Okay. Deep breath. Start here.

I went to Borders today and browsed the diet books for half an hour. There were plans to lose weight, plans to fight aging, plans to lower cholesterol. There were programs for women over 50, for men, for teenagers. There were plentiful addictions that, apparently, the public needs to be treated for: sugar addiction, carb addiction, women who can’t live without fat, women who can’t live without chocolate.

There was nothing that appealed to me.

I know how to eat right. I know that scarfing down a box of cookies doesn’t solve problems. I’m well aware that a cheeseburger and fries does not constitute a nutritious lunch. When I cook dinner, I grill chicken, steam asparagus, and munch on a crisp salad.

So why was I browsing the diet books at all?

I’ve been on Weight Watchers (three times at least). I did the Carbohydrate Addicts’ Diet. I’ve gone low-fat, low-carb, and low-calorie. I drank Slimfast twice a day for months on end.

And I’m still fifty pounds overweight.

I am an emotional eater. Every time something goes wrong, every time I feel sad or depressed or lonely, I turn to food. I’ve downed a dozen large chocolate chip cookies in half an hour. I’ve made my way through a box of crackers in an afternoon at the office. I’ve gone to multiple stores looking for exactly the right slice of cake that will cure what ails me. I munch hamburgers in my car. The clerks at all the local 7-11s know me, despite the fact that I take pains to vary my path and never visit the same one on consecutive snack runs.

Every time I turn to food, it lets me down. But for a moment–when the beef or the pastry or the fried dough slides across my tongue–I hang on to the hope that this time it will work. This time, just this once, that box of Vegetable Thins will be my friend. The chocolate mini donuts will love me back. And that frozen pot pie? It will make up for being bored out of my mind at work.

The reason I’m overweight, the reason nothing has worked for me, the reason I didn’t buy a single diet book, is because my weight problem isn’t a matter of choosing better foods or eating more veggies. No, my weight problem is in my head.

I hope to use this blog as a space to sort out my issues with food, my food-related memories, my sick rationalizations, my place to fight the urge when the drive-through is calling me. I’m sick of hiding. I’m sick of turning to McDonald’s to solve my problems. My stomach is a wreck, I’m broke, and I need to change.