I've known I was a sugar addict for a long time. I ate a lot of sugar as a kid--most of my allowance went there--and I've medicated with sweets and baked goods for almost sixty years. But saying it to myself and others and really accepting that this addiction is just as lethal as alcohol is a different experience.
If you've read this blog long enough, you know I've been off sugar before, once for three years. I've also been off sugar and wheat before, once for 9 months. But neither time did I see it as a permanent decision, a vital decision, a life-or-death decision. Never was I willing to equate it with the seriousness of alcohol.
In the last several weeks, I've heard three women on separate occasions say they were sugar addicts as they took another bite of a scone or piece of chocolate bar. Maybe it's become cute to say that. But I don't think they really mean it. I didn't really mean it. And now I do. I don't want to. I don't want to be a sugar addict with uncontrollable cravings, weight gain, health issues, but I am.
Addiction is progressive. Those two candy bars from decades ago have turned into more ice cream bars in an afternoon than I want to admit. My appetite for sugar and fat and flour are as irrational and incomprehensible as my ability to consume four bottles of wine in a typical day of the old drinking life.
I'm on Day 11 of Bright Line Eating. I don't know if I can stick with it forever, but I sure hope so. The alternative is not so good.