Two seconds: The amount of time I wish would elapse between eating my last bite of Thanksgiving dinner and starting on Thanksgiving dessert.

Two hours: The amount of time that actually elapses.

Complete hell: The amount of time in between these two events.

Over the years I’ve had varying opinions about whether food addiction exists and if I have it, but the single-minded focus I felt in anticipation of devouring some dirt cake and apple crisp on Thanksgiving presented a strong case for its existence.

Literally the moment I finished eating dinner, I wanted to eat dessert. I love sweets and I knew there was a delicious concoction of crushed Oreos, whipped cream and cream cheese sitting in the fridge. I found myself sitting at the table while other people were still finishing their meals thinking, “Oh my God! Eat faster! Don’t you want dessert?!” Then when we were all done, we helped with the washing up. (I supervised!) And people mingled. And went to the bathroom. And started chatting. And while it really is lovely to catch up with family and friends, OH MY GOD COULD WE PLEASE HAVE DESSERT?!

Of course, I couldn’t just scream that to everyone in the dining room, because it would be totally weird and embarrassing. Instead, I had to sit around pretending I wasn’t thinking about doing horrible things to my blood sugar levels. Secretly, though, I was wishing we could get the dessert plates out already. (I’d be happy to help!) And when I wasn’t thinking about crushed Oreos, I was thinking of how disordered this way of thinking is, and how “normal” people probably don’t feel this way about dessert, and wishing this craving would go away please for the good of both my health and my waistline. But it didn’t. Addiction never goes away. The lil’ fucker.

Eventually we did have dessert and it was very good. Yum. Yum to the yum, yum, yum. I enjoyed it very much, and somehow managed to eat until I was full but not stuffed. Small victories, y’all. Small, small, victories.

A few weeks ago I had lunch with Jennifer Joyner, author of the recently released Designated Fat Girl: A Memoir. It turns out she lives in Fayetteville and I live in Chapel Hill, which means we’re only ninety-something miles apart, or 1 hour and 36 minutes according to Google Maps.

We had a good chat about the publishing industry, weight, and incompetent medical workers. (While I related to many of the fat-girl experiences she writes about in the book, it was her encounter with bumbling Nurse Bob before surgery that really hit home for me. He must be the same guy who assisted with a CT scan I had last year that I’m amazed didn’t turn me into a mutant superhero.)

Joyner’s book is a memoir about her life as a food addict. After years of morbid obesity, encroaching health problems like gestational diabetes, and lack of success with other weight-loss options, she decides to go through with gastric bypass surgery. This comes with its own complications and leads to a battle with dependence on painkillers in which she switches one addiction for another.

The book is very frank about the embarrassing moments and low self-esteem Joyner’s weight problem caused her throughout her life. She’s also honest about the fact that weight-loss surgery didn’t solve all her problems, and actually gave her ones she didn’t have before. So, it’s not necessarily a happy-feel-good book, but it does revel the emotional truth of Joyner’s life well. If you’ve ever felt bad about being overweight, you’ll probably relate to a lot of what she went through.

It also provides insight into how food can be an addiction for some people. After her surgery, she has a craving for Doritos and ends up eating an entire bag, causing her intense pain, heart palpitations, dizziness and sweating. Then, the next day, she eats another bag, despite the experience the day before. This behavior leads her to the revelation that she has an urge to abuse food that goes beyond normal hunger.

It’s also good to see a memoir that talks about weight-loss surgery, and covers both the good and bad aspects of the procedure. There are lots of weight-loss memoirs in stores, but so few of them are based on experiences with gastric surgery, which seems odd considering how many people are having that procedure these days.

You can find out more about the book on Jennifer Joyner’s web site. You can also read a Salon.com personal essay she wrote recently in which she shares how food addiction has shaped her life. And despite the negative self-image she writes about having for so many years, she came across as a positively nice lady! You can buy her book on Amazon.com here.

