I hate food.

I love food.

I hate that I love food.

I don't love that I hate or love food.

I just want to eat food and get on with it, already.

It's not even food, even though it kind of is. It's really only part of it, but it's annoying, nonetheless.

• If you do drugs, you can stop by removing the drugs from your life.

• If you drink too much, you can stop by avoiding alcohol and never coming in contact with it again.

• If you are a pervert, you can stop being a pervert by avoiding porn and perverted situations, busying yourself with productivity and such....(these, of course, are simplified cures, mind you...just getting my point across, here...)

If your addiction is food, you can't stop eating food. Somehow, with prayers, willpower, discipline, accountability, journaling, busying oneself with some sort of hobby or whothehellknowswhat, you can break a food addiction and it can become a beautiful, well-balanced, healthy relationship. If anyone knows how, lemme know. Thanks.

I hate this blog.

I don't want you to know that as I sit and type this, having just finished an organic apple and tablespoon of natural peanut butter that I would have rather had the entire outer edge of a gluten-free tray of brownies...which I cannot make in my house or have just sitting around, because I would eat them all...because I have.

And this isn't all I think about. And sometimes it is.

Believe me, my life is oh so much more exciting than just food-thinking or how fat I think I am, but this season in my life, for a reason, it is at the forefront again. Stuffing it down worked in the past...for some reason it's not working this time. Maybe I actually want to be free?!

In the same vein, I love zucchini and spinach, kale and salmon, grass fed beef and cherries.

I don't dream about food, either.

There are just days that I get so bored, I eat. And then, I hate what I see in the mirror.

Recently I lost a significant amount of weight and had to go out and buy new jeans. Rough, I know...but seriously, I'm not looking for your condolences.

Here's the problem...in my mind, in my eyes, in my heart, I've always been the fat one. I'm the bigger sister, even though I'm the middle kid. In my reality, the perfectionism that runs rampant in my mind has never graced itself on my thighs or upper arms and, in my jacked up world, it's maddening!

As long as I can remember, I've never thought the girl in the mirror was pretty. She wasn't thin enough, though she was never huge. I think I literally hid behind my hair and my personality. Both were big enough to hide my thighs and hurtful thoughts. I had good hair. (And by "had" I mean, before I had kids. Now I don't even have that going for me...)

I know! I totally disgust you! I disgust myself. There are bigger problems in the world. I realize that, which is why I have to write my guts out here in order to be free of my own messed up self and move on with more important things.

I've had this blog in my mind for several months now. My mind is a safer place where I can hide my dirty, disgusting little secret. But, I for one, know there is no such thing as a secret. When there is something hidden in our lives that is not meant to be kept in the shadows, it. will. be. brought. to. light.

So, here you go: I was a latch-key kid starting in 2nd grade and it was then that my addiction and jacked up relationship with food began. Or maybe it was then that my skewed self-image started emerging. Chicken or the egg? I was a free agent in the kitchen and no one was there to tell me, "No. Dinner is almost ready, don't fill up." I would usually play with my BFF down the street for a bit and then if we didn't snack at her house, or even if we did, I'd come home and open the pantry. "What can I sneak before my parents get home?" Mwwahahaha! I suspect it started out of actual hunger from actually playing outside way back when in the late '70's and early '80's, you know, when we rode our bikes and skipped rope and roller skated and chased kids and climbed trees...before Atari. Does anyone out there remember? Anyway, at some point it morphed from hunger to boredom, and though I have not been bored for the last 30 years straight, I most certainly have eaten out of boredom...and comfort...and sadness...and boredom...and probably habit?

So when I lost all that weight recently, I looked in the mirror and was shocked, quite frankly. I didn't have bat wings. There wasn't a spot of cellulite to push in and wiggle. My stomach was flat which had never happened...and I thought, "Wow. You look really healthy. That's the you I've always known was in there."

And then I cracked. I didn't know how to be that healthy thin person. I started self-sabotaging. Gross, I know. But really, I did not know how to carry myself and the very weight I had hated for years I welcomed back with open, floppy upper arms.

Anyway, I'm kind of grossing myself out here. I am on this journey to find healing and wholeness. I write because it helps me get my guts and thoughts on "paper." I write it here because without accountability there is no motivation for change. I write here because I know I am not the only person out of 6 plus billion that has a very skewed self-body image or less than desirable relationship with food.

Warning: I have to be real here. I will not candy-coat my entries. I will not blow sunshine and try to make this look fluffy, though I will crack jokes to lighten my own heart. If you are offended by the content of this blog, hit "Next blog" and be on your way...it's just that easy.

For anyone else, if this blog resonates with you on any level, come back for another serving. My heart buffet is open...