From Alchoholic to Foodoholic...

I love food

It's funny how fat people always think about food.  I think about food days in advance if we're going somewhere I really like.  Like Oriental Inn.  I love that place.  Our whole family loves it.  I'm thinking about their hot and sour soup as I type this.  I will literally imagine the menu in my head the few days before we go there.

And Famous Dave's.  I have dreams about their ribs...

The point is I think about food constantly.  Food is what gets me through the day.  It's sad and stupid at the same time.  Food is my security blanket.  It worries me that I'm not going to have that security after my surgery.  I'll still be thinking about food all the time but I think in a completely different way.

The therapist that I went to see per this program suggested that I'll end up transferring this food addiction to keeping to my diet and following the plan that the docs, dietitians and physical therapists lay out for me.

I hope that's true.

Follow the yellow, piss stained wall

15 years ago I was sent to The Guest House in Rochester, MN by the Archdiocese of Indianapolis because I had a drinking problem.  Let's see...I was in an all male school in the middle of Southern Indiana.  I wasn't homosexual.  What the hell else did they expect us to do?  Guess what?  They wanted me to prepare for the priesthood.  I got drunk instead.

The school I was at tried to let me get help on my own by attending AA meetings in the surrounding area.  That would work until I started hanging out with my 'friends' again.  Then it was time to 'Hammer Down'.  These 'friends' liked to see me drink.  I would chug whole beers, whole bottles of liquor, you name it, I probably chugged it.  I was a clown basically.  It all came to a head in the late Winter of 1996-97.

I don't know what was bugging me that early February night in 1997.  Probably first world problems.  Whatever it was I need a drink.  For me, a drink wasn't just 1 or 2 beers.  It was pitchers of beer...by myself.  I would frequently black out.  I thought that was normal.  At least the people I told about it afterwards thought it was a funny story.

This night, as it would turn out, would be the same but different.  I ordered pitcher after pitcher.  Maybe I ordered for others, I don't know and no one ever told me.  It's probably a good thing I don't know.  Either way after that much beer your bladder has had enough.

I needed to piss like a racehorse so I went out towards the front door where the men's room was.  Instead of turning right, I went through the front door and turned left...and took the most fateful piss of my life.  Right in front of the Board of Overseers for the college.  They were on their way down for a night cap after a day of meetings.

Well they got dinner and a show that night.  I stumbled back into the bar.  I had to have someone help me fill out and sign the check for the bar tab.  I remember that clearly.  The next thing I knew I ended up in my room.  The next morning I woke up with blood all over my foot and sheets.  I had kicked a chair in my room and cut my big toe wide open.

One of the monks saw my toe and sent me to the on campus medical office to get cleaned up.  I was tongue made of carpet hungover by then.  I went back to my room and slept till about 3 in the afternoon.  After dinner one of the monks who was my mentor met with me and told me what happened.  I was in deep shit.  I just went back to my room and had a drink.  I didn't know what was going to happen.  I just hoped I wouldn't get expelled.  I had already taken a year off because my grades were horrible my freshman year.

So the next day the Vocation's Director for the Archdiocese of Indianapolis at the time showed up.  I was summoned to a meeting with all kinds of folks.  I was getting an intervention.  My mentor drove me up to Rochester the next day.  I owe my life to that man.  And to St. Meinrad College.  But that priest can kiss my ass.  The lack of compassion that oozed out of him sickens me even as I write this.  Sure I was a problem child for the Archdiocese.  I knew that I had effed shit up bad.  Instead of telling me that I was going to get help all he could say was, "When you're done up there we'll talk about your future with this Diocese."  Great compassion Fr. Dickface.

Off the see the wizard...

I ended up in Rochester the day after that since it took us 2 days to drive up there.  I felt like I was on my way to prison.  When it's all said and done though I cherish the time I had there.  I met some very good friends who are sadly dead now.  There aren't any young people up there.  I won't go back up there for reunions though.  It's 3 months of my life I'll never get back.  I don't want to be reminded of that anymore.

So, I tell myself periodically that I could have a real beer or a mixed drink and be fine.  But I can tell you that being fat is one hundred times better than being drunk for me.  I was a miserable asshole when I was drunk.   I enjoy a N/A beer every so often and I have no guilt about that at all.  But I know that having another drink will send me into a spiral that I would never escape.

So that happy little piece of my life tells me I'm prepared to switch addictions.  I switched from food and alcohol to just food.  Now I'm about to switch from food to healthy living.  I just hope I don't end up a bigger douche than I already feel.