Oh, and in the interest of full disclosure, Jennifer was going to buy me lunch, but I used a coupon for a free meal instead, so she didn’t end up buying me anything. Which was sort of stupid of me in retrospect because I could have gotten a free lunch then and used the coupon later. I am a foolish girl, but at least that means there is no ethical shadiness about this review.

Well, the answer is that food addicts are not addicted to all foods. I’ve never heard of someone being addicted to broccoli. It might taste good roasted with olive oil and tossed with pine nuts and Parmesan cheese, but I’ve never sat on my couch thinking, “Oh my God, I want to binge on broccoli!” And even if I did, it’s broccoli. How much damage can a load of cruciferous vegetables really do? I’m not going to start sprouting green florets out of my head.

Most food addicts have trigger foods which are easy to identify because you usually find yourself plunged face first into them. Some people have weaknesses for salty snacks, but I am mostly undone by sweet foods, especially the crunchy ones. I stopped buying Go Lean! Crunch about a year ago because I could not stop munching on it. The same goes for granola. My other triggers include honey or agave nectar, which I will suck right out of the bottle. Other obvious ones are chocolate, ice cream and most any candy. I love baked goods too, like toasted bagels, donuts, or any kind of cake or bread.

So, if I were really, really serious about overcoming food addiction, I would never eat any of these foods again. This is why I am not really, really serious about overcoming food addiction. No more bagels? Ever? For real? The very thought of never having sweet chocolate again makes me want to weepy salty tears.

Instead, my current strategy is to never bring these foods into my house, or if I do bring only one serving at a time. Boxes of 100-calorie packs do not work for me because I eat the whole box. It may say six servings on the side of the box, but I know I am just buying one serving divided into six packages. If you sit just one cinnamon roll in front of me, I will savor its gooey goodness, but if there aren’t any more to binge on, I’m ok. I’ll eat most of this stuff in restaurants too, though the never-ending bread basket can be dangerous, so I avoid that all together if I can. Sometimes this works, other times I stuff my face with pudding and wonder if the scientists will ever figure out what the hell is wrong with me.

People frequently debate what it’s better to be addicted to: food, alcohol, drugs or cigarettes? It seems a bit silly to debate since it sucks to be addicted to anything. Each one has their ups and downs. While as a food addict I cannot give up food all together, a part of me is pleased that I can still consume that which I have an unholy love for as long as I limit it to scenarios where I’m forced to moderate myself. Alcoholics and smokers have to give it up all together, poor bastards. I often complain about the social pressure there is to eat, especially at offices with lots of cake lying around, but there is social pressure to smoke and drink too. I have a friend who’s mostly quit smoking, but craves cigarettes whenever she goes to a bar because so many people smoke there. I also feel bad alcoholics because if a celebratory event doesn’t involve food, it most likely involves alcohol. I’ve lost track of the number of times coworkers or friends have invited me out drinking. If I were an alcoholic, I’d be tempted to become a homebody, or just hang around sober people. I’m mostly grateful that they invite me to bars and not cupcakeries, because then I’d be well and truly screwed.

Ultimately, I decided the name doesn’t matter. A name is just a box we put ideas in. What matters is that I understand my relationship with food. Then I can start figuring out the consequences my environment, my thoughts, and my actions have on that relationship and make plans to manipulate these things to my best advantage. I don’t know what the official definition of addiction is, though I could look it up on dictionary.com or the DSM-IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). I don’t know if what happens in my brain when there is leftover cake in the break room is the same thing that happens when an alcoholic is inside a liquor store or a smoker is inhaling second-hand smoke at a bar. It would be interesting to know, but I doubt it matters unless you’re working on a cure for addiction. Right now I’m just trying to cope with the way I am. Giving my problems a name seems less relevant than managing them.

It’s nice to have the name, for sure. Then you can popularize the term and it makes it easier to explain it to other people. You can say, “I’m an alcoholic” and people instantly understand what you mean. It would be nice to have scientific proof too because then you can point to the studies and the fancy medical speak and explain to people why you are the way you are. That would make them stop jabbering on about willpower and calorie counting and stop them wondering why these silly fat people can’t stop eating so much already. Once people see that there is a biological reason for the way you are, they get much more understanding and stop blaming you for a character flaw.

