calories/fat for effective weight loss for one day with this meal!); 120 calories are from fat, or 14% of the daily amount. <br /><br />That's <span style="font-style:italic;">JUST<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span> one meal! And I ate three big ones every day!<br /><br />So, you want an example of breakfast and dinner? Let's see...on the same day I might make a large cereal bowl of grits with LOTS of butter or margarine (Don't ask me how much; I never measured anything!) four scrambled eggs with green onions and mushrooms (scrambled with a LOTS of butter or margarine) and four pieces of whole grain, honey wheat toast with LOTS of butter or margarine. Do you see the pattern here?<br /><br />For dinner I might "take it easy" and get a large bowl of creamy tomato soup, about 4-6 more slices of that honey wheat bread, and slice up a half pound of extra sharp cheddar cheese. Sometimes I would make a grilled cheese sandwich (with LOTS of butter or margarine); sometimes I would be "too tired" and just eat the bread and cheese.<br /><br />I'll let you figure out the calorie count for my three meals. I am now officially depressed. And more than likely, I had ice cream or cookies and milk at some point during the day, too.<br /><br />What I'm showing you, folks, is Angela's recipe for packing on 400 pounds of weight. Kenneth said he ate THREE cheeseburgers, and he thought that was eating <span style="font-weight:bold;">light</span>. Well, basically, BOTH of us are very sick food addicts, in my opinion. I was headed down the path that Kenneth was on (and perhaps still is). I pray that this isn't the case, but people being who they are, change is extremely difficult for most of us. It certainly has been for me. And I <span style="font-weight:bold;">still</span> stumble and fall back into some of my old behaviors. Thank God, nothing like how I used to eat. But if I wasn't in a program that has been helping me recover from food addiction, I wouldn't be where Kenneth is,(or was, whatever the case may be). I wouldn't have made it that far up the scale. Dead. That's where I would be. I <span style="font-weight:bold;">KNOW</span> this. <br /><br />As for the second video, I included this because I thought what brotha man (Larry Cooper) said about his food summed up why I ate addictively: <blockquote>This is me and <span style="font-weight:bold;">MY</span> world. I love my food; I appreciate my food. Once you eat, everything goes away, all the pain,all the misery...(Points to the various food items on his plate, but what he says is unclear at first)...everything is gonna be all right. Everything is gonna be all right. This is like "home sweet home"; it's like another dimension, "The Twilight Zone".</blockquote><br /><br />Yep. I hear you, Larry. I understand what you're saying, believe me. And "there by the grace of God go I..."<br /><br />For more information about food addiction, please visit: <br /><a href="http://www.foodaddicts.org/">Food Addicts In Recovery (FA)</a> <br /><br />Post script: I searched for an update on Larry Cooper, too. Nothing, not even on the former-TLC-now-known-as-Discovery-Health channel. What's up with that, Discovery Health? Do you have any intention of providing follow up programs to see how these folks are doing? Do you even care, or are they just the perennial "circus freaks"? I think I know the answer to that.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-39196509551996735372011-01-01T17:23:00.001-08:002011-01-01T17:23:28.900-08:00There Can Only Be One (Mom)<br /><br />My mother, Mary Ellen Graham Shortt, passed from this material realm to the ‘Abha Kingdom on December 31, 2008 at approximately 4:50 pm. In the intervening two years, I’ve felt relieved that her physical and emotional pain has finally ended, and humbled that the Supreme Being has granted me peace and acceptance concerning her ascendancy. Last year, I remembered the day while recovering from hip surgery. I wanted to write something about her, but doing the zombie shuffle to the bathroom was all I could handle at the time. Making my way to my computer was a surprisingly painful amount of exertion, and the 2 tablets of 500 mg paracetamol and 5 mg hydrocodone (Vicodin) three times a day insured that I didn’t have mental clarity to handwrite anything. <br /><br />This year, I’m recovering from foot surgery, a kidney infection and pneumonia, but I promised myself that the holiday season would not pass without writing a tribute to the woman who was my very first teacher, and whose words (and hands) of guidance has formed the solid granite foundation for my life. This is the very least I can do, while the most would be to become the woman she knew I could be. After all, I wasn’t a very easy child to handle. A hard-headed, rough and tumble Aries daughter born to a cultured, harmony-loving Libra mother is a guaranteed bundle of frustration and heartache.<br /><br />I’ve asked my three adult children, Clarissa, Marc and Chenelle, to write and post their memories of their grandmother. I’m hoping this will be an annual event on Facebook, but one can never predict the outcome of these things. My offspring lead very busy lives while I don’t have much else to do except keep my doctor appointments and take my meds. I might as well start writing again, especially since I no longer have to take the heavy duty, mind-altering pain killers.<br /><br />The memories of my earliest years are not my own, of course. They are stories Mom would tell me and anyone else within earshot. To my dismay and embarrassment, she loved to tell these stories during social gatherings: “Angela was such a beautiful baby!” (Translation: “Look at my child now! What happened to my sweet little baby doll?”) She looked like the angels had placed in an oven and took her out just as she turned a perfect golden brown!” (Inwardly, I shuddered as I visualized a group of slightly demented beings putting a big lump of manna on a countertop, rolling it out like cookie dough and using a one-use-only Angela-shaped cookie cutter to make my body.)<br /><br />That wasn’t all. Apparently, I was the perfect baby, too. I only cried when wet, sleepy or hungry. Otherwise, I smiled, laughed, cooed and clapped my hands a lot. (My opinion is that I was a prodigious people-pleaser.) This joyful behavior delighted my mother and her friends so much that they talked about it sixteen years later as I tried to escape their fur-coat wearing, tightly hugging arms and red lacquered, cheek-kissing lips. By the time I reached my teens, I had begun to regard these stories as a source of anguish, an unspoken reminder of how beautifully angelic I was as an infant, and how disappointingly imperfect I had become as I ballooned into an overweight adolescent.<br /><br />So when did I make the transition from a sweet little crowd pleasing cherub to a sweaty, football-playing, chubby tomboy-terror? Well, I was four years old, and our family, which consisted of Mom, Dad, me and my sister Tam at the time, lived on 8th Avenue in the Oak Park area of Sacramento, California. It was spring, and I know this because Tam and I received new tricycles for our birthday presents. No, we are not twins—Tam was born March 21, 1959 and I was born March 27, 1958. But our parents insisted on conjoined birthday parties and presents until we hit puberty.<br /><br />There were a lot of African American families with kids living there on 8th Avenue at that time, and one family of those families had a son named Raymond. I don’t remember much about him except that he was around my age. His specific physical features may have passed from memory, but his actions remain vivid in my mind to this day. I was standing across the street from our house, and Tam was riding her tricycle on the sidewalk in front of our yard. Raymond had been asking Tam to let him ride her tricycle, but he was out of luck. Mom told us that she better not see a single scratch or dent on our birthday presents, so no one was getting a test ride. <br /><br />But Raymond must have thought he was the exception to my mother’s dictates. He ran up to Tam, shoved her off the tricycle, and tried to wheel off. My sister slammed face-first into the sidewalk, knocking out her maxillary central incisors (two front teeth). I heard her scream as blood gushed from her mouth. After that, I heard nothing but the wind shrieking in my ears. The entire block looked like it was painted red. Suddenly, I felt myself running into something and hitting it very hard. It fell to the ground and I sat on top of it. My hands were balled into tight fists that seemed to have an intelligence of their own. My right fist swung effortlessly and landed soundly on some pliable tissue with a loud smack, and then the left fist repeated the action. Frankly, I was amazed that my hands seemed to know what to do so well. As if it was in a slow motion video, my brain began to emerge from its red-stained haze, and I saw that I had been pounding on Raymond’s face. I was breathing heavily and making these horribly primal grunts with every punch. Someone grabbed me from behind, and I screamed in rage until I was gasping for air.<br /><br />There is a block of time that is missing from my memory. Somehow I moved from the sidewalk to our family’s living room, and I have no recollection of climbing up the stairs or walking through the front door. I do, however, remember staring at the carpet while listening to my mother’s stern voice.<br /><br />“Angela Denise, I’m talking to you. You better tell me the truth because you know I’ll find out if you’re lying. Did you throw the first punch?”<br /><br />Uh, oh. I was in BIG trouble. One of my mother’s cardinal rules was that we could not start a fight. If someone brought one to us, we had to finish it. Mom approved of self-defense, but she could not abide “heathen, uncouth” activities, especially from her girls. Starting a fight was at the top of her list of forbidden heathenish behavior. I had broken that rule by throwing the first punch. My throat began to constrict as I fought off the urge to cry.<br />There was a loud knock at the door, and I could hear the voices of neighborhood kids. While my mother went outside to talk to the kids, I thought about my sister. I wasn’t sure where she was. Maybe she was lying down in her bed with an ice bag over her mouth. Or Dad had taken her to the hospital. I was certain of only two facts—Tam was hurt, and I was about to get a spanking. I thought about hiding in the backyard, but that would only make the situation worse. Miserably, I stood there and waited for my punishment.<br /><br />It seemed like hours later, but Mom finally came back and announced that there would be no punishment. The kids uniformly answered her questions to her satisfaction, and she ascertained that Raymond essentially threw the first punch. Tam was unable to defend herself, so it was understandable that I would leap to her defense. In Mom’s mind, the scales of justice were balanced, and her oldest daughter hadn’t earned the title of neighborhood heathen. Harmony had been restored. My legs almost gave way when I realized that there would be no spanking. <br /><br />“Now go get in the tub,” Mom told me. “You got filthy dirty out there tussling with that boy.” She had her priorities, and cleanliness in body and home was essential.