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Lilith Magazine - From the Archives
To lighten the season, here's an excerpt from Susan Shapiro's recent comic
novel, Speed Shrinking, brought to you by Lilith with permission from St.
Martin's Press.
Self-help author Julia Goodman is blasted by a
triple whammy: Her beloved therapist leaves town, her best friend moves away
and her husband takes a long distance job. Feeling abandoned and out of
control, Goodman takes solace in cupcakes--and just about everything else
that's tasty--and begins to pack on the pounds. Since she's about to go on
national TV to tout her new addiction book, she's literally in the soup. So
she embarks on a whirlwind sampling of therapists--eight shrinks in eight
days--hoping that one of them will help her lose the pounds and the angst.
"What a double sucker punch. First Sarah, then Jake. Both leaving on
Sunday," I tell Dr. Ness, thanking God I decided to keep my 6 p.m. Friday
shrink appointment. "Maybe I should just relax and eat whatever I want
this weekend."
"Why don't you snort some heroin too while you're at it?" He smiles.
"Heroin was never my style." I smile back.
"With your personality, you could get addicted to carrot sticks."
He scrutinizes a note in his leather date book, shuts it, then takes
off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Hasn't he been sleeping well? I
tighten the buckle of my new Prada sandals, thinking they're worth the
three hundred bucks for making my size ten clown feet look sleek.
"Itıs not like they're going off to war," I venture. "Sarah's found
her soul mate and this could be Jake's big break. I should be happy for
them." I cross my bare legs from the chill. Did he turn up the air
conditioning? Damn the fashionista who says you can't wear pantyhose with
open-toed shoes. Obviously a thoughtless, thigh-less size two. (Even
at my skinniest in control top Spanx, I'm a six.) "I'm just not good at
surprises, that's all."
He gives me his "you're-being-an-idiot" eye roll.
"What? I'm denying my darkness and pain again?"
"Yes. You're in shock and denial."
If anyone would know, it's Dr. Ness. He's the dashing substance abuse specialist whose claim to fame is unhooking me. I call him "The
Superman of Psychotherapy" since he's a peculiar mix of moralistic and reckless, with a savior complex on the side. His dark wavy hair,
chiseled features and thick gold-framed lenses give him a nerdy Clark Kent aura, as if he's concealing his real identity.
"Well, I'm not going to drink or smoke, if that's your worry," I say, craving a Virginia Slim menthol and vodka martini. "Sarah hired the best
caterer in the city. Why can't I loosen up my diet for two days?"
He moves his cell phone from the shelf to the table next to him and
stares at it, as though he's expecting an important call. Then he looks
up, as if just remembering I'm here, puts his glasses back on and says,
"Don't use food to quell distress. You have to make friends with your
hunger."
"I have enough friends," I snap. "I'm sick of starving on 1200 calories a day. Last night I dreamed of vanilla cupcakes with candy hearts on top. What would Freud say?"
"It's not physical hunger. You're emotionally ravenous," he reminds me. "Pinpoint what's missing inside."
"Aren't you listening? It's pinpointed! Sarah and Jake are leaving while my whole crazy Midwest mishpocheh's flying in to shove food and
alcohol in my face." My brain understands why Sarah's moving, but my selfish heart is not letting her go. "What if I just wing it for dinner at the reception tomorrow?"
"Huge mistake."
He's pissing me off, but that's what I pay him for. Over the
last two years, Michael Ness has been my critical sounding board, career
counselor, diet doctor, and father figure, despite being only thirteen
years my senior. A nutrition and exercise fanatic, he's six feet tall and
a slender 165 pounds. (I ask and keep track.) His willingness to answer
my personal questions and expose his own addiction history made him
the most potent expert in my bestselling self-help book Up In Smoke,
which chronicles how he helped me quit toking and smoking after two
decades of two packs a day and other debauchery. If it weren't for him,
I'd never have banished my bad habits or nailed the book deal.
"When you're careless with food, everything feels chaotic and you
spiral out of control," he's still hectoring.
"Give me a break! I'm 128 pounds. For a big-boned, five-foot-seven,
thirty-seven-year old, that's perfect." I tug on the loose waist of my
black skirt to show him. "I've got your Nazi diet laws down. I can
chill for one weekend."
"Julia, do not ask for trouble."
Right after I nixed nicotine, he made me give up alcohol, the diet
pills I became dependent on, and the Juicy Fruit gum I was shoving into my mouth two packs at a time to replace the cigarettes. He then banned
all bread products and food freedom, insisting that if I'm not careful my orally fixated internal wiring will only perpetuate "the substance
shuffle."
"I'm not. I'm skinny, smoke-free, happily married, with a
sky-rocketing career." How defensive and superficial I sound. Yet since
finally getting my own byline, after toiling as a low-paid women's magazine copyeditor since college, I'm not letting a bit of bad news set
me back. I'm no sore loser who resents others' good fortune. Just the
opposite. I teach my readers how to get clean by finding their bliss.
I'm a bliss pusher! "With Up in Smoke royalties and signing my second book
deal last month, I've tripled my income."
"You've tripled your megalomania," he says. "Don't exaggerate or
deviate from the truth."
"I'm not deviating!" Is it my imagination or is he being more extreme
than usual? "You know, the Today Show producers want me back. I could be
their on-air addiction expert." I brush my hair behind my ears. I had
it cut in the editrix Anna Wintour's Cleopatra style and blown dry, treating myself and Sarah to a French manicure and pedicure this
afternoon, so he'd see me dolled up before her dinner. Does he notice? "I can handle a few special meals. I'll stick to protein."
"Five thousand calories of cheese, nuts and meat will make you sick and fat. Figure out your menu beforehand. Have fish, vegetables, and
salad," he instructs in his stern principal's voice, then adds, "Julia, there's something we have to talk about."
"Why you're being such a prick today?"
"Look, I told you, addicts can't handle spontaneity. Shocking changes are about to take place. You're not the type who can roll with it. Make sure you get enough sleep. Don't give yourself choices or allow
last-minute substitutions based on your mood."
"Please. I haven't touched a cigarette, joint, pill, or piece of
bread in twenty-four fucking months. Entertainment Weekly calls me 'the
Diva of Deprivation.' You're the only addiction I have left."
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