Anatomy of a Failure

Here is the transcript of my introduction to group at the Gluttons Anonymous meeting:

[Rising to his feet sheepishly from his chair, Aaron, with his eyes staring at the floor in front of him, addresses the circle of people sitting in their chairs around him.]

Hello, my name is Aaron, and I am a glutton.

[Droning response from the crowd “Hi Aaron”]

I’ve been clean for three days—though I’m not sure I’ll make it through the end of the evening tonight.

Last week was atrocious. My wife and son left to spend some time with my father-in-law, leaving me at home alone for three days. My evenings quickly devolved into marathons of watching Smallville and finding out how much Easter candy I could pack away before it stopped tasting good.

By Sunday morning, before eating three pieces of strawberry cheesecake that evening, I knew that I needed to start over again Monday morning.

[The others seated nod in approval, with more than a hint of understanding and sympathy. Aaron now feels comfortable enough to lift his eyes slightly as he addresses the group].

Monday started remarkably well. You see, I often blow it on Mondays, sabotaging my efforts before they ever really get going. That didn’t happen this week. Instead, I anticipated I’d be REALLY hungry when I got home from work, and decided ahead of time that I’d eat ½ an apple with some peanut butter. It was a brilliant move. AND before I had a chance to overeat in the evening I got on the exercise bike and nearly set a record—burning 552 calories and riding 10 miles in 25:47.

[Various expressions of mild surprise from the crowd].

That made getting through the rest of that first evening without eating the rest of my 75% off Easter candy relatively easy. I went to bed so pleased with myself that I felt almost certain of success the next day.

Tuesday again started well. I was up before dawn and, before, long I was again pounding out miles on my exercise bike. Then oatmeal for breakfast and another ½ apple with peanut butter. I packed my lunch and headed to work feeling invigorated by the exercise and my lofty goals.

After my first few hours at work, though, it was a different story.

[Murmurings of understanding from the crowd.]

The more I thought about how good I felt at work, the more I realized how little I had to feel good about it. This always seems to happen to me when I make earnest efforts to start over, as the weight of my countless previous failures hangs over my head with constant whisperings of my foolishness for thinking I could break off the chains of my bad habits so easily. The more I wanted to rejoice in my 36 hours of near eating and exercise perfection, the more that unwelcome little voice mocked me for thinking I could keep up the current pace—or for daring to think that this week would or could be any different from five consecutive months of failure.

After battling internally all morning (and after eating my lunch at 10:30 a.m.), by 1 p.m. I was depressed. I went home for an unexpected ½ hour lunch, hungry, and feeling defeated. I escaped having only had 2 pieces of peanut butter toast, but from the way I felt they might as well have been ice cream sundaes.

[murmurings of from crowd get a little louder. Someone even lets out an errant “Amen!”]

It took a miracle to not tear through all of my Easter candy last night—even now I’m surprised I didn’t. Somehow, though, after eating a handful of chocolates I paused long enough to regain a modicum of control, and stayed away from the cupboard the rest of the evening.

This morning I exercised again, had a bowl of oatmeal (and a peanut butter apple) and struggled through work. Shortly after dinner I ate some candy and figured all is lost.

So that’s where I am tonight, still slightly hungry and constantly scheming on whether I should just try to eat all of the 75% off Easter candy now to get it out of the house [a favorite excuse of mine]. I have enough sense tonight, though, to know that any exceptions I make for myself tonight will only become the rule tomorrow night, before I abandon the rules entirely by Friday night, descend into madness on Saturday, and start the cycle again on Sunday. That’s how it’s gone for months (and even years) at a time, and it seems kind of foolish for me to think there’s anything particularly different about this week.

But I’ve made it this far. My name is Aaron, and I’m a glutton.

[Raucous applause as Aaron sits back down, futilely trying to hide a grin. He is among his own kind]