Hello, my name is Julie.
This is my first time coming to a meeting with fellow carb-o-holics. I must say that it is a relief looking around this room and seeing other people that share the same fate as me.
My therapist recommended this group. She said that I should not suffer alone. Well, here I am. Thank you in advance for listening to my story.
From my first memories as a child, food has been my Achilles’ heel. Eating delicious pasta and goulash throughout my youth, five nights a week satiated a need in me. The warm, filling meals sent me off to slumber like nothing else could.
As I am sure you know, carbohydrates turn into sugar as soon as your body digests them. Maybe that is why I had no problem eating a whole bottle of honey on more than one occasion. Do you remember Little Debbie’s snack cakes? Star Crunch is my all time favorite. Eating one after the other really was not an issue. My tummy never complained. Frankly, my teeth did not either. No cavities for me. Nothing would ever come in the way of my insatiable need to over consume anything that tasted like heaven to my palate.
Pies, cookies, cakes you name it … Entenmann’s coffee cake, Twinkies, whole loaves of bread, every single chip in the bag … I ate it all – most of the time in one sitting. I even existed on a steady diet of English muffins from 1987-1988 (when I started my fashion model career in NYC). Never once did I give my eccentric diet a second thought. I thought it was normal. In fact, up until I hit 30 years of age, eating pie for breakfast was a no-brainer.
Off and on over the past few years, I have been able to control my carb addiction. No longer do I eat the complete box of chocolates. No longer do I insist on stopping by Krispy Kreme doughnuts—even if their Hot Doughnuts Now sign is on. No longer does the call of freshly prepared French fries bring me to my knees, vinegar or not, I don’t touch them.
All has been pretty smooth, up until 30 days ago when my youngest child announced that he is now a vegetarian. Being a sous chef is tough. Now with two different menus at night, I am at a loss. Typically, our meals would involve meat four times per week (organic/ free range), fish two times per week and pasta once per week. All prepared with homemade sauces, fresh vegetables, and a massive salad.
NOW, what the hell am I supposed to do? I do not have a Rolodex of vegetarian recipes. Beyond lentils, all other legumes, beans, etc. give ME a case of gas, not to be described. (I won’t mention the other members of my family that have farting issues. Some things should remain private, after all.)
For crying out loud, I have to feed us … Pasta has reared its tempting head. Bread has made a comeback. Bagels are staring at me from my kitchen … I can feel their gaze. Cookies come and go as fast as the speed of light. Oh man, I ate three macadamia, white chocolate beauties last night. I CANNOT STOP MYSELF!
Juicing carrots, beets, celery, apples and cucumbers only fills me up for 40 minutes. Just LOOKING at a plate of French toast gives me an orgasm.
What is wrong with me? Why can’t I stop? I am too ashamed to head out to dinner. I might eat what is left on everyone else’s plate. Children are starving in this world, and I am not about to leave that crust of bread, the last ravioli, or the morsel of chocolate cake to be tossed in the trash!
As I work through the 12 steps of being a carb-o-holic, I can see right from the start what I have done wrong. The foodie mistakes I have made. The gastronomical delights—that should never touch my tongue ever again—are being drawn up on a list. So far there are 150 examples. I will make posters of this list. Place them all around my house. I will even print a few for each handbag I own just to be sure I don’t trip up again.
The first step says that I must admit defeat in front of the carbohydrate gods. Well, here I am, admitting defeat.