So, addict, compulsive overeater, or Lady Piggy McEatsalot, I don’t care what you call me, but at least I know what I am.

It was at this point that I realized I have a serious problem with food.

Gleefully imagining the voluntary installation of a colostomy bag inside my body is NOT NORMAL. Yet, there is still a part of me that longs for birth control for food, something that will allow me to indulge in all the pleasure I want to with little risk of suffering negative consequences. What do we have now?

• Bulimia – Not an option. It wrecks havoc on your body and the acid from your stomach erodes the enamel on your back teeth. Also, vomit, ew.
• Olestra – A fake fat substitute that your body does not digest, but leaves you literally shitting your pants.
• Alli – the diet pill that prevents your body from absorbing all the fat you consume, but again, leaves you literally shitting your pants.
• Artificial sweeteners (i.e. fake food) – I’ve found these helpful, but some people dislike the aftertaste and have concerns about their safety. There is also research that suggests they don’t help you lose weight because they leave your body unsatisfied and yearning for the real thing. That said, I drank Diet Pepsi the whole time I was losing 190 pounds.

My idea of a secondary stomach would probably have issues (besides the fact that it’s Kra-zee with a capital K). Food could get stuck in the switch or it could get stuck in one position or the bag could leak into your body, all making you very dead. Regardless of all the flaws in the above propositions, none of them fix the underlying problem. They are just patches of duct tape keeping the fender from falling off your car. They stop you from trailing sparks down the highway, but they don’t fix the actual problem. Until I can find a way to weld my bumper back on, I make do the best I can with the tools available.

I do think that our ancestors descendents will look back and think it an oddity that people used to write weight-loss memoirs and weight-loss blogs, just like I watch Moulin Rouge and think it bizarre that people use to die of tuberculosis. In the meantime, if I ever hear of Mexican surgeons illegally implanting secondary stomachs, I’ll know where they got the idea.

The fact that you have to make the promise shows that you have a problem. I’ve never had to promise not to take another drink because I don’t care much for alcohol. It makes my headache worse and I’ve never thought the buzz was worth all the calories. There’s a bottle of vodka that has been in my freezer since July and it will probably still be there next year. That’s how I know I’m not an alcoholic. However, I have often promised myself that I will only eat half the meal at a restaurant and then eaten the whole plate. I’ve promised I won’t drive to the grocery store for ice cream, and then ridden home with a half-pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I’ve promised I wouldn’t eaten a lot of things and then I’ve eaten them anyway.

Which is why I have to say, “Hello, my name is Jennette and I’m a food addict.”

Last year I reviewed a book about food addiction and mentioned that I did not consider myself a food addict. One or two people commented, “Really? Are you sure?” I used to weigh almost 400 pounds. It’s not out of the question to wonder if I had a deeper problem than licking the beaters too many times. But things had been going pretty well and I had been eating really well and exercising and I didn’t think I had much of a problem with food.

In the past year however, my life has spiraled out of control in interesting ways, which has made me want to eat. Food is my drug, Kroger is my dealer and I’ve definitely been using. I’m still not sure if “addict” is quite the right word. The term “compulsive eater” might be a better description. I’ve definitely felt compelled to eat. I’ve wanted to eat chocolate in a way that is more powerful than just a desire for something yummy. I’ve wanted to eat when I’m not hungry. I’ve wanted to eat when I know it will make me gain weight or cause me health problems, and I’ve done it anyway. I’ve wanted to eat in some primal way that goes beyond just the need for survival.

When I’ve resisted the urge, it’s been hard. Very hard. I’ve sat on my hands in restaurants. I’ve gone to take a nap because I know I won’t eat in my sleep. I’ve manically gnawed on celery in an attempt to fill me up so I won’t eat an entire batch of muffins. Many times the only reason I haven’t eaten seconds is because I know other people will notice. I’ve looked at the half-eaten meals on friends plates at dinners and realized they don’t have the same need to keep eating that I do. I’ve realized I’m a bit different.

