Got food issues? This is the first of three posts on food addiction. Let’s face it together.

My college survival kit: wheat thins, pizza and Diet Coke.

And more Diet Coke.

I do not recommend my college survival kit. I managed to get decent grades — even was graduated with honors — but at a price. I felt frazzled and fat.

My weight was fine. However, I all but starved myself by day for gut-buster pizzat night. Once or twice my pizza bloat led to nasty thoughts — you fatso, you idiot, you idiotic fatso — and a stop by the women’s dorm potty. I pressed my fingers to the back of my throat, while praying to the porcelain god, and gagged.

Failure, failure, failure. I couldn’t even vomit. Flipping and flopping like a fish, I fell asleep to self-condemning thoughts and Diet Coke dreams.

FAST FORWARD A DECADE. 

I finally got a handle on my eating or so I thought. I plugged the pop and went vegetarian.

Words like couscous, tempeh and Rice Dream freckled my conversations, like

“Ooh, you musttry teriyaki tempeh over couscous. . .leave room  followed by Rice Dream.” I know booooring. But it was my thing back then. Now it’s Starbucks. No froo-froo drinks. Only tea so strong it could grow hair on your chest. Well, my chest.

Almost daily a box talks to me: “Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order?”

My always answer: Black iced tea, no sugar, no water.” That’s right. . .I drink tea leaves. Not.

I drink the Starbucks iced tea with no extra water. I think I’m addicted. Wait. I know I’m addicted.

“My name is Lucy and I’m a tea-aholic.”

Did you know you can be addicted to almost anything? Shopping, pornography (yep, even us girls), Facebook, bunco, gossip, work, Twitter, romance novels, perfectionism. And, of course, food.

Food addictions are among the worst to have. You can’t not eat.

Addiction is idolatry. Instead of putting God first, someone in danger of a food addiction sneaks snack cakes from the pantry and rearranges the boxes and cans so on one will notice. In fact, deceit is a hallmark of addiction.

A former coworker used to bake a cake for dessert, then in her weakness, slice big wedges, smash them between her teeth, and fearing her husband would find out, bake a second identical cake. What happened to the first cake?

Plop plop fizz fizz.

She ate it and felt horrible. Worst than her stomach ache, she lost self-respect. The lies, the deception, the realization that she couldn’t help herself until. . .

Watch for tomorrow’s post: Licorice Lies, Truffle Truth

You Are Loved, Lucy

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