<br /><br />That was fine with me. I preferred Mr. Bubble to a spanking any day. But a problem emerged from that day forward, one that Mom hadn’t anticipated. I had felt the thrill of adrenaline coursing through my body; the power was indescribably fantastical. How could I ever go back to being seen (not heard), speaking softly like a proper little lady when spoken to, and wearing those awful, scratchy crinoline petticoats under stiffly starched dresses?<br /><br />A problem had emerged….<br />Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-39972148279227889572010-08-15T19:02:00.000-07:002010-08-15T19:02:57.071-07:00Life under the knifeMore cutting is on the way--I have yet another surgery scheduled for Wednesday morning, September 1. I don't what the deal is with me having surgeries scheduled for the first day of the month. I have a complete hip replacement on October 1, 2009, and a hernia repair surgery on April 1. I guess God just wants me to get it out of the way up front. This will the third one in less than 12 months. So, what is it THIS time? I have posterior tibial tendon dysfunction,otherwise known as PTTD. What is that? The website <span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href="http://orthoinfo.aaos.org/topic.cfm?topic=a00166">"Your Orthopaedic Connection"</a></span>explains it much better than I can:<blockquote>Tendons connect muscles to bones and stretch across joints, enabling you to bend that joint. One of the most important tendons in the lower leg is the posterior tibial tendon. This tendon starts in the calf, stretches down behind the inside of he ankle and attaches to bones in the middle of the foot.<br /><br />The posterior tibial tendon helps hold your arch up and provides support as you step off on your toes when walking. If this tendon becomes inflamed, over-stretched or torn, you may experience pain on the inner ankle and gradually lose the inner arch on the bottom of your foot, leading to flatfoot. </blockquote><br />For those of you who are toting around 100-500 plus pounds on your body and consider yourself "healthy" because you don't have high blood pressure, heart disease or diabetes, think about how much extra pressure you are placing on your bones, joints and connective tissues like the tendons and ligaments. Check out this excerpt from <a href=http://www.articlesbase.com/advertising-articles/the-importance-of-foot-orthotics-813038.html>The Importance of Foot Orthotics</a>:<br /><blockquote>The human foot is a marvelously complicated yet efficient machine, comprised of over 100 working parts, including as many as 28 bones working in conjunction with ligaments, tendons and muscles. All of this supports and balances our entire body, and in the course of normal walking bears up to 1.5 times our body weight on each foot. This pressure is enormous, and with the average foot traveling 1,000 miles a year, it is no surprise there are many injuries.<br /><br />The feet act as shock absorbers for the entire body, and in the course of a one-hour strenuous workout will cushion nearly one million pounds of pressure. As a result, many people feel the pain of this stress, usually caused by foot imbalance. This pain shouldn’t be ignored as it is not a normal result of foot function.<br /></blockquote><br /><br />The passage above is talking about people who are at a normal body weight. Extra pounds places extra pressure on those 28 bones and 100 working parts in the feet. At 400 pounds, I was asking my feet to carry a lot more than what it was designed to do. In addition to that, I was born with very little arch in my feet. I remember feeling the arch in my right foot collapsing when I around 10-11 years old and playing baseball in the backyard. It doesn't feel good. But I ignored it, which is what the article says a person <span style="font-weight:bold;">shouldn't</span> do. <br /><br />Over the years, I gained more and more weight, which added even more pressure to my weakened arches. Finally, when I was about 26 years old, I felt a tendon snap in my right foot. I didn't know that was what happened. But I've learned more about what's been going on with my feet over the past six months, and now I can recognize when the tendon is tearing. And it's been doing that a lot these days.<br /><br />Now, I'm a visual/audio learner, so seeing pictures helps me to conceptualize new material. I don't know if this helps you, but I appreciate the graphics available on the Internet that have helped me see what my podiatrist has been talking about. The first picture is a normal foot and arch. Here's the medical description of it from <span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href=http://www.arthroscopy.com/sp09012.htm>www.arthroscopy.com</a></span> :<blockquote> The navicular bone is a key structural component in the formation of the arch of the foot. When this bone is in the proper position, the arch is maintained. However, if this bone moves out of position, towards the bottom of the foot (plantar surface), then the arch begins to sag and disappear. As this occurs, the patient develops a flatfoot deformity. </blockquote><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.arthroscopy.com/nucleus/Tibial1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 247px;" src="http://www.arthroscopy.com/nucleus/Tibial1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And now, a picture of the foot that has begun to develop a flatfoot deformity. (Mine looks worse than this on the MRI.):<br /><blockquote>The posterior tibial tendon is essential to the normal functioning of the foot by maintaining the navicular bone in the proper position. By doing so, the arch of the foot is maintained. However, if the posterior tibial tendon fails to function properly, the navicular bone begins to drop, the arch falls and a flatfoot deformity begins to develop. When this occurs, the foot may develop pain with weight bearing. </blockquote><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.arthroscopy.com/nucleus/Tibial2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 302px; height: 246px;" src="http://www.arthroscopy.com/nucleus/Tibial2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTeotnikhA4Rqx7l2kS3azzHBV5s3kgpDxskN1Qa8QCyp2jgdk&t=1&usg=__z2-4Cub8cKp0Lmh4fNOZHv0Jci0="><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 160px;" src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTeotnikhA4Rqx7l2kS3azzHBV5s3kgpDxskN1Qa8QCyp2jgdk&t=1&usg=__z2-4Cub8cKp0Lmh4fNOZHv0Jci0=" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><blockquote><blockquote>This is kind of what my feet look like right now (picture courtesy of<a href=http://www.footankleinstitute.com/posterior-tibial-tendon-tear.html>footankleinstitute.com</a>):</blockquote></blockquote><br /><br /><br /><br /><blockquote>And this is how bad it can get without surgery (from the <a href=http://footandankle.mdmercy.com/conditions/flatfeet/posterior.html>The Institute for Foot and Ankle Surgery at Mercy</a>):</blockquote><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://footandankle.mdmercy.com/conditions/flatfeet/images/posterior_5.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://footandankle.mdmercy.com/conditions/flatfeet/images/posterior_5.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">With increasing deformity of the foot, the joints in the foot get very stiff, and little in and outward movement of the foot is possible.</span><br /><br />Obviously, I want to have the surgery before my feet become badly deformed and essentially useless. I asked my podiatrist if I would be able to walk if the tendon completely ruptured. He said that I could, but I wouldn't want to. I understood what he meant immediately. The pain would be excruciating. No, thank you.<br /><br />This is yet another example of the wreckage of my addictive eating past--it has wrecked havoc on my body in ways I never could imagine. Even though I've lost an awful lot of weight, I'm still paying for the damage done. As bad as that seems right now, it could be so much worse. I could be still into the food, gaining even more weight, and becoming one of those people that you see on programs like "Two Ton Mom".<br /><br />If you are suffering from morbid obesity, you HAVE to lose weight in order to get the treatment you need for the various health problems that incur as the result of out of control eating. I strongly recommend this program: <span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href=http://www.foodaddicts.org/>Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous </a> </span> <br />The life you save will be your own.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-17268071129264261112010-05-18T21:07:00.003-07:002010-05-18T21:07:27.391-07:00My brother's birthdayToday, my brother Ricky would have been 46 years old. But he never made it past his 24th birthday. The truth is, I can't tell you the exact date he died. I think it was early December, either 1987 or 1988. It must be intentional, this memory lapse. Why would I want to remember the most horrific day of my life-- the day my baby brother, my ONLY brother, left all who loved him?<br /><br />So I'm not going to remember anything about his death today. I'm going to remember how he LIVED.<br /><br />Richard Sydney Shortt II was born May 18, 1964 at Sutter Memorial Hospital located at 5151 F Street in Sacramento. Six years earlier on March 27th, I was born--same hospital, same room, and according to our mother, same bed. I'm not so sure about the bed part, but hey, I was too young to remember the first event and not allowed entry into the maternity ward for the second one. Mom came to the window of her room and proudly showed my sister Tam* and I the swaddled bundle that we were supposed to believe was our brother. We weren't buying it.<br /><br />"That's a doll." Tam. <br /><br />"And it's red. It's a red doll." Me.<br /><br />I can't remember what Dad said in response, but it seems to me that he wasn't very happy.<br /><br />Like any family, we can recall all kinds of memories--how Ricky used to spit out his pacifier when we peered into his crib. He had pinpoint accuracy. I was always hit in the forehead, and when Tam looked in, he nailed her on the nose every time. Then he would chortle gleefully. We swore that he was doing it on purpose, but Mom said it was just our imaginations. He was only four months old, after all. We weren't wrong. Ricky turned out to be a prodigy in terms of finding ways to harass his older sisters on a daily basis. His Older Sister Guerrilla War Campaign began before he was weaned off Similac.<br /><br />Exhibit 1: Carefully placing his Hot Wheels, Tonka trucks and Lego toys right outside our bedroom door before Tam and I woke up in the morning. Purpose: To torture our bare feet as we headed for the bathroom in the morning.<br /><br />Exhibit 2: Lobbing pieces of cantaloupe (I'm allergic to them) at me during breakfast. Laughing when they stuck to my forehead.<br /><br />Exhibit 3: Turning both the bass and the volume of the stereo on full blast while I was taking an after school nap on the couch in the den. I was in high school! Teachers, hormones and constant crushes on boys seriously wore me out every afternoon. Straight cruelty!<br /><br />Exhibit 4: I had a boyfriend named Sam when I was 16. I wasn't all that crazy about him, but he drove a shiny blue Mazda, and I never had a boyfriend before. Ricky decided that if Sam wanted to be my boyfriend, he was giving his consent to the same treatment I received. Poor guy never understood what had happened to him. Ricky and his little buddies from the neighborhood would run around his shiny blue Mazda, kicking in the hubcaps, jumping on the hood, and yelling "Sam, Sam the garbage can man!" This happened as soon as he parked his car in front of our house. I would be in my bedroom reading, and I suddenly heard Sam yelling, "Angie! You better do something about your brother!" Damn shame to see an 18 year old man near tears.