Pretty Poison
I
n the Twenty-Four Hours a Day book, I from two days to three weeks. Each mornread about treating alcohol as a poi- ing, I would wake up hoping that the food son. I immediately converted the word wouldn’t conquer me, though it inevitably alcohol to my addiction substance, which would. Those packages had won the is food. I recalled the fleeting delight I ex- willpower battle—again. perienced when I partook in the foods that Since I have been in FA, the poison food would ultimately try whispers, but it is to destroy me. These barely audible. I am Because of continuous, foods were pretty, no longer bewitched but alas, they too by it. Today, I don’t contented abstinence, were poisons to my see the appeal. I see I can now see beyond mind, body, and misery, shackles, and spirit. death. Because of the pretty poison and see Going down cercontinuous, contain aisles in the grotented abstinence, I the traps of addictive eating can now see beyond cery store would awaken my addicthe pretty poison to and obsessive thinking. tion. The food the traps of addictive seemed to be eating and obsessive screaming for me, clamoring for me, wel- thinking. coming me home. The packages, with col- It wasn’t always easy to say no to the food. ors so bright and inviting and the writing There was never a pantry, refrigerator, or so bold and beckoning, promised sheer drawer beyond my reach. I’d find the food, bliss. The lure was unmistakable. Time and devour it, and cower in shame at all the time again I would give in, my brain light- pretty, empty boxes and packages left being up as I tore open that prettily packaged hind—evidence of my steadfast addiction poison, and I would overeat to the point of and unmanageable life. When I didn’t have disgust, shame, and severe physical dis- the food available, it was just a car drive comfort. Once I began eating, I was pow- away. How my brain lit up when I despererless over the food for periods lasting ately grabbed those keys. I was free to connection
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