Back, again.

At roughly 0625 hours, on 5 January, 2010,  I began an abortive attempt at blogging a "better way to live."

I admitted my disease, my powerlessness. I may even have broached that an "-ism" isn't necessarily defined as the addiction to the actual substance, but the mechanics of the things that happen when the drug-of-choice enters your system.

In case you've forgotten, let me remind you. I am an addict. And addicts do what they have always done: feed their addictions. Whether I'm clean or not is inconsequential. What matters is how I live my life. Yes, I'm in recovery. But I'll always have the disease.

So, I haven't 'used' since 1980. And? So what?

I haven't had a drink since 1990. Yeah? Big deal.

I've changed addictions. And, best beloved, there are several. The computer. The phone. Silly home projects into which I've poured my time and efforts...only to half-or partially-complete them. GOOD projects that I over-devote time and effort to, to the chagrin and annoyance of my family.

My current, and most consistently-present "drug" is eating. I eat like I used to drink. Happy? Eat. Sad? Eat. Pissed? Eat. Can't sleep? Eat. Just finished eating? Hell, why put those leftovers away? EAT 'em.

Mostly everyone has seen "WTF" online. Yeah, I bet I know what YOU think it stands for. For ME, it's "WHERE'S THE FOOD???"

And so, I now weigh 254 pounds. I am the most overweight I've ever been in my life. When I was 19, and just leaving Fort Dix, New Jersey (C-7-3 Basic Training Brigade, BOO-yah!) I was a lean, mean, 135-pound trainee. That means I weigh 119 pounds more than I did when I was 19. Like, TWO people walking around in one pair of bib overalls.

A lot has changed, since my last entry (and, to be honest, I'm not going to look back and see when that was.) I retired. Unwillingly. Too many surgeries, too much arthritis, and nobody wants the preexisting conditions with which I arrive. So: short-term disability turned into long-term disability, then that turned into social security disability because, for some reason, my cartilage is disappearing like the dew on this morning's grass. Pssssst! Gone. That condition doesn't keep me from doing a lot of fun things. Just work things. Traditional work things. So, I do a little work, I have a little fun, and get through the day. I get stuff done. But not enough.

Time to work the steps. Time to LIVE the steps. And the bible. And the radical acceptance and situational awareness my VA counselor has been teaching us these last years.

So, what's changed? Besides my body shape, BMI, weight? I'm diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis. I self-inject Methotrexate once a week. Our little boy is growing up, and he's more of a handful to chase and entertain. We're still vegan. "Pasta is the other white meat." "Bread is the OTHER, other white meat." HUGE portions are the norm (and the bane of my health!) Sugar...oh, gratuitously added sugar! What the hell am I DOING to myself?

And, now: baby steps. I've not added any sugar to my coffee for three or four days. I'm taking ONE cup of coffee per day, with green or herbal teas (AND NO SUGAR) for the rest of the day, with no caffeine after midday. I'm eating slowly. Conscientiously. Maintaining portion awareness. I SIT after I eat; I don't automatically leap up for seconds...and discover I don't necessarily want seconds. If I do, veggies are plentiful in this house. The cheap, Dollar General cookies are tasty, and "just LITTLE cookies," but THREE are a serving, not seventeen. I can't seem to limit them, so...I don't buy them. I make a CONSCIENTIOUS EFFORT to stay the hell out of the icebox after dinner's over, the dishes washed, and the extras all put away.

Now, It's only been a couple of days since my VA doctor looked at me with that "LOOK" on her face. That look that says "Despite everything I've told you, despite everything you SAY you know, you're heavier now than the last time we had this little pow-wow." I know, I KNOW! I get short of breath, bending over to tie my shoes. I get winded, coming up the stairs. It's hard for me to get into rides at Kings Island. Some of the safety equipment SQUISHES me to bits. I'm heading toward "Sorry, you can't safely ride this attraction if the harness doesn't fit."

Screw that crap.

This morning, after a couple days of moderation, I weigh 251.6 pounds (-2.4#!) I'm using the MyFitnessPal app by Under Armour to log my caloric intake, and as soon as I get a Garmin tracker, I'll be linking that to the account. One day at a time, I'm going to be a living example of the stewardship of body God intended for us all. It helps that I have a SUPER accountability partner. She's also my diet tech (registered) and best friend, too. As another friend put it, "It's a sack race: we're in it together."

Hi; my name is Steve, and I'm powerless over my addiction to food. Today, it's been 72 hours since I took my life back, 72 hours since I took the fork out of my carotid artery, and decided to QUIT committing "suicide by the mouthful." Again.  I need to immerse myself in purpose, in work, in the service of the loving God Who relieved me of the obsession to use, to drink, and I trust will relieve me of the obsession  to overeat.