Pretty Poison

In the Twenty-Four Hours a Day book, I read about treating alcohol as a poison. I immediately converted the word alcohol to my addiction substance, which is food. I recalled the fleeting delight I experienced when I partook in the foods that would ultimately try to destroy me. These foods were pretty, but alas, they too were poisons to my mind, body, and spirit.

Going down certain aisles in the grocery store would awaken my addiction. The food seemed to be screaming for me, clamoring for me, welcoming me home. The packages, with colors so bright and inviting and the writing so bold and beckoning, promised sheer bliss. The lure was unmistakable. Time and time again I would give in, my brain lighting up as I tore open that prettily packaged poison, and I would overeat to the point of disgust, shame, and severe physical discomfort. Once I began eating, I was powerless over the food for periods lasting from two days to three weeks. Each morning, I would wake up hoping that the food wouldn’t conquer me, though it inevitably would. Those packages had won the willpower battle—again.

Since I have been in FA, the poison food whispers, but it is barely audible. I am no longer bewitched by it. Today, I don’t see the appeal. I see misery, shackles, and death. Because of continuous, contented abstinence, I can now see beyond the pretty poison to the traps of addictive eating and obsessive thinking. It wasn’t always easy to say no to the food. There was never a pantry, refrigerator, or drawer beyond my reach. I’d find the food, devour it, and cower in shame at all the pretty, empty boxes and packages left behind—evidence of my steadfast addiction and unmanageable life. When I didn’t have the food available, it was just a car drive away. How my brain lit up when I desperately grabbed those keys. I was free to choose what I wanted, to eat what I wanted, and to continue in my misery and shame (though the addiction cunningly hid those). The addiction made me forget that these appealing things would eventually kill me. The addiction compelled me to stuff, eat, hoard, and hide. Food made life better, until it didn’t.

One day, after buying a sugar-flour item, I sat and ate and cried and ate and cried and ate. I was so empty spiritually and so depressed emotionally, but I knew of no other solution than to eat. Food no longer satisfied, but what else could I do with my emotions but stuff them down into oblivion? I had no other solutions; food was my solution.

It was through my recovery in FA that I realized that my emotional pain was what compelled me to eat. The alluring packaging of the sugar, flour, and binge foods was only a smokescreen to distract me from fear, pride, perfectionism, shame, negative thinking, and dishonesty.

I don’t think I’ve ever met a sugar product I didn’t like since I was three years old. Sugar calmed my fears and shielded me, albeit temporarily, from the emotional pain of parental criticism and neglect growing up. After two years of abstinence, I still avoid certain aisles of the grocery store. Why tamper with serenity? Why torture myself with the past? I have a new life in recovery, and there’s no food, no pretty poison, that can compare to the delectable recovery I enjoy today.

How did I get to contented abstinence? In a word, surrender. I was arrogant enough to think that I would be an exception to following the FA program. I finally realized I needed to surrender to the program just as my sponsor outlined it to me. It’s not prettily packaged, but it’s tried and true by thousands of addicts before me.

While doing some grocery shopping the other day, I passed by an establishment where I used to feed my addiction. For a fleeting moment, I remembered the aroma, the taste, and the feel of that item. I continued to drive past the place, knowing it was no longer an option for me; not my food. How do I do it? It’s truly spiritual work—99 percent of God working in me, and 1 percent of me surrendering to God as I follow the FA program. My days are already planned, and recovery helps me to roll with the spontaneity and unforeseen problems that used to unhinge me and drive me back to the food.

Recovery feels so good it often brings me to tears, knowing that I have a new life when I say no to the pretty poisons that attempted to choke the life from me, literally and figuratively. My food today comes primarily from nature, and my way of living and eating comes from God.