<br /><br />As mortifying as the experiences were at the time, I would pay off the United States' debt to China if I could have my brother Ricky with me today, sitting around laughing at these and many other memories. I do, however, believe that there is life after this one, and that my little brother is in the Realm Beyond, smiling because he knows how much I love and miss him.<br /><br />I just wish I could tell him in person.<br /><br />*Tam wasn't born at Sutter Memorial, but at Keesler Air Force Base hospital in Biloxi, Mississippi--these things happened when your father was a member of the United States Air Force. Ricky and I used to tease her by singing "Mississippi Mama, never lost a fight!" Don't tell her I said that. She still gets pissed off about it.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-11859318433087651302010-04-29T11:24:00.000-07:002010-04-29T11:48:10.463-07:00An Open Letter from a Food Addict<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZRWo9bD7bJF9-3PcC6xkRSxThve-uBRh09K32INcfVYCuuWcJD_EK2kbnfMJHFIcWHemcKd805a1jktzbPHurz2gzC52TSDnOuRax9TawxHcbt8WF2S6iRgSEYqlqDnbwbp8kX2sEdPLn/s320/very-fat-woman-eating.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZRWo9bD7bJF9-3PcC6xkRSxThve-uBRh09K32INcfVYCuuWcJD_EK2kbnfMJHFIcWHemcKd805a1jktzbPHurz2gzC52TSDnOuRax9TawxHcbt8WF2S6iRgSEYqlqDnbwbp8kX2sEdPLn/s320/very-fat-woman-eating.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">With much love and sincere thanks to Al-Anon Family Groups, for pioneering the way to keep substance abusers and food addicts accountable for their actions.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I am a food addict. I do need your help, but not in the ways you have tried in the past. The best way you can help me is to leave me to my own devices. Believe me; I have a lot of them.<br /><br />Don't lecture, blame or scold me. I know exactly what I’m doing to myself, even though I eat as if I will never get another meal. I berate and demonize myself almost every moment of the day about my obsession with eating large quantities of highly refined, processed sugar/flour/high fat food. <br /><br />Don’t show me the latest magazine diet or clip out articles about obesity risks and weight loss treatments from the newspaper. I will thank you politely on some days, become surly and distant on others. But I won’t do anything more than glance at the clippings before tossing them in the garbage. Please don’t take it personally. <br /><br />Do not buy me diet books; I’ve bought enough of them over the years. Do not get angry if you’ve noticed that I haven’t opened those books. I am sick. You wouldn't be angry with me for having cancer or diabetes. Food addiction is a disease, too.<br /><br />Don't throw away my “secret” stashes of food when you find them; it's just a waste because I can always find ways of getting more.<br /><br />Don’t hide the bathroom scale from me; I will find it. Or if I hide the scale, don’t put it out in the open again. I know this doesn’t make any sense, but there is nothing rational about food addiction.<br /><br />Don't let me provoke your anger. If you attack me verbally or physically, you will only confirm my bad opinion abut myself. I hate myself enough already.<br /><br />Don't let your love and anxiety for me lead you into doing what I ought to do for myself. Don’t bring me food, cook my meals, help me get dressed, or call my boss when I feel too depressed to get out of bed and ready for work. If you assume my responsibilities, you make my failure to assume them permanent. My sense of guilt will be increased, and you will feel resentful.<br /><br />Don't accept my promises and solemn pledges to lose weight. I'll promise anything to get off the hook. But the nature of my illness prevents me from keeping my promises, even though I mean them at the time.<br /><br />Don't make empty threats, as in you will send me to one of those fat camps or reality shows to force me to lose weight. I know you’re not going to do that, and the fact that you would even say that to me just compounds my shame. But if you do decide to do those things or anything else, stick to your decision. Do not let me talk you ought of it.<br /><br />Don't believe everything I tell you; it may be a lie. I’m not going to Weight Watcher’s or start the latest magazine diet on Monday, and even if I do, I will only half-heartedly follow those programs. I will tell you that another family member or a friend ate all the entire box of cookies, the gallon of ice cream or the whole bucket of fried chicken. What I tell you about my eating may even sound plausible, completely rational. But my word can’t be trusted when it comes to food. Denial of reality is a symptom of my illness, and I am in so much denial that I don’t always see how much more weight I’ve put on. It’s unfair of me to require you to be in denial about my food issues the way I am. Moreover, I'm likely to lose respect for those I can fool too easily.<br /><br />Don't let me take advantage of you or exploit you in any way. Love cannot exist for long without the dimension of justice. It doesn’t matter how much I yell, scream, cry or make you feel guilty. Don’t give into my overt or passive/aggressive machinations.<br /><br />Don't cover up for me or try in any way to spare me the consequences of my addictive eating. Don't lie for me, pay my bills, or meet my obligations. It may avert or reduce the very crisis that would prompt me to seek help. I can continue to deny that I have a a serious problem with food as long as you provide an automatic escape for the consequences of my eating.<br /><br />Above all, do learn all you can about food addiction and your role in relation to me. Go to Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous (FA) meetings when you can. Attend Al-Anon meetings regularly and adapt whatever they say about alcoholism and the alcoholic to food addiction and the food addict. Read the literature and keep in touch with Al-Anon members. They're the people who can help you see the whole situation clearly.<br /><br />I love you.<br /><br />Your Food Addict</span>Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-32143187789662241182010-01-24T12:20:00.000-08:002010-01-25T00:21:33.777-08:00Drive-by spammin' web site sleazoidsFirst, the !@#$%ing drive-by spammers who took over this web site (and many others here on Blogger): a pox upon you and those of your ilk, unkind and barbarous sirs! Okay, that's lame, but I'm working on keeping the old Aries temper within reasonable boundaries these days. For the sake of my continued recovery from life-long food addiction, I can't afford to have lingering anger and resentments to fester and boil over. (Even though the drive by spam took place when my Internet connection was down and my health was on the downside; oh, those low down, dirty sleaze-suckin'!@#$oles taking advantage of a lady when she's down and out! No class!) Anyway, I have to try my best to refrain from such actions because they might lead me to consider Domino's newly revised pizza with the improved crust that once tasted like cardboard. <br /><br />Now, you are probably asking yourself, Angela, how do you know what Domino's pizza crust used to taste like? Obviously, I ate it. Can't lie. Domino's was cheap and they delivered. When a food addict gets into the "phenomenon of craving" aka a serious need of a fix but has very little money, a cardboard crust seems better than nothing at all. Of course, that's in the opinion of a desperate addict in need of a fix, as pathetic as that seems to me right now. I used to say that I never ate anything I didn't like, but that's not true. I had that flour/high fat protein jones going on, and if I couldn't afford Zelda's (pizza heaven here in Sacramento, IMO)I was willing to pay for a knock off version of my drug. It's kind of like the drunk who's low on cash and buy cough syrup or vanilla extract to get a buzz. Disgusting, but hey, that's what addiction does. Warps the mind to do unreasonable things.<br /><br />Hmmmm....now that I think about it, THAT'S what I should wish upon those website-crashin' Neanderthals! Yeah! May your nights be filled with a thousand cardboard crust pizzas with anchovies that tear up the roof of your mouths, and your mornings be filled with acid indigestion and clogged bowels! Heh. That'll learn ya!<br /><br />I have more to post, but I have to get to bed. I have to have a tooth extracted tomorrow, Act 4 of Angela's Teeth Opera that started last June. Hopefully, the finale will be an exhilarating success, and I walk away with a minimum of the AlvinandtheChipmunks look in effect. Catch y'all later in the week.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-34246392627153886172009-12-08T15:52:00.000-08:002009-12-08T16:49:01.806-08:00Angela in OA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47i5jq49ZchSzLrBwH72ySI34ZKSTIi6Qbi_pur6zgZAdzSSC1_r3M71iRHDn4nvo-97W6XWcmhyphenhyphen3lKnwryNLgGABTTX8NivB1u4nycElPx5JLDto32cWdRWDuyRsiab63hOMcFC_H_M/s1600-h/IMG_1078.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg47i5jq49ZchSzLrBwH72ySI34ZKSTIi6Qbi_pur6zgZAdzSSC1_r3M71iRHDn4nvo-97W6XWcmhyphenhyphen3lKnwryNLgGABTTX8NivB1u4nycElPx5JLDto32cWdRWDuyRsiab63hOMcFC_H_M/s200/IMG_1078.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413030746395270546" /></a><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">PHOTO: I'm at Bosch Baha'i School with the Rancho Cordova Baha'i community, about six months before I entered food addiction recovery. I may have weighed more than 306 pounds, from the way I look in this picture.</span><br /></span><br />I can’t recall the exact month or day that this happened, but I know the season and the year—it was late winter, 1987 that I entered the rooms of Overeater’s Anonymous and stayed for a while. (For those of who are familiar with the traditions of 12 step programs, please be assured that I am not breaking my anonymity by revealing this because I am no longer a member of OA.) I had attempted to attend the meeting a few years before, but I wasn’t ready. <br /><br />The entire experience seemed completely surreal to me, from the circle in which people sitting to the way they said “My name is Janice (or Susan or Betty) and I’m a compulsive overeater.” Why did they do that? And why the rest of the group keep saying “Hi, Janice (or Susan or Betty)” in response? Then there was what felt to me to be an interminable silence following the short testimony given by Janice (or Susan or Betty), which was quite uncomfortable to me. The silence lasted until another person raised her hand, and I felt like I could breathe again. I was hoping they didn’t want me to say anything because I had no clue what was going on. Besides, nothing I heard seemed to relate to the reasons I came to OA in the first place, which were: a) I wanted to lose weight and, for the first time in my adult life, live in a normal sized body; b) stop my then-husband from sleeping with other women by losing weight, since he told me that was the reason why he did it.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">An aside pertaining to the letter “b” in the previous paragraph: I know this is a hot topic with many women, and I promise it will be the subject of another blog when I get enough serenity in my recovery to stop referring to my ex-husband as a “piss-colored bastard” and many other “choice” monikers that I have retained for him over the past 20 years.