I’ve been reading All In My Head, a book by Paula Kamen about her fight with chronic daily headache. When speaking about the disease of headache she quotes Susan Sontag who says, “Theories that diseases are caused by mental states and can be cured by will power are always an index of how much is not understood about the physical terrain of a disease.” That can certainly be said of obesity. I think it’s true of addiction too. I don’t know why I am the way I am. Perhaps someday in the future they’ll be able to reprogram people’s brains so they don’t feel these destructive compulsions. All I know is that I have a screwed up relationship with food and I probably always will.

I know someone out there will now suggest I should go to Overeaters Anonymous. Thanks for your concern and for the suggestion. I’m glad there are programs out there for food addicts that have helped many people, but OA does not seem like a good fit for me at this time. As long as I avoid certain trigger foods or keep those foods in my trunk (like the bagels and honey that are freezing in the parking lot as I type), I seem to do ok. I only hit serious trouble when my life goes out of balance in other ways and in my sadness I reach for the Ho-Hos. But I can still recover from that by going to the gym and eating well for several days afterwards.

For now, it’s just enough for me that I can say, “Hello, my name is Jennette and I’m a compulsive eater.”

Which brings me back to the idea of food addiction, something I’ve been pondering on and off the past couple months ever since I read that book, Hungry by Allen Zadoff. I’m still not sure what to make of the concept of food addiction, though Zadoff is a firm believer in it. However, reading that book did make me start analyzing my relationship with food more critically.

For instance, I went to a holiday gathering recently for Easter. Immediately after I finished lunch I started thinking, “When are they going to serve the dessert? When are they going to serve the dessert? Is it dessert time yet? I’ll help serve if we can eat it now!” I had run for 60 minutes that morning and purposely eaten a smaller portion of lunch just so I could try some of the brownies and banana crème pie and snickerdoodles. So, I really wanted to dig into the sugar, but I had to wait until everyone else was done with lunch. As I fidgeted on the couch waiting for someone to unwrap the cookies, I wondered if anyone else was getting as crazy waiting for dessert as I was, or if there was some weird mechanism triggered in my brain making me want food more than other people do.

Then, after dessert was finally served, I wasn’t satisfied until I’d tried one of everything. I’d grab a slice of chocolate frosted cake, sit down and eat it. Then a couple minutes went by and I decided I needed to try the cherry cheesecake too. Then another 10 minutes went by and I grabbed some M&M cookies, because if there is a table full of sugar in the room, I can’t stop thinking about it. I vaguely started to wish I had diabetes like one of the other people there, because as sleepy as I feel after eating sweets, I wouldn’t eat as much if it meant I’d literally fall into a cheesecake coma.

At which point, I realized I was psycho.

I don’t want diabetes! Diabetes sucks! I feel like I’m going to barf whenever I have to give blood. If I had to choose between being a cheesecake whore and sticking myself with a needle every couple hours to measure my blood sugar, I’m going to be the dairy slut.

I also noticed that other people tended to graze on the food simply because it was there, sitting a couple feet in front of them, as if sugar has telepathic, mind control abilities that it uses to commit suicide in your stomach. So, I have to wonder if I actually have an addiction or if it’s just human nature to want to eat yummy food the longer you are locked in a room with it. If you’re locked in a room with a foxy member of the opposite sex, you don’t have to be a sex addict to want to jump his/her bones.

After I had tried everything, I reached a point where I wasn’t stuffed, but I was full and I was okay with not eating anything more at the table. Despite any craziness in my thinking earlier, that feeling makes me lean back towards the idea that I do not have a food addiction. There are also times when people leave cookies out at work or at friends houses, and I am perfectly fine not having any. I’m not tempted, I don’t drive myself crazy thinking in circles about it. It’s not a big deal.

