Around the time our son headed off
to college I returned to something I was good at—overeating. I’d managed to
keep the weight off most of my adult life, but now I returned to those bad
eating habits that had made me such a porker as a kid. I was approaching fifty
and my illustration career seemed to be winding down. I was extremely
depressed. I could have turned to alcohol or drugs, but I’d lost the taste for
booze and I didn’t know where to go for drugs. Mrs. Chatterbox had suffered
from kidney stones in recent years and usually had a few Demerol tablets
stashed away in case of an attack. I once took a few and hallucinated all night
that I was on a roller-coaster with Oprah Winfrey. Following that night of
horror I returned to what I knew best—drowning my sorrows in food.
Read (here) what happened next.