</span><br /><br />Every single word coming out of the mouths of those OA members were incomprehensible abstractions to me. When it was over, I decided to ask a few of them some burning questions: “What is abstinence? Does it mean you just <span style="font-weight:bold;">stop</span> eating completely?” (The thought of that kind of abstaining from my best friend and lover, was terrifying to me.) The ladies smiled graciously and told me that the OA program suggested that they eat three moderate meals a day with nothing in between, avoiding white flour and sugar. Since I was well over 350 pounds at the time this made no sense to me. Did that mean that I could eat as four huge slabs of thick crust pizza for lunch and a plate filled with macaroni and cheese for dinner, as long as those items were made whole grain wheat? Yes, they responded. OA does not endorse any food plan, and what you eat is between you and your Higher Power. I liked that concept because it seemed to me that I would get to continue eating the foods I loved and still lose weight. If that program could do that for me, I was all for it. Eating whatever I wanted, even though it was supposed to be in moderation, seemed heavenly to me.<br /><br />But the skeptic in me wasn’t convinced, so I asked them, “Is that how you all lost weight?” Again, they smiled. “Yes, that is part of it, but the program also promise release from the pain.” Inwardly, I scowled. What pain? What are you chicks TALKING about? But that’s not what I said out loud. “So what you are telling me is that if I eat three moderate meals a day with nothing in between, I will lose weight.” “You will, if you keep coming back. It works.” Well, none of them were particularly large; in fact, one lady looked down right skinny to me. Even more importantly, she told me lost eighty pounds by doing the three-moderate-meals-a-day-with-nothing-in-between deal, and kept it off for five years. That impressed me somewhat. I had reservations about whether I could do the same because I had a lot more than eighty pounds to lose. But for the first time in my life, I had some hope about what to do about the most difficult issue in my life, which was my weight. An idea was planted in my mind about recovery from <span style="font-weight:bold;">OBESITY</span> (versus compulsive overeating or food addiction), which was that I could lose the weight and eat whatever I wanted as long as it was limited to three moderate meals a day. <br /><br />After all, as OA explained to me, my food plan was between me and my Higher Power, who is certainly powerful enough to change my body chemistry so that I would experience miraculous weight loss on that food plan. I was going to slide into home base, free and easy. Since I didn’t hear any objections from the heavenly realm, I proceeded to define moderation as a large dinner platter or bowl heaping with whole grain pastas and/or breads and cereal products with sauces, protein and fats. And I could have dessert, as long as it was made with whole grain flours and natural sweeteners, like honey, raw sugar, agave nectar, brown rice syrup or molasses. <br /><br />Wow, where was Overeater’s Anonymous when I was suffering through that contemptible Armed Forces Diet! I would have been saved from all that agony! OA was, indeed, a miraculous program. The prospect of being able to lose weight without going through the horrible deprivation, mood swings and stomach growls, not to mention being able to eat food that actually tasted good, was extremely appealing to me.<br /><br />“I lost weight WITHOUT dieting!” I heard some of the ladies in OA enthusiastically proclaim that, year after year. I believed them; they were living proof. But there was something very faulty about the way I translated those words while applying them to working my program. So I ate my three large feasts a day with nothing in between, avoided all refined white flour and sugar, went to Overeater’s Anonymous meetings faithfully each week, and waited for the miracle to happen.<br /><br />To my dismay, I gained more weight. My body became overwhelmed with the very serious health consequences of carrying over 200 pounds of excess weight. After while, I could no longer work because walking for more than two feet at a time caused daggers of pain to sear through my lower back and left hip. I became wheelchair bound and mostly dependent of my family to get me around town for shopping and medical appointments. I came to realize that the three meals-a-day-without-anything-in-between and eating unrefined sugar and flour was not working for me. But what else could I do? I had tried everything, Weight Watchers, hypnotherapy, protein diets, liquid fasts, Nutri-System….you name it; I’ve done it. I even had Roux-en-Y gastric bypass surgery in 2002. That did work for a little while. But I began re-gaining the weight after I was one year out of the surgery. At that point, I became severely clinically depressed and placed on very strong anti-depressants under the care of a psychiatrist. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Another aside: My unofficial pre-gastric bypass weight is 400 lbs, which I can't statistically verify. At the time, I refused to get on a scale, and most bathroom scales didn't register weights over 300 lbs anyway. However, I was massive enough to bust the zipper on a pair of size 54 waist jeans, which I paid big dollars for from Irene's Sport Shop on Arden Way, Sacramento. Irene's is a specialty clothing store for large women that carries up to a size 8x. I wore a size 5x, and I was still attending OA meetings during this time. When I entered Kaiser Permanente's gastric bypass program a year later, I had lost about 30 lbs through CEA-HOW, which was another 12 step for people with food issues. In order to qualify for gastric bypass surgery, I had to lose another 10% of my body weight, so I went a strict vegan diet and lost 30 pounds. I weighed 331 pounds on the morning of my surgery, which July 11, 2002. My lowest post-operative weight was 235. I entered my current recovery program in October, 2007 weighing 306 pounds. I now weigh 183 pounds. </span> <br /><br />It has been one hell of a journey, but I’m no longer on that road spiraling downward. I'm now working a 12 Step program that addresses my particular brand of total insanity around food. I thank Overeater’s Anonymous for introducing me to the 12 Steps, but I am too far gone to work a loosely structured program like that. It works for some who don’t have the completely bizarre mental twists that seem to justify destructive eating behaviors, like filling up a dinner platter to an overflowing capacity and considering that mountain of food a “moderate” meal. And I thought I would lose weight by eating that way! Only an insane person would hold onto such delusional thoughts.<br /><br />There are a lot of people like me who live every day of their lives in the same kind of delusions. They are <span style="font-weight:bold;">FOOD ADDICTS</span>.<br /><br />Hi, my name is Angela, and I am a low-bottom, gutter level food addict.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-17842203409429630362009-10-08T22:00:00.000-07:002009-10-08T22:00:06.837-07:00Had my new hip put in...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p0cqUz4hu7k/Ss7BGeKfgbI/AAAAAAAAAYY/ldjIJMk8y8Q/s1600-h/Bertha.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 101px; height: 127px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p0cqUz4hu7k/Ss7BGeKfgbI/AAAAAAAAAYY/ldjIJMk8y8Q/s200/Bertha.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390458120929509810" /></a><br /><br />The old one is out, and I'm feeling better every day! I'm just filled with joy and gratitude because a)I feel that God has granted me so many chances to make things right in my life, and even though I can't fathom why He would be so patient with me, I am awed by His endless bounty of love. I mean, how many people wake up in recovery room from a major operation feeling totally HAPPY! It's insane, but just feel this energy bubbling out of me that feels better than chocolate, or any relationship I've ever had with the opposite sex (actually, the latter part isn't very difficult to best).<br /><br />b)I've never felt so loved and supported by people that I've never would have met while I was eating addictively, and these folks, along with all of my family members have become an integral part of my life right now. I was feeling the love and prayers in that hospital! It's real, people, I swear it is! <br /><br />c) I'm also humbled by the fact that my life now has purpose, and even though I've always known that, I didn't feel I could fulfill it because of my morbid obesity. Who wants the big fat woman around taking up more than her share of space in the world? It doesn't matter that these thoughts were an insanely unjust condemnation of my basic humanity, but that's how I felt and thought about myself. Not anymore. No, not <span style="font-weight:bold;">anymore</span>!<br /><br />Well, it's getting late, and I need to fulfill my end of the bargain by getting to bed on time. Life doesn't wait for those who stay in bed mourning about events or people that, in summation, don't make a damn bit of difference. My job is to heal my addicted mind, body and soul so I can carry out what God has ordained for my life. No, I have no idea what that actually means in terms of precise details. But I know what God has given me for tools to work it out. The rest is just putting the pieces together, a little bit at a time. And enjoying the journey.<br /><br />Side note, and one that isn't nearly as important: I weighed in at 189.4 two days before surgery. And I weigh less than that now. So how big was I, actually? I don't have any pictures of myself at my very highest(serious camera ducking); I think the one I shared in my previous blog shows me a bit under 400 lbs. So I searched the internet for pictures that come somewhat close. That's what you see up above. I apologize for crass ghetto-izing, but that was my best guestimate of how big I was. Trust me--I never dressed like that. I was wearing tent dresses and muu-muus at age 28. Putting it all out there like girlfriend was never part of my daily thought process. And it isn't in my thoughts now. I choose to honor my body and spirit these days.<br /><br />It's all love, baby, all love!Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-75334414309778115182009-09-20T18:56:00.000-07:002009-09-20T18:56:54.958-07:00Put your left hip in, take your left hip out...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU_yv1EwLgKVl4s3HWgUuktQKGQBf9YP_o4xJAJDgleQWlQdteimTvs-c36fOi4tLVPxsGlccZUqA3iuu95hZP3qMnEHVsZncPqDcLrAT2ckGOdA3_Efu7j4mZxGkC6wzpTfg_O4Imzn8/s1600-h/me+on+xman%27s+bday+09.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 124px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU_yv1EwLgKVl4s3HWgUuktQKGQBf9YP_o4xJAJDgleQWlQdteimTvs-c36fOi4tLVPxsGlccZUqA3iuu95hZP3qMnEHVsZncPqDcLrAT2ckGOdA3_Efu7j4mZxGkC6wzpTfg_O4Imzn8/s200/me+on+xman%27s+bday+09.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383723354611326370" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC-I_GTclTQVOwh-gl0FDRqA-VFilLe18W9lQxQTnEwU5MygsHIFZWn6DxYyJJBwv73Q-G3SCFEAtCD2aeefztEUytqTV6k1MpkCU_ZyNRPsPJIXjsa2LlJw3dxFGoreR3nWOTaPgxGw/s1600-h/At_my_highest_weight.