Eating My Way to Heaven

eating2heaevn By eating2heaevn, 4th May 2015 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Health>Recovery & Coping

This is chapter one of my autobiography, Eating My way to Heaven about my recovery from incest and bulimia and my transformation through a SuPRANAtural experience in the garden.

Eating My Way to Heaven - chapter 1

I have always wanted to share my autobiography, Eating My Way to Heaven for free, although publishing a paperback version was life-altering. Please accept this gift of my life story with all its ups and downs, deep pain and belly laughs. I so look forward to your comments. I will publish a new chapter every few days - as fast as I can transcribe them. I promise there is something for everyone in this story. Enjoy!


My mother painfully admitted that I was an unplanned child. I wish I could ease her pa, That knowledge didn't hurt me. The fact that my father talked the doctor into inducing labor so that he could dash off on his hunting trip hurt me, especially since he loved to tell the story in my presence.
Karma kicked his butt, though. My mother ended up staying in the hospital for a week and he got to bring his new little bundle of joy home...alone! Mind you, he also had a four-year-old, a five-and-a-half-year-old, and a full-time job. My Aunt Eileen graciously helped out, but he still had plenty of alone time with his kids, which created the backdrop for his other favorite story.
On how he'd roar when he told this one at parties. He thought it made him appear ingenious. So did I, until a therapist pointed out with disgust that it had nothing to do with ingenuity.


David (my father) loved his sleep and had no intention of sacrificing any of it for a screaming, hungry newborn. When he was ready to go to bed he would heat me a bottle. If I dozed off while he was feeding me he would violently shake me awake until I had consumed the whole thing. He claimed that I always slept through the night.
This is a man who would lie down on the couch in the middle of the living room after dinner and state, "Wake me up when it is time to go to bed." The family's antics never woke him; neither did the biggest tornado to ever rock the Easy Coast. Chances are I had a number of wet, hungry, sleepless nights before my mother returned.
To my knowledge that was the last time that my father ever actively participated in feeding me, other than paying for groceries or meals in restaurants when we would travel.
For the record, I never called him "Dad" if I could avoid it. I spoke of him as my father and I have referred to him as David my entire adult life. To me "dad" describes a relationship we never had. David was a good provider, but not a dad.
He was always too busy or too uninterested to participate with my life, so I thought. I have come to realize that it had more to do with his emotional baggage then indifference. He had never gotten to be a kid, never gone away to camp or played with a neighborhood gang, and his mother had deserted him when he was very young.
Instead of wanting his children to have everything he never had, he wanted us to endure the same magnitude of suffering that he had endured. He thought it would build character and a healthy respect for work and money. It appeared that he had never healed his rage at his parents and we were convenient whipping posts.

Sugar junkie toddler

We die eat well, though. David would complain as I would order steak or lobster from the menu, but ultimately he would relent and pay the bill. The underlying message was "Of course he love you; we feed you steak don't we?"
Sweets and snacks were bargaining tools. "If you're good at church I'll buy you some ice cream for dessert." Sugar became a subconscious symbol of "I am loved, I am good." That bears repeating. Sugar became a subconscious symbol of "I am loved, I am good."
The family rule was that you had to eat all the food on your plate or go to bed without desert. I remember many evenings spent sitting over a cold plate of glop for hours (sorry Mom), trying to get Duke's attention (my childhood best friend, our dog).
I learned to eat in large quantities to please my parents and I learned to love God in pursuit of my drug of choice - sugar! I looked forward to our pilgrimage to the candy store each Sunday after church. Actually, it wasn't really a candy store; it was a pharmacy, a drug store.


My brother, Sam, taught me how to turn a buck at a very young age. He was the consummate entrepreneur and I followed his lead. There was always a yard to rake, a driveway to shovel, or a lawn full of apples to pick up. Each new windfall prompted a manic trip to the candy store, peddling as fast as my little legs could go. I would buy as much as I could afford or carry.
I tried to ration my booty, but even at the ripe old age of eight I was an out-of-control addict. Fortunately, I was so active that I stayed thin.
Halloween, of course, is the sacred holiday of sugar junkies. I worked it for all it was worth. I would usually come home with a half a pillowcase full of candy. My mother would ration it for us, so we got wise to her and stashed some of the candy in our secret fort before returning home.
Eventually my teeth started to give way. David made us pay him five dollars for every cavity and we were not allowed Novocaine. (Penance for our sins.)

