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Accupril (Quinapril Hydrochloride)

It is hard to believe that I was once an incubator baby. My parents were of the old country belief that “a fat baby is a healthy baby.” I grew healthier and healthier. From “He’s such a big baby God bless him” to “Look how cute and chubby he is” and eventually “Oh my God, look how fat he is!”
I’ll start my story with “Look how fat he is!” Asking a girl out at the age of seventeen was fun: all of them seemed to be booked up for months. All, that is, except the honest ones. They told me I was too fat. I bought what friends I had. Food, drugs, money, a place to hold a party — anything I knew they needed, they got.
When I was alone, which was quite often, I would sit in my room, read books, eat large amounts of food, watch television and have constant thoughts of suicide. My parents thought I had a problem so I was<�неи18 carted off to therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists and play therapy. All because of my depressions, my antisocial behavior, my eating, my drinking and — worst of all — my use of drugs. It was OK that I was fat and that I stole booze from my father’s closet, but the last straw was when they found out about my opium addiction.
Why not? How many times can a person stand on the side when teams are chosen and not get picked? How many rejections can one take? How could I continue to buy people and not have it take its toll? The food soothed the hurt I felt inside, the alcohol bolstered my nonexistent ego and the opium made it all seem to go away.
As I grew older I began to handle my problems better — or was it that I just ignored them? I met a woman who shared many of my interests: food, art, drugs and the deep incessant need to be loved and accepted.
Her father owned a restaurant, I loved to cook and we got high on grass together. We were both quite overweight but that was OK — we had each other. We were married seven months after we met and went to Montreal on our honeymoon. We spent a week at the best hotels, ate the best foods and had a beautiful time. We spent more than one thousand dollars that week, only three hundred of which was in hotel bills. How could two people spend more than seven hundred dollars on food in one week? With two compulsive overeaters it was easy, it was divine, it was disgusting.
I gained 25 pounds that week and couldn’t fit into my tuxedo. I gained weight every week after that, maybe a pound or two but it kept adding up until I decided to do something about it. I found diet pills. They worked fine for two days. I came home on my lunch hour, cleaned the house, made the bed, did the dishes and ate lunch. The pills soon enabled me to eat faster— and more. I continued to gain weight. I tried diets I found in books and magazines: egg, grapefruit, ice cream, water and even the drinking man’s diet. I tried doctors’ diets, military diets, hospital diets and combinations from all of them. They worked for awhile — one or two weeks, maybe even a month.
Then came the commercial weight groups: sign in, lay down your weekly fee, get on the scale, listen to the lecturer and then go out and eat your face in. It was OK because I would fast two days before the next meeting.
We moved out of New York City and into the country, thinking the change would do us good. It did. We immediately found a restaurant that delivered.
“Yes, I would like to order four special Italian dinners, two large antipastos, three garlic breads, two quarts of ices and a large diet soda.” The rationale of the diet soda still escapes me. This was a dinner for two people, and what we didn’t finish right away was gone by morning. The gremlins took it; they had to because I denied sneaking into the kitchen and so did my wife. Since we were the only two people there, it had to be gremlins or perhaps the food fairy.
Time passed, weight was lost and weight was gained. Diets came and went, hundreds of dollars were spent on doctors and food, pills and food, food and more food. I gave up. I resigned myself to spending the rest of my life as a drunk and as a fatty. Our minds are fantastic; eventually I began to think that I didn’t have a weight problem. I held my weight well.
My mother told my wife about a new program that she was in and how it was working for her. My wife was ready for it, but in our area it was nowhere to be found. So she waited. A year later she heard about a group that met about forty miles away from our home. At 300 pounds-plus she was willing to try anything, so she went to this new diet group, this new way of life that my mother had found. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t have a weight problem. I didn’t need it. She went, and said it was great and that it was helping her. That was OK for her, but look what it was doing to my telephone bill. All those long distance calls, the phone ringing at all hours of the night, the times I had to leave the room while she was on the phone so she could have privacy.
After a month of all this secrecy I was invited to come to the meeting to watch her “step up.” Sure, she lost weight and was calm and serene and accepted my eating and drinking, but I wasn’t ready for what she had. I went to the meeting that night to make her happy because I loved her.
Walking into a room filled with more than one hundred women in various stages of fat and various ranges of thin was a new experience. Then came the holding hands and the incantations, the stories of past horrors and present joys, the revelations of spiritual experiences. These were all crazy people. I didn’t need any of this. At the break, people came up to me and asked if I needed a sponsor or if I was new in the program. I was just visiting, thanks, I didn’t have a weight problem.
Soon the program began seeping its way into my thoughts. I realized that I should go on a diet of some sort. After all, I did weigh more than 275 pounds and no matter how well I carried my weight it had to show. Yet I still wanted some control; I wanted to eat what I wanted when I wanted it and as much as I wanted.
My spiritual awakening and my rock bottom came when I was at my parents’ home alone. I was hungry (as usual) and decided to raid the fridge. I came upon a frozen cake: “Thaw at room temperature two to three hours.” They had to be kidding. I couldn’t wait two to three minutes, let alone hours. I popped it in the oven at 500 degrees and checked it every two minutes. After ten minutes it wasn’t thawed out. I took a knife and fork and began chipping away at this frozen mass, angry that only a small piece at a time could be gotten into my mouth. I chipped harder, hoping that larger chunks would fall off. After almost breaking the plate and nearly stabbing myself in the leg I came to realize that I had to be crazy to be doing this. Why was I allowing my insane desire for this food to interfere with my life? Something had to help me.
The seed that OA had planted was sending out shoots. I threw out the rest of the cake and rushed home ready for something, anything. My wife handed me a food plan and told me that it would work only in conjunction with the rest of the program and it would work only if I was completely honest and ready.<�неиWithin two weeks, my wife and three other people began an OA meeting in our area. I was losing weight and upon my third week of abstinence I was allowed to led the meeting.
I have learned in this program why I ate and why I felt as I did about myself. Within the first ten months I lost more than 115 pounds and had begun maintenance. I read all the literature that was available, went to as many meetings as possible (and if there wasn’t a meeting, I started one) and gave away my program to as many people as possible. I began to find that meetings just weren’t enough. I got involved in forming an intergroup, I began traveling out of my area to go to meetings and marathons. When we felt the need of a step meeting and I didn’t know how to go about starting one, I drove more than one hundred miles to go to one so that I could bring it back home. I even went to other states seeking the strength I needed to keep me going.<�неи1 recently learned that I can’t work the program for anyone but myself. Those who go to meetings have found the program; what they do with it is their business, and I accept them as they are. However, there are thousands who are still locked up in their minds, still eating, suffering and perhaps near death. It is those people who need our help. It is my responsibility, the responsibility of all of us in our Fellowship to find them and tell them that there is a way, that we have found the answer. If the seed does not sprout, give it time.
I was never able to cry in public until someone in the program told me it was OK. Trees need water to grow and so do people; that’s why God gave us tears. We must give our brothers and sisters room to grow. I must extend my hand with no conditions, no expectations — only the hope that they will find what I have found.

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