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 141px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqC-I_GTclTQVOwh-gl0FDRqA-VFilLe18W9lQxQTnEwU5MygsHIFZWn6DxYyJJBwv73Q-G3SCFEAtCD2aeefztEUytqTV6k1MpkCU_ZyNRPsPJIXjsa2LlJw3dxFGoreR3nWOTaPgxGw/s200/At_my_highest_weight.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383723346237434162" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Pictures from left to right: Me at about 198 lbs on 8/24/09 (celebrating my grandson's birthday in William Land Park), and me at about 400 pounds circa 2000, and suffering at home. </span><br /><br />Ain't no hokey pokey going on...it's hip surgery on October 1. Finally!!! I'm more excited about this than I was about gastric bypass over seven years ago! Maybe God, who, as I am beginning to discover is more connected to my "higher self" than I ever believed, knew that my tortuously food addicted mind would resist weight loss surgery. I sensed that while I was having my so-called "last meal" (what a joke) at an Indian restaurant with my family. Looking back, it seems so odd that I was much more excited about eating <a href="http://www.indianfoodforever.com/daal/chana-dal.html">Chana Daal</a> with rice and <a href="http://www.indianfoodforever.com/indian-breads/naan.html">naan</a> the night before surgery than the prospect of becoming "thin" for the first time in my adult life. <br /><br />For those of you who are unfamiliar with Indian food, "naan" is the bread that's served with entrees at most Indian restaurants. Without indulging in food porn,I have to admit that I would probably eat naan for hours without stopping if I wasn't in recovery. Considering what happens to a post-op gastric bypass patients after eating any kind of bread, I would seriously overdose on naan (or some other kind of bread that I'm tragically addicted to). Can you imagine THAT postmortem conversion in between the medical examiner and the assistants in the coroner's office?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Coroner's assistant 1: So, what killed that 400 pound woman we brought a couple of nights ago?<br /><br />Medical examiner: Her records showed that she had gastric bypass surgery in 2002, and she kept stuffing her face. It was filled with some kind of bread that swelled up in her stomach, and stretched it beyond its capacity. It exploded under pressure and she hemorrhaged to death.<br /><br />Coroner's assistant 2: I'll be damned. OD'ed on bread. At least it wasn't 4 pounds of steak like that guy who weighed 700 pounds!<br /><br />Medical examiner: Yeah, don't remind me. I thought I'd smelled everything, but even I gagged when I opened him up! </span> <br /><br />Forgive my morbid digression. It's my way of reminding myself of the numerous reasons why I'm in recovery.<br /><br />So, I'm scheduled for hip surgery on October 1, 2009 at Kaiser Permanente Hospital in Roseville, California. I'll be up and walking within a few hours after surgery, and released in 2-3 days. I'm betting on two days. I've had more than enough of hospitals in the past decade. But Kaiser has worked out the total hip replacement process to the degree that patients do not have to stay in convalescent care after surgery. They have a team of home visit nurses and physical therapists who come to the home and work with post-op hip patients. This was very good news to me;I get to sleep at night in my own bed and not bother with the staff and other patients making too much noise at night and waking me up! Sleep is a very precious commodity to me these days. <br /><br />After three or four weeks of physical therapy at home, I'll be ready for...everything, <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">LIFE</span></span>! I can walk, in fact, I've been using my cane much less now that I weight 190 pounds (probably less, but I won't be able to weigh myself until the day before surgery). But there's a limit to how long and how fast I can walk. The pain is still extremely bad if I do too much. I'll still have pain in my severely messed up lower back, but at least I'll be able to balance myself and take some of the pressure of my right side and lower lumbar area. That means I'LL BE ABLE TO DANCE AGAIN! And finally do some Tae Kwon Do and maybe even some Jeet Kune Do! Watch out there, now! Ready or not, world, here I come, and THIS TIME, I'm not stopping for anything or anybody! I've been looking out at the world from my window and wishing I could be a part of it for too many years. In less than two weeks,I will be able to get out there and <span style="font-weight:bold;">MOVE</span>! Yes!!! <br /><br />Most of all, I'm truly grateful. As the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous says, "If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through." I'm more than amazed. I'm humbled by the loving grace of God in the life of this low bottom, gutter-level food addict.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Is there any Remover of Difficulties save God? Say: Praise be God! He is God! All are His Servants, and all abide by His Bidding! A prayer by the Ba'b (The Baha'i Faith) </span> </span>Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-27690884972107169242009-08-11T08:52:00.000-07:002009-08-11T09:39:23.466-07:00Food Porn on Twitter...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p0cqUz4hu7k/SoGYVZDLTsI/AAAAAAAAAYA/4cEjVCX_d94/s1600-h/twitter_bg.gif"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 165px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p0cqUz4hu7k/SoGYVZDLTsI/AAAAAAAAAYA/4cEjVCX_d94/s200/twitter_bg.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368739724071227074" /></a><br /><br />Way too many contradictions for me--A follower on Twitter posted the following bio:<br />"Get weight off fast with the appetizer diet cookie!" There is NO way!!! One bite of that flour/sugar combination (even if it is "organic" and/or natural or artificial)and off I go to the food addict "crack house", which for me is any grocery store or restaurant. Appetizer? It would be my breakfast, lunch, dinner AND snacks for days (in addition to a bunch of flour/high-fat protein items)! <br /><br />A number of "Tweeters" LOVE to talk about food. No, that's an understatement. There are THOUSANDS of Twitter-lovin' foodies who dream in luscious epicurean tongue-stimulating panaromas, wake up in the throes of horn-a-plenty climax, then wax orgasmal about the experience in 140 characters or less. I call it food porn 101, although they're actually teaching graduate level courses. The title for top gastro-pornographer? @CBCebulski, art editor for Marvel comics. The rest of the @Marvel staff comes in at a pretty close second place, especially @AgentM, whose blog is titled "Agent M Loves Tacos"! <br /><br />Not a great place for a recovering food addict to be sometimes. But there's always other things to talk about that don't trigger my food addictive brain. But those can become troublesome, too. I'm discovering that I'm transferring my addiction from food to Twitter. (SIGH) It never ends.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-83376226681370466902009-08-04T18:28:00.000-07:002009-08-04T18:37:05.298-07:00On August 1, 2009......I weighed in at 192.8 pounds. Down from an all time high of 400 lbs. I now wear a size 16 top, and a size 18 bottom. I haven't been this size since the summer before junior high school. By the time school started in September, I was already busting out of all those nice school clothes my mother bought me from J.C. Penney's. She was most unhappy with me. Looking back, I can see why. What a difference 39 years makes. At the time, I was smoldering with unexpressed rage about Mom going on and on about how much money she spent on school clothes, and I couldn't wear hardly any of them. I felt like crap. <br /><br />I don't feel like crap anymore, but I'm not jumping up and down with glee, either. In fact, I'm just reflecting; I'm not sure of what this means. I don't even know how to feel right now.<br /><br />More about this later, when I can put words into feelings....Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-75413149064386698582009-06-27T14:59:00.000-07:002009-06-27T20:19:59.877-07:00Michael Joe Jackson Memories<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i44.photobucket.com/albums/f46/iansaintlaurent/jackson5_2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 275px;" src="http://i44.photobucket.com/albums/f46/iansaintlaurent/jackson5_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> Photo courtesy of photobucket/iansaintlaurent<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">The great tragedy of mankind at this time is the failure of the vast majority of human beings to heed the Divine Call, and this is in large part occasioned by the failure of most of those who have believed to live up to the high standard that Bahá'u'lláh has set. This is the condition in which we must work in our service to mankind, turning a sin-covering eye to the faults of others, and striving in our own inmost selves to purify our lives in accordance with the divine Teachings.<br /><br /> (The Universal House of Justice, Messages 1963 to 1986, p. 498)<br /><br /></span></span><br /><br />You already know. Michael "The King of Pop", aka "The Gloved One" died on June 25th, 2009. If you were like me, you didn't believe it when you heard it. I tossed off the story as another ugly rumor about the man. In fact, I dismissed the entire cardiac arrest report as implausible--from my point of view, only morbidly obese or the elderly/severely ill people die from cardiac arrest. Certainly not Michael Jackson! He didn't fit the profile. Well, I'm not a doctor. And as Dr. Sanjay Gupta said on CNN in regards to Michael, "...being thin isn't an indication of overall health". Huh. That's still difficult for me to wrap my brain around. I've spent so much of my life being morbidly obese and wanting to be thin that the concept of a thin person being unhealthy seems too remote to fathom.<br /><br />I know there are still a lot of people making "Jacko" jokes, or they are "tired" (like my father) of the constant Michael Jackson coverage on T.V. (Note to Dad and others: turn the boob tube OFF!) However, I am trying to the best of my ability to live up to the tenets of my faith, the Baha'i Faith. It isn't easy. When people want to dissect someone's character and how he conducted his daily life, I get the urge to join in with the rabble of the crowd. More and more, however, I also hear a soft, kind voice urging me to refrain from doing this. It's a bit of a lonely place to be, only seeing and saying good things about other people. <br /><br />Beyond many of the people I know in the Baha'i Faith and in my recovery program (and my own children,praise God),there aren't too many others attempting to see only the good in their fellow inhabitants of this planet. In fact, this point of view is considered, "naive", "unrealistic" or "Pollyanna". Right now, I can honestly say that I do see the "dark side" of others. It's just that I am CHOOSING to focus my attention on the positive characteristics of the people, and if there isn't much there, I try to refrain from comment. Admittedly, this is difficult, especially in regards to my ex-husband and former Vice President Dick Cheney. Oh, and Condaleeza Rice. (I have my reasons!) Obviously, I'm not perfect. But I'm trying.