From Fat to Fabulous: My 70 Year Struggle with Food Addiction

By Betty Lou Sweeney

Quite naturally, I do not remember the start of my life. No one remembers the day they were born or those first couple of years. I was lucky to have a much older sister who was willing to fill me in on that time span. I was born on March 7, 1940, and according to my older sister Delores, this was two months earlier than I was supposed to have arrived. I was told I spent my first few weeks wrapped up in a shoe box and placed on the open oven door to keep me warm. Grandma Mannerud was elected to be the one to feed me with an eye dropper every two hours to keep me nourished and alive. Obviously, she did a great job as I thrived and grew stronger. I was to be the second to the last child born to Eileen and Neil Mannerud. Delores informed me that there had been eleven of his children born from this marriagetwo sets of stillborn twins; one who also died at birth; an older brother, Burton, whom I did not remember at all and who died in a boating accident; Delores, who tells me she was my main babysitter (I had not remembered her at all); another brother, Jack (I remembered him as being mean and always torturing me and making my life miserable); a sister Pat (all I remembered about her was that she had a birthmark on her cheek; and a sister named Peggy, whom I recalled as being a very loving sibling. Then I came along, and after me was the last child born, Zoey. I did not remember this baby at all and was told she died of double pneumonia before her first birthday. That left five of usDelores, Jack, Peggy, Pat, and me to be raised by Grandma Mannerud. I remember her being a very caring, loving woman who wouldnt stick up for us kids as she was terrified of her son.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543429374

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Copyright © 2017 by Betty Lou Sweeney.

Library of Congress Control Number:             2017909267

ISBN:                     Hardcover                    978-1-5434-2939-8

                              Softcover                      978-1-5434-2938-1

                              eBook                             978-1-5434-2937-4

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Rev. date: 06/12/2017

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Foster Care

Chapter 3 My Withdrawal to Survive Living with Imaginary Friends

Chapter 4 The Plan

CHAPTER ONE

My start in life I do not remember quite naturally. No one remembers the day they were born or those first couple of years. I was lucky to have a much-older sister who was willing to fill me in on that time span. I was born on March 7, 1940, and according to my older sister Delores, this was two months earlier than I was supposed to have arrived. I was told I spent my first few weeks wrapped up in a shoe box and placed on the open oven door to keep me warm. Grandma Mannerud was elected to be the one to feed me with an eyedropper every two hours to keep me nourished and alive. Obviously, she did a great job as I thrived and grew stronger.

I was the second-to-the-last child born to Eileen and Neil Mannerud. Delores informed me that there had been eleven children born from this marriage—two sets of stillborn twins; another that also died at birth; an older brother, Burton, whom I did not remember at all and who died in a boating accident; Delores, who told me she was my main babysitter and I had not remembered her at all; another brother, Jack, and I remembered him as being mean and always torturing me and making my life miserable; a sister, Pat, and all I remembered about her was that she had a birthmark on her cheek; a sister, Peggy, whom I recalled as being a very loving sibling; then I came along; and after me was the last child born, Zoey. I did not remember this baby at all and was told she died of double pneumonia before her first birthday. That left five of us—Delores, Jack, Peggy, Pat, and myself—to be raised by Grandma Mannerud. I remember her being a very caring, loving woman who wouldn’t stick up for us kids as she was terrified of her son.

Our birth mother was an alcoholic and spent her time out with her girlfriends drinking. Delores told me that she tried but was beaten frequently by her loving husband. The story is that she had surgery on both legs for severe varicose veins, and because our father hated all people connected with the medical field and thought of it as not doing any good but only costing money, he was furious with her for having the procedure done. So when he got home, he tore off her leg wraps and ripped out her sutures. I have a memory of waking up and hearing our mother screaming. When morning came, she was gone, and I only saw her one more time. She didn’t come back to rescue her children.

She came back one time with a girlfriend, and she brought with her three secondhand dolls. Each of us younger girls was given one. It was a cherished possession for me. She left that day promising that she would be back—that was a promise she didn’t keep. We were left in the hands of our father, a retired navy man. I wasn’t told what rank he was, and it wouldn’t have mattered. None of us kids had any respect or love for this man, only fear. He was ruthless, and if we didn’t measure up to his expectations, we were beaten with a razor strap