A Food Addict’s Waking Words — Before Stashing Cookie Dough Under the BBQ Lid
“I’m not well. God, please help me.” Those seven words popped to mind on a running loop today at 10:20 a.m.— when I woke for the fourth time since going to bed at 11. “I’m not well. God, please help me.” I want my ticket out of Crazyland.
This morning, I was in the backyard, in my Lane Bryant black and burgundy faux-satin sleepwear, removing the dome lid from our charcoal grill and putting three packs of cookie dough on the grate.
As I replaced the metal lid, I heard my neighbor call out over the fence, “Good morning, Alice.”
Yes, I live in my own personal Crazyland. And yes, my neighbor must know that by now. He must.
After 37 installments of the “Recovery Writing” series I started a year ago on Medium, I stopped doing them in July. My stories about overeating and sugar addiction, each named for a flower, died on the vine. The petals had withered, the roots were exposed.
I was reporting honestly, and my readers liked sharing my journey and supporting me. I’m grateful. Yet I was far from recovered.
It became clear to me. I was a real-life Bridget Jones, the fictional heroine in Bridget Jones’s Diary, that delicious 1996 novel by Helen Fielding. Bridget’s entries included daily calorie…
