It's like this, Oprah...

Back in the day, I was a HUGE Whitney Houston fan. I'd forgotten about it, really. Actually, after "Being Bobby Brown" - I think I blocked it out. When I heard Oprah was kicking off her new season with a two-part Whitney interview, I knew I had to be there. Or my DVR did.

With the first night of the interview under my television-belt (and the 2nd still on the DVR), a portion of the interview has been tossing around in my brain. As Jillian was verbally pummeling a 476 contestant (biggest loser) last night, I was reminded of it again. Here's a rehash of what's going through my brain.

Oprah: You and Bobby, you smoked weed and did cocaine?

Whitney (salivating, crouching close to Oprah with anticipation): Okay, Oprah, go with me. (wipes drool from sides of mouth). We carefully rolled our joints. (demonstrating with her hands) Then we laced them with cocaine (pauses. reflecting). It was our high of choice.

Now, my once-beloved Whitney is an addict. And I haven't watched part 2 to see whether or not she still does drugs. She spoke of this cocaine-laced joint with such affection. Like she was sharing the best secret with Oprah. Who I'm pretty certain, isn't a doobie-roller.

Why is this all with me? It reminded me of something. Me. Food. The way Whitney described her high is the way I would describe something delectible to someone. A food that I adore. It's been playing in my mind. Why do I feel like this about food? Why is it such a struggle to break free?

Yesterday, we took my friend (and manager) Shelly, to Red Robin for lunch. I've been drinking protein drinks for a few of my meals and eating out in our lives right now is rare. I ordered my standard BBQ chicken salad. When it came, I had flashes of Whitney, rolling through my head.

Oprah: What's your favorite thing to order at Red Robin, Kris?

Kris: (pauses, salivating): Oh Oprah, go with me. It's the most delictable salad ever. Piled high with greens, a perfectly grilled chicken breast with just the right amount of sauce. A lightly seasoned spoonful of blackbeans with warm, slightly breaded onions on top. (sighs. eyes roll back in the head). The best ranch dip is served on the side, perfect for dipping the garlic-seasoned focaccia bread. Warm focaccia bread. Oh Oprah, it's my favorite high.

Last night, as I watched the 476 pound woman try to climb a stair machine over and over. Fall. Receive screaming/berating from Jillian and then ultimately walk out of the gym, these words reverberated (from Jillian): What you have going on in your head is a story. We're not going to play into it any longer. If you don't let me help you, if you don't listen to me, if you don't make a different choice than what you've been doing, you will die. So quit if you want to."

She came back. Now, I'm nowhere near 476 pounds. But I totally understand how someone could get there. Whitney, my bbq'd chicken salad and acidic Jillian were all ringing in my head last night. In the most disturbing way.

The way I abuse food and use food is my addiction. I think addictions come in different forms. Food abuse shows up on the body. Fat. Compulsive shopping shows up in nice things and unmanageable bills. Alcoholism. Obvious. Relationships/sex. Rotating relationships, looking for the high of the romance and bailing when it fails. Porn. On and on it goes. All of them will destroy a part of us. Or so mess with our heads that we don't know which way is up. We're just looking for the next hit of food, alcohol, love, sex. I'm done talking about this addiciton to food. Done. And now, I want to be over it. Healed from it.

For today, my thankful list is going to be small.

101. reality checks.
102. the power of a new choice
103. hope. the verb.
104. biggest loser
105. whitney houston's honesty
106. bbq chicken salad
107. jillian and bob
108. the word of God that changes lifes when we allow it to
109. helping a friend
110. honesty

I. am. done.