When I think about other types of addiction, I think about all the crazy stuff people do for a fix. I think of the movie Traffic where Michael Douglas’s daughter goes from being an upright, little school girl to a crack whore stoned in her pimp’s drug lair. Which makes me wonder, if Ben and Jerry’s ice cream were illegal in the same way that crack is illegal, what would I do to score a fix of Chunky Monkey? Would I whore myself out on the corner and meet a frizzy-haired ex-Girl-Scout leader in a back alley to score a box of Samoas? I can’t picture myself doing any of those things, but if you asked most junkies the same question before they became junkies they probably couldn’t imagine it either. I probably would indulge in some illegal behavior from time to time to score some Oreo ice cream. Does that make me an addict? I don’t think so. However, my relationship with food is definitely a little bit wonky. I’m not sure if I completely understand it or if I ever will. Thankfully, though, I can’t get arrested for pigging out on a box of Thin Mints.

Thankfully, it’s been so long since I bought a Tombstone stuffed-crust pizza that they seem to have stopped making them, or my Marsh just doesn’t stock them, so that was one small chip of the iceberg my personal Titanic avoided. I did wander around the freezer section for literally 15 minutes trying to decide if I wanted to buy another pizza or a Lean Pocket or a box of mozzarella sticks. Ultimately I decided that if I was going to cheat I wanted it to be with the lover I wanted and not his ugly cousin, so I only purchased some paninis and fudge pops I needed anyway.

I’ve partaken in vampire eating habits more frequently recently. My cravings play nice during the day and bare their fangs at night. Even if I get rid of all my favorite binge foods, I just plow into what I can find. I’m trying to remember if I’ve always behaved like this, and I don’t really know. When I was younger, I didn’t give a shit about what I ate. I’d eat half a gallon of ice cream and didn’t feel bad about it at all because I never dieted. I also gained 200 pounds. The difference now seems to be that I actually care about what I shovel into my pie hole, especially if it’s a whole pie. I’m actually trying to resist the urges, which I didn’t really do before.

I’ve never known what to think about the concept of “food addiction.” Even after my abnormal binge, I’m still not sure what to think. The term “addiction” implies to me that you need to give up whatever you are addicted to. How can you give up food? When I read the definition for compulsive overeating at Wikipedia, it doesn’t jive with my experiences. Even when I was driving to Marsh, I didn’t feel out of control. I knew exactly what I was doing and I didn’t care. I also didn’t eat any quicker than normal during my binge. And I’ve never felt intense depression or guilt over it. I’m telling the whole freakin’ Internet. How guilty could I actually feel? Reflecting on the event now, I’m unhappy that it happened and I’d like to prevent it from happening again, but I don’t feel a need to apologize to anyone for it or to be ashamed for what I did. I like to eat. I probably gained two pounds. Whoop-dee-doo! I only felt guilty when I parked in a spot really close to the store. I usually park way far away and walk.

A part of me wonders if there’s anything wrong with going on a crazy binge every now and then. Assuming you have good cholesterol, normal blood-pressure, and all that jazz, does it matter if you stuff a box of cookies in your mouth once a month? If you get shit-faced drunk several times a year, is it really a problem assuming that you don’t drive drunk and you don’t cause liver damage? It’s a conundrum.

The only thing I connected with in the entry about food addiction is the theory that it is a mechanism to increase serotonin levels in the brain. On the day of my binge, I felt incredibly down for no reason that I could think of. I just wanted to sit around all day and I felt unmotivated to do anything (except eat, obviously). I don’t usually feel like that, but if I did, it’s possible I might go on crazy binges more often. I don’t know. I know some people are really into figuring out all the emotional and psychological issues associated with eating. Personally, I’m not that interested in it as long as I’m doing okay. If I get obese again, I’d probably explore it. I consider eating to be a complex behavior motivated by many components including emotion, hunger, and the content of your diet. Sometimes I wonder if thinking about food so much just makes me hungry, like catching an ad for McDonalds on TV makes me want to get a Big Mac.

BTW, this happened two weeks ago and nothing insane like it has happened since, so there is no need to reassure me or hug me or whatever. I thought about not mentioning it at all, but I prefer to be honest. I also want people to know that you can go completely off the rails sometimes and get right back on track. I’ve been exercising and eating well since then and I’ve lost all the weight I gained that night.