<br /><br />This is all part of my personal recovery/transformation program. As I open up to see and hear the good in this world, the more I see the positive, loving aspects of myself, a human being living on this big, blue-green marble called Earth. And I'm beginning to love her inhabitants a lot more. This unanticipated benefit to developing "a sin-covering eye"--as I look for the good in people, I can more readily see the good that is within me. I never thought that was at all possible, at least until now. Two events had to happen--I got into recovery from food addiction, and I began deepening my knowledge and understanding of the Baha'i Faith. Ever since I began this leg of my journey through life, each day has been both a gift and a blessing, even in the seemingly "bad" times.<br /><br />Now, you are saying, what does all this have to do with Michael Jackson? Get to the point! (So impatient, my friends!) Well, I've read a lot of mostly positive comments about Michael Jackson, but the negative ones are also beginning to gain momentum. I've voiced my own doubts about MJ over the past two decades--his bizarre behavior, his ever-changing appearance (he was once SO handsome!)--I've said it all, just like so many other people. Yes, Michael had problems. And so do I. I'm an addict, not a drug addict, but a hardcore, gutter level bottomed-out food addict. I can relate to the characteristics of ANY type of addict, whether they be alcohol, drugs, compulsive spending, workaholism, codependency/enabling, or whatever. The substances, activities and behaviors of each type of addict may be different, but the addict mind is all the same--<span style="font-style:italic;">give me more, more MORE<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span>!<br /><br />I do suspect that Michael was one of us--an addict of some sort. I have no proof of that, of course. But from the comments I heard over the past few days from different people who knew him, it seems that he spent many years in a massive internal battle that he was trying to fight by himself. Ultimately, when an addict tries to conquer addiction on his own, the "beast" (addiction) usually wins the war. I hope that wasn't the case with Michael. Since I feel this way, however, I can't point the finger at him and crow about his outrageous behavior and public mistakes. I can see how I used to be like him, a lonely person in a self-imposed, hellish prison that was constructed as a "shield" against pain and the imagined cause of it--the outside world. All I can say is, "there by the grace of God go I", and pray that Michael works through his earthly sorrows in the afterlife so he can be closer to the Almighty Creator.<br /><br />Right now, I have so many wonderful memories of the hours of pleasure Michael and his brothers have given me. It all began when my mother came home from shopping at the McChord Air Force Base commissary and base exchange. The year was 1969, and our family was living in a three-bedroom, one bath home in Tacoma, Washington. Among the bags and bags of groceries and household supplies she bought (my parents always stocked up whenever they shopped on-base) was a record album she picked up featuring five extremely good-looking brothers on the cover. <br /><br />"Here," she said while handing the album to me and my sister Tam to inspect. "I thought you girls might like this."<br /><br />We didn't just like it; we <span style="font-weight:bold;">loved</span> it. We wore that album, and many others that followed out so badly that record needle kept skipping across entire tracks. But the highlight for me came in 1973--the year the Jackson Five FINALLY came to the Pacific Northwest to do a show at the Seattle Coliseum (now re-named whatever-corporate-sponsor arena).<br /><br />I shrieked like a banshee being pummeled by Godzilla when I first heard the announcement on the radio, which got the immediate attention of my family. They vigorously questioned my sanity, except my eight year old brother, Ricky. He was too busy laughing. I ignored them, and called my friend Patti to tell her. At least she understood me. She screamed louder than I did. (We were fourteen years old, people. Hormone overload and obsessional behavior is just part of a teen-aged girl's development. Remember that if you ever have the misfortune of hosting a slumber party for your daughter and her friends. Don't expect to sleep through the constant chatter, laughter and screams!)<br /><br />Two months interceding between the day I heard the commercial for "J5" day and the concert date--sixty days of anxiety, pulsating excitement and daydreaming about Jermaine Jackson (HUGE crush on him)during my classes at Baker Junior High School. On the night before the big day, I slept even less I usually did on Christmas Eve. I was awake and getting dressed at the first of dawn.<br /><br />"That's a damn shame," my mother remarked when she saw me starching and ironing the pantsuit I had bought for the occasion. "I can barely get you out of bed in the morning to go to school, but you'll wake up with the roosters to see that Jackson boy!"<br /><br />I didn't care what she said. She just didn't understand (Cue DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince); I was going to see my idols, the Jackson Five. NOTHING was going to mess up that day for me, not even the inevitable hair-do ruining Seattle rain. (Which it almost did.)<br /><br />I don't remember much else about preparing to leave for the drive to Seattle. It was probably the typical family chaos scene whenever we took a trip somewhere. More than likely, we were late picking up my friend Patti from her house, and when we finally got on Interstate 5 North, my father was probably speeding and complaining while my mother kept trying to navigate by telling him what he was doing wrong. In the meantime, Tam, Patti and I sat in the back seat of my parents' blue Chevy station wagon, nervously whispering about the upcoming show while Ricky (siting in the front seat with my parents) kept turning around and making faces at us.<br /><br />Then it happened--a miracle, literally. The drizzling rain let up, and the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds as my father exited Interstate 5 to downtown Seattle, and stopped at a red light. While we were waiting for the light to turn green, Tam started making these weird, strangulated noises and pointing wildly at something to the right of me. Puzzled, I turned to look, and I saw <span style="font-weight:bold;">THEM</span>--the Jackson Five! They were in a long, black limousine, and by the intercession of God's Love (and great sense of humor), the sudden appearance of the sun illumined the interior of the car so we could get a good look at all of them: Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon, Michael and members of their entourage. <br /><br />Pandemonium broke out in the back seat of my parents' blue station wagon. All three of us emitted stratosphere-shattering high-octave screams that must have sounded like a sonic boom to my parents and Ricky. <br /><br />"What's wrong with y'all?" Dad roared, while Ricky was beside himself with laughter. Mom just stared at us, horrified. She was a southern-born, genteel Libra, and such behavior was unbecoming of any young lady as far as she was concerned, even more so for the two daughters she had raised. We should have known better. Well, maybe Tam should have. She's a Pisces. I was, and always will be, a tomboyish, rebellious Aries with an innate disdain for "Ms. Manners" and Emily Post.<br /><br />"Dad!" I screamed. "Hurry up, step on the gas, we have to catch up to that car!"<br /><br />"What? What car? What you are talkin' about?" <br /><br />"Don't you see that limo...hurry up, they're getting away!"<br /><br />"Who?!!"<br /><br />"The Jackson Five!!!" Tam, Patti and I all screeched in unison, which prompted even more raucous hilarity from my incorrigibly mischievous brother ("They screamed in three part harmony!").<br /><br />"Awww...y'all imagining things now! You got those Jackson boys on the brain!"<br /><br />But I was desperate. All I could see was my <span style="font-weight:bold;">ONE</span> chance to see and talk to Jermaine, to tell him that he meant the whole universe to me, and...my father was preventing that from happening. <br /><br />"Dad, please, c'mon, the light is green; hurry up, we can still catch up to them!"<br /><br />But to my disappointment, he barely tapped on the accelerator, and the limo carrying my heart's desire disappeared into traffic.<br /><br />"Ain't no way I'm gonna have an accident just so you girls can act a fool!" <br /><br />I was pissed off at him for years about that.<br /><br />We did, of course, see them about two hours later. My parents wanted to do the tourist thing and walk around downtown. They offered to buy the three of us hot dogs and sodas, but we refused (Ricky eagerly made his order). My stomach was roiling with nervous anticipation, and for once in my life, food was the furthest thing on my mind. One look at Patti and Tam told me that they felt the same way-- they just wanted to get to our seats in the Arena and wait for our beloved Jacksons to come out on stage. We told my parents and Ricky that we would meet them in the same spot after the concert.<br /><br />Strangely enough, I can't remember much about the show. All I can recall is that my heart seemed like it was pumping a thousand beats per second, and I nearly lost my voice and my mind when the five brothers hit the stage. When Jermaine sang, "Daddy's Home", I bit down on my left hand to contain myself. The teeth marks were still visible the next day. <br /><br />The lasting memory that both my sister and I have of that concert is not about Jermaine or Marlon (Tam's fave)--it's Michael. The closing song was "I Wanna Be Where You Are", and MJ belted it out--heart, mind, body and soul. He kept singing and dancing, even when he was backstage. It was electrifying,incredible. Pure magic. The three of us sat in our chairs after the show was over, too stunned to move. We didn't know it before, but we knew it then. We had just witnessed a genius sharing his God-given talent with us. What an awesome privilege!<br /><br />All I can say is, thank you Michael. May God bless you throughout your continuing spiritual journey.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-73887913586338273352009-06-12T21:45:00.000-07:002009-06-27T15:02:47.725-07:00What it was like...First,let me show you something:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.bnl.gov/bnlweb/pubaf/pr/photos/2001/obesity_sm.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 176px;" src="http://www.bnl.gov/bnlweb/pubaf/pr/photos/2001/obesity_sm.gif" border="0" alt="" /></a>
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<br />Now here's the scientific explanation from the article <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;"><ahref="http://www.bnl.gov/bnlweb/pubaf/pr/2001/bnlpr020101.htm">Scientists Find a Link Between Dopamine and Obesity </a> </span>:
<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The lower PET scan images, labeled FDG, show glucose metabolism in the brains of obese and control (comparison) subjects. There are no differences. The upper PET scans show where the radiotracer C-11 raclopride binds to dopamine receptors. These images show that obese subjects have fewer dopamine receptors than control subjects.</span>
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<br /></span><blockquote>Brookhaven scientists have done extensive research showing that dopamine plays an important role in drug addiction. Among other things, they've found that addictive drugs increase the level of dopamine in the brain, and that addicts have fewer dopamine receptors than normal subjects.