Bad hair day

What I learned from all this was that I had to keep the money rolling in to support my habit, and that there were some painful consequences to my addiction. None of that slowed me down though. I was hooked, a junk food "junkie!"
Mine wasn't the only household where I was force-fed. Like every neighborhood in Westchester, New York, ours had the consummate Italian family, the Andriolas. I deeply loved these people. The food thing had a different slant at the Andriolas.
Lois, Mrs. Andriola to me, spent her life in the kitchen. She'd clean up one meal and start another. When I rolled in to play with her sons she would offer whatever was on the stove. God forbid you were already fed or full. She took it as a personal insult if you didn't eat what she offered. And it wasn't enough to politely accept a bite. You had to eat until you were nauseous. Her heart was full of love but it seemed she could best express it with food. Lois died of complications of her obesity. She was a dear soul.
Then there were the Abers. God Bless them. As if five children weren't enough, they always had another half dozen in tow because they had a baseball diamond in their back yard. They frequently ended up feeding me or driving me someplace or paying my way. I felt like apart of the family until the day I overheard Mrs. Aber complaining that my parents never invited her kids over to play because they didn't want to sacrifice their manicured lawn or have to pop for a meal.
It was the truth, but it hurt me deeply. (Worse than that, the Abers weren't invited to our house because they were Jewish.) From then on I tried to be invisible at meal times at the Abers. I could have lived without the meals, but I could not have survived without the Abers.
I was also force-fed at school. Once you forked over that lunch money to the commandant you were locked in. They determined how much they piled on your plate and they patrolled the lunchroom to make sure you ate it all.
When my father was out of town my mother would treat us to pigs-in-the-blanket (little hot dogs baked inside biscuits), pizza, KFC or McDonald's. Guess it was her way of making up for David's behavior; another subconscious symbol that food is more for our emotions or our entertainment than for nourishing our bodies.
So let's recap. At my house you had to eat it all or you were in trouble. At the Andriolas' you had to eat until you were sick or offend someone you loved. And at the Abers if you ate you were a burden to the family. The only common thread was that everybody rewarded me with sweets if they thought I deserved it, if I was good!

Food For Thought

The emotional roots of my food addiction seem pretty obvious to me. My parents weren't capable of demonstrative love. Sugary treats were the only display of affection that they could muster and their most powerful tool for control.
I hadn't considered that my sugar addiction might be hereditary. My father liked an occasional bowl of ice cream but really didn't seem too interested in sweets, and I don't recall that my mother had any driving need for them either, although they both indulged at an occasional social event. I now realize, though, that their daily consumption of alcohol was actually a sugar addiction, which I may have biochemically been been into.
What strikes me most, though, is that my parents knew refined sugar was bad. They rationed it to us and for themselves because they knew for sure that it rots our teeth and suspected that it was linked to many health problems. So how come they gave me something that they considered bad for me as a symbol that I was good? I imagine it was because the culture was doing it and they probably never even gave it a thought.
The social pressures connected with sugar and junk foods are quite vicious. We serve sugar at churches, schools, social events and holidays. Rarely is there a second choice. It's either have sweets or be left out. We have long forgotten how to celebrate without sugar or alcohol.
I remember my father being furious with us once because we had given my cousin Dick's horse some sugar cubes. David was booming, "You could kill him by feeding him that stuff!"
I didn't get it at the time, but it sure jumps up and screams at me now; "Here, Denise, have a candy bar, but for God's sake, don't give any to the horse. We don't want to lose him!"
Not everyone chooses sugar as their drug of choice. But for those who do, it is a very destructive love affair since it is in everything and it's legal.

Just For Fun

Two cannibals are sitting by a fire. The first one says, "Gee I hate my mother-in-law." The second one suggests, "So, try the potatoes!"

Taken from "The Edge" - The Oregonian, Portland, OR 11/1/97

Thanks for taking the time to read this!


Abuse, Addictions, Bulimia, Denise Martin, Detox, Eating Disorder, Eating My Way To Heaven, Eden, Food, Food Addiction, Incest, Recovery, Rehab, Spirituality, Transformation, Whole Foods

Meet the author

author avatar eating2heaevn
My passion is writing about natural health, addiction and human behaviors. I have saved my life twice with conscious living and am devoted to helping others do the same.

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author avatar Mark Gordon Brown
5th May 2015 (#)

I look forward to your next part.

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author avatar eating2heaevn
5th May 2015 (#)

Thanks for all your support Mark. FYI - each chapter has a Food for Thought and Just For Fun section. I will try and work on the formatting so I can get more pictures in. I hope to rock this on social media once I get my formatting and links straight. I so appreciate your loving support!

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author avatar vickylass
2nd Jul 2015 (#)

All of us have childhood traumas of a different sort. Then, we become adults and we try to cope with them. Interesting one.

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