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<br />"Since eating, like the use of addictive drugs, is a highly reinforcing behavior, inducing feelings of gratification and pleasure, we suspected that obese people might have abnormalities in brain dopamine activity as well," says psychiatrist Nora Volkow, who was also involved in the study.
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<br />Okay, so in plain language--bottom left PET scan shows the glucose metabolism of a "normie", the normal sized person who can pass by a Cinnabon shop or pizza place in the mall and never think about buying something unless he or she is hungry. And even then, they might forgo those heavenly smells in favor of something reasonable and healthy, let's say, a nice big salad. Yeah, they do that. That's why they're normies, and I'm not. It takes constant prayer and a lot of cell phone calls to other food addicts to get me past Lucifer Morningstar's playground, aka the food court. And I walk very fast.
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<br />The bottom right picture shows the glucose metabolism of an obese person, who is more than likely a food addict like me. The scientists say there's little difference in the glucose processing in the brains of the normie and the obese person. They look different to me, but they're the experts. Maybe it's just that everyone's brain looks different on a PET scan, or to coin an old phrase, "as individual as our fingerprints". Glucose, for those who might not recognize the word, is the word for the sugar that's in all of our bodies. There's little difference between the two, the scientists say. Huh. Maybe they should have scanned MY brain.
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<br />The top PET scans show where the party gets started. The normie (top left picture) has more open pleasure receptors, which are places in their brains where dopamine (the natural high stuff)is given a VIP pass to get in. Running, playing checkers, skipping rocks, smelling roses, hot-tubbing--all of these activities get into a normal person's "party-over-here" pleasure-seeking receivers.
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<br />No such luck with the obese person (top right picture). The bouncer squashes most of the dopamine's action at the front door. Stop right there, buddy. Unless the dopamine is carrying a bag filled with a triple cheeseburger with giant-sized chili cheese fries, an extra large mocha chocolate chip milk shake and a huge slab of Oreo-crust cheesecake, the Big "D" ain't gettin' past the velvet rope. The obese person's pleasure seeking brain, ONLY recognizes Dr. Feelgood when he has Ms. Nasty hanging on his arm looking like a syrupy-sweet concoction oozing with fat.
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<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Angela's aside: No, I do not eat like that now. Not even close! [See note below.]In fact, at 400 lbs I couldn't eat all that. Not at one time, at least. I had to wait at least two hours before I could finish it. It would be gone by 10 pm, though.</span>
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<br />This is only a small part of an obese food addiction process. There's so much more to it, and I don't have the energy to delve into all that right now. But I can imagine all those scientists and researchers at the U.S. Department of Energy's Brookhaven National Laboratory are trying to come up with the right combination of chemicals to make those dopamine receptors open up and be free. Good people, those scientists and researchers. It's just too bad that food addiction is so much more complex than brain chemistry. Some of those scientific types even think that anti-depressants could get those receptors working. Poor souls. They just don't know the power of the dark side.
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<br />More about this later. It's a very long story.
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<br />Note: On a daily basis, I eat carefully measured amounts of protein, vegetables and fruit. The only additions to this is one ounce of oatmeal in the morning, 64 or more ounces of water to drink throughout the day, and decaf coffee or tea after breakfast. No artificial sweeteners, either.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-41791674146909968332009-05-22T23:01:00.000-07:002009-05-22T23:07:11.645-07:00Little Girl Addict<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TxWNfXL6-gA&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TxWNfXL6-gA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />A "discussion" on Twitter about whether parents should allow their children to eat sugared cereals became pretty heated today. First of all, mothers go on the serious offense if they perceive that another woman has something negative about how she is raising her children. Add to the mix a disagreement over what is "good nutrition" for children, and whoa...ladies, ladies, ladies! Let's break it up and go to your separate corners, all right!<br /><br />Well, I happen to agree with the moms who feel that feeding refined sugar and flour products to children is not only nutritionally unsound, but it is also setting them up for some serious issues with food addiction. It may not happen while they are children--they might get to their 30s or 40s before the weight starts piling on. But it's a lot more complicated than "oh, I'm getting older and my metabolism is slowing down." It's all about craving the good stuff--the hot,fresh French bread slathered with butter, deep dish pizza with loads of oozing extra cheese and pepperoni, mountains of nachos dripping with cheese, salsa, sour cream and guacomole--are you getting the picture here? And all of those delights are usually introduced in childhood. <br /><br />Now, mothers do not know how their children will react to this food. They have no idea that the first bite of Ben Jerry's ice cream at two years old will be become two pints before bedtime at age 45. And that's in addition to the Claim Jumper family size lasagna that Mommy's former sugar pumpkin had for dinner. No, there's no crystal ball that can predict a morbidly obese future for Mama's lil' darlin'. But Mom can certainly keep the odds favorable by keeping the fresh veggies and fruit on her sweetie-kin's plate, and putting a permanent moratorium on all refined flour and sugar products. If you don't give it to them, they won't develop a taste for it, at least not on your watch. They can (and will) do whatever they want once they are grown. But you will breathe a lot easier knowing that it won't be because you piled that poison into their systems.<br /><br />You don't think it's poison? An occasional treat is not going to be harmful? All right, you don't have to believe anything I say. Just check out what <span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href="http://www.drmcdougall.com/misc/2006nl/oct/sugar.htm">the good Dr. McDougall </a></span> has to say about it:<br /> <blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Food Processing Raises Insulin Levels and More<br /><br />When people consume significant quantities of unhealthy foods for prolonged periods of time their bodies show signs of distress, usually a rise in one or more risk factors—such as an elevation of blood sugar, cholesterol, triglycerides, blood pressure, and/or insulin. These values are called “risk factors” because they are associated with heart disease, diabetes, hypertension and obesity. The association is not one of “cause and effect,” but rather rich foods cause them to rise and concurrently cause people to become sick.<br /><br />The refining of plant foods commonly results in elevations of insulin levels. When whole grains are ground into whole flours nothing is added or removed, yet the properties of the food have changed. The physical structure has gone from a nugget to a powder—as a result the surface area of the food exposed to the intestinal lining has increased and the natural fibers of the food have been disrupted. This simple grinding process results in a greater elevation in the insulin levels in a person’s blood after eating, than that which is caused by the whole grain.1 During the next step of purification the whole grain flour is sifted to remove the chaff, thereby eliminating dietary fiber, vitamins, minerals and other important nutrients. The end product of this purification is white flour, which causes an even greater rise in insulin than the unrefined flour.<br /><br />A classic experiment reported in 1977 showed similar effects on insulin production from the processing of fruit.2 After eating an apple, subjects showed a small rise and fall in blood sugar (glucose) and a small rise in blood insulin levels. Applesauce, made by simply grinding the apples, caused a greater rise in insulin and subsequent fall in blood sugar. The juice, made by removing the pulp, caused the largest rise in insulin and fall in blood sugar levels. These kinds of studies demonstrate that consuming grains, vegetables and fruits in their unprocessed form is healthiest for the body.</span></span></blockquote><br /><br />Look, there's no doubt that my mother loved me. She had no idea that I had a very dangerous propensity to be addicted to flour, fats and sugar(probably genetic, since most of my family members are addicts of one sort or another). There's nothing wrong with giving a little candy to a pretty little sweet, quiet and well-behaved child, is there? My mother told me about how some Japanese women thought my sister and I were living dolls, and they gave us handfuls of rice candy. I was about a year and a half, my sister was six months old. Later, I remember being intoxicated by the smell of my mother's homemade oatmeal and raisin cookies, and feeling crazed with anticipation for the second they came out of the oven. I was four, not yet fat. <br /><br />But in two short years, I was chubby. By eight, I was fat. At age ten, I was obese. And my addiction to flour, sugar and fat spiraled beyond any measure of control. I weighed 301 pounds after I gave birth to my son in 1982. I was 24 years old. My mother was almost in physical pain every time she looked at me when I was at that weight. Little did she know that I would weigh 100 pounds more by age 42. But at least she didn't have to be tormented with guilt by the sight of me at that time. She'd had several heart attacks and a major stroke, and the result was she was far too ill to take note of my double-wide body. <br /><br />It wasn't my mother's fault. She didn't know that sugar and flour would cause an unbelievably strong reaction in my body, creating intense cravings and total mental obsession with getting more and more food. My mom wanted a much better life for me. But those powerful drugs, flour and sugar, were more powerful than my mother's unconditional love.<br /><br />I would like for the reader to watch the excerpt from the TLC (The Learning Channel)series "Inside Brookhaven Obesity Clinic" and consider this--all of those super morbidly obese people were just like me. They lost control of their addiction to flour and sugar products, and they had been condemned to an unhealthy, tortuously hellish existence that is isolated from most people and normal activities. And I'm sure their mothers didn't want them to be food addicts any more than mine.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-31759250220996917722009-05-22T13:01:00.000-07:002009-05-23T13:01:53.906-07:00Thoughts about Brookhaven Obesity Clinic<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/JPXITCU3HZM&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JPXITCU3HZM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br />There are a lot of problems, as I see it, with Brookhaven's program. They claim to have a high sucess rate, but compared to what? Only 3% of all dieters ever get to their weight loss goals on their own. And out of that 3%, most of them will re-gain all of their weight plus more within the next five years. I know; I've lived it. <br /><br />But if Brookhaven calls itself a facility that treats food addiction, then they better start doing something more than snatching the addicts' food away, and telling them that in exchange for eating 15,000 calories, they get to(woohoo, what fun when you are defying gravity with every step) exercise and talk to a shrink. Terrific. How motivating. That makes ME want to sign up! Luckily, I don't qualify for their program anymore! (Actually it's all due to my Higher Power, and yes, I'm referring to the 12-steps. It works for me. Nothing else, <span style="font-weight:bold;">INCLUDING</span> gastric bypass surgery, has.)<br /><br />Look, anytime you take away a substance or behavior away from an addict, they become angry, depressed, pathetic, irrational, and totally unable to conceptualize the long term benefits of changing their lives. Losing 200-700 pounds seems like a fantasy, an unattainable goal filled with pain and frustration. (You should have seen me when I was de-toxing from flour and sugar. I would have scared the Incredible Hulk!) No wonder they sneak food into the hospital. The short term satisfaction of eating their binge food becomes much more desirable than that distant future of "someday I will be thin and normal." <br /><br />And Brookhaven's food looks pretty disgusting. So what do these patients have to look forward to each day? Not much. There you have it. Relapse city. Not only that, they allow them to eat flour products as part of their daily food plan. Sorry folks, for food addicts, bread is NOT the staff of life--it is EVERYTHING in life, their love, their comfort, their joy! And it is addictive. One piece of bread is never enough. Why do you think they keep ordering delivery pizza? The addiction to flour has been triggered by the bread they eat in the hospital, and they want more! <br /><br />The down side of taking away an addict's favorite binge food is dealing with the addict. Without their fix of flour and sugar, you have some pretty surly patients on your hands. Unless they are given, like me, spiritual and emotional support and a way to feel good about themselves. A diet feels like punishment. Exercise feels like punishment. In fact, LIVING feels like punishment to a food addict, even though the thought of dying is terrifying. But even the threat of death won't keep a hardcore food addict out of the pizza. My suggestion? Start some 12 step meetings that focus on recovering from food addiction in the hospital, and require the patients to attend at least one a day. Make sure that the speakers for the meetings are people who have lost at LEAST 100 pounds, preferably more, and have kept it off for more than a year (preferably five years or more). The patients won't like it, but they don't like what they are doing now. But they need to hear stories of hope and recovery from <span style="font-weight:bold;">people who know exactly what they going through on a daily basis</span>, and develop a network of support that will help them when they return to their homes.<br /><br />Most people underestimate the fact that flour products are highly addictive (and toxic, but I won't get into that). Normal eaters (and food addicts in denial) can't understand it, but it's true. How many times have we seen in the series Brookhaven patients ordering in pizza? It's ALL about the bread: buttery, flaky croissants, an extra-large deep dish Chicago-style pizza smothered in extra cheese and pepperoni, mountains of fried chicken served with buttered biscuits and/or cornbread, mashed potatoes and rich, creamy gravy. Flour and fat--a food addict's dream. Without daily spiritual and emotional support from understanding people who have been down that addiction path, that "dream" will kill them. And more often than not, it does.<br /><br />Top off the flour/fat combo with the sugary stuff for dessert, and the cravings and compulsion to eat and eat and eat even more becomes unbearably overwhelming. Next stop--face down in the food, around the clock. Trust me. I've been there. I didn't get to 400 pounds by eating fresh fruit and salad. That's what I eat now,now that I'm more than 200 pounds down from my highest weight. And I resisted eating the vegetables most all. I tolerate them now, but in exchange for eating food I'm not too crazy about, I have a much clearer connection to my Higher Power and other people on a daily basis. And life is better. It just takes a very long time for a food addict like me to see that. And I couldn't do this on my own. I have NO willpower. The best way for me to keep eating healthy is to never put any flour or sugar products in my mouth, ever. That may seem harsh to some, but it's the truth.<br /><br />I had nearly die three times, have Roux-en-Y gastric bypass surgery (July 11, 2002), lose 150 pounds and re-gain 85 back, and once I got into recovery, complain bitterly about the nasty tasting food until I finally surrendered to this program. I was severely hard core addict sinking deeper and deeper into the food. I didn't know about Brookhaven when I was deep into the addiction, but I doubt if my outcome would have been much different than the patients in the series. At 400 pounds, in excruciating pain and confined to a wheelchair, I was a quarter step away from the life those super morbidly obese patients have been doomed to live. And that's a tortuously horrific living <span style="font-weight:bold;">death</span>.Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951416711104397788.post-24142920797899979382009-05-12T18:04:00.000-07:002009-05-12T18:04:11.572-07:00Family is where the heart is<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs030.snc1/3198_190174405105_729945105_6761339_360742_n.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 604px; height: 453px;" src="http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs030.snc1/3198_190174405105_729945105_6761339_360742_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;"> My grandson Xavier staring at a pinata with deadly focus and intent. My joy, my love, my heart!</span><br /><br />I had a wonderful Mother's Day. No, I didn't get a bunch of flowers (my kids know better), some chocolate (they <span style="font-weight:bold;">REALLY</span> know better) or a special brunch at my favorite restaurant. Not that I wouldn't have minded having brunch with my family, but unfortunately, I can't go anywhere near a restaurant these days, especially during a Mother's Day celebration. I would eat into oblivion. Even now as I'm typing this, I'm having flashes of M-Day brunches past, and I have to banish all food porn thoughts. <span style="font-style:italic;">(Is there any Remover of Difficulties save God? Say: Praise be God; He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His Bidding!)</span><br /><br />So what did I do on Mother's Day? I talked to my three now-adult-children by phone, read a little, watched some movies, slept a bit...in other words, I had a great time relaxing! You may scoff, but trust me--there was a time in my life when I would have given ANYTHING to have one day to myself to just relax! Being a mom does not coordinate very well with the word "relax". In fact, the word should be used to refer women who haven't had any children, or grandmothers like me who have the delight of watching your offspring go through the rigors of child-rearing. <br /><br />But the whole point of Mother's Day is to let your mother know how much you appreciate her, right? Well, that's my now-adult-children did. They called me without prompting, with no guilt or begrudging sense of "family duty." I am grateful for that, not because I did such a fantastic job raising them. I would love to make that claim, but the truth is, if I hadn't been in 12 step recovery for so many years, my kids would have been doing what I did for years--the old "let's get the flowers and brunch thing over with so I won't feel guilty" trip. Yes, that's what it was like for me. I did Mother's Day with my mom because I didn't want her to feel hurt or that I was slighting her. I wish I could honestly say that I did it because my mother and I had a very close and loving relationship, and spending Mother's Day with her was one way I could demonstrate my love and appreciate her. Don't get me wrong. I did love my Mother, God bless her and may she be comforted in the afterlife by resting in eternally Loving Hand of God. But our relationship was one of constant tension and enmeshment. It never felt comfortable, not even on Mother's Day. Perhaps <span style="font-style:italic;">ESPECIALLY</span> on Mother's Day.<br /><br />Looking back, there was much I could have done to alleviate the tension between us. But I was too wrapped up in it, and I couldn't see my way out of the buried anger and resentment. In fact, I must say that the anger and resentment was mostly pettiness and immaturity on MY part. I began to see that as her condition began to progress toward terminal. By that time, I had entered recovery from food addiction, and my part in the drama was uncomfortably apparent to me. Being abstinent from flour, sugar and excess portions does that. It isn't all about being able to fit into smaller sizes, believe me.<br /><br />I've learned a lot from the years I did recovery work in Adult Children of Alcoholics, Overeaters Anonymous and Al-Anon, and much of it had nothing to do with keeping the flour, sugar and excess portions out of my mouth. But I did get enough emotional recovery to decide to raise my own children very differently from my own upbringing. My mother did the best she could with the knowledge she had at the time. I had more information available to me, so I created a very different type of relationship with my kids. I've let them to BE the wonderful human beings that God created them to be. They needed a mother to teach the rules of the game of life, then step aside and let them experience life on their own. That's what I was determined to do. No more enmeshment or mommy-monster controlling every thought and action in the family. My view was that my children were a gift from God, and I did not OWN them. My job was to guide them into the tricky task of being responsible adults. If anything, I'm awed and humbled by the fact that I was given the opportunity to be their mother. By letting them go and grow, they've become magnificently talented and loving people. I can't take credit for that. I wouldn't have done that if I hadn't sought God's guidance and recovery during my child-rearing years.<br /><br />So yes, I had a nice, quiet Mother's Day without flowers and food that I shouldn't be eating anyway. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Just being mother to my kids and grandmother to my precious grandson is the best gift I could ever have.<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">In some respects woman is superior to man. She is more tender-hearted, more receptive, her intuition is more intense.<br /><br />It is not to be denied that in various directions woman at present is more backward than man, also that this temporary inferiority is due to the lack of educational opportunity. In the necessity of life, woman is more 162 instinct with power than man, for to her he owes his very existence.<br /><br />If the mother is educated then her children will be well taught. When the mother is wise, then will the children be led into the path of wisdom. If the mother be religious she will show her children how they should love God. If the mother is moral she guides her little ones into the ways of uprightness.<br /><br />It is clear therefore that the future generation depends on the mothers of today. Is not this a vital responsibility for the woman? Does she not require every possible advantage to equip her for such a task?<br /><br />Therefore, surely, God is not pleased that so important an instrument as woman should suffer from want of training in order to attain the perfections desirable and necessary for her great life's work! Divine Justice demands that the rights of both sexes should be equally respected since neither is superior to the other in the eyes of Heaven. Dignity before God depends, not on sex, but on purity and luminosity of heart. Human virtues belong equally to all!<br /><br />Woman must endeavour then to attain greater perfection, to be man's equal in every respect, to make progress in all in which she has been backward, so that man will be compelled to acknowledge her equality of capacity and attainment.<br /><br /> (Abdu'l-Baha, Paris Talks, p. 161)<br /><br /></span></span></blockquote>Ms Angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05454650271889661774noreply@blogger.com0