emotional aspect of all this

This is an important lesson to learn for lasting success.
I think you are well on your way to lasting success OP as it seems like you are doing the mental work along with the physical. Many don't realize that there's a deeper side to weight loss that runs deeper than just being thinner.
It looks like you figured it out though and that's great!
Not everyone knows that There's " inner" work that needs to be done along side of the "outer" work.

Yes I am definitely an emotional eater. Upset? Comfort food like pasta or curry. Happy? Ice cream! Angry? THAT BAG OF FUN SIZE HERSHEY WONT EAT ITSELF. I find myself looking for food now when I feel some kind of way and have to distract myself with something else. And to add fuel to the fire I gained a lot of weight after being assaulted. Doesn't rule out a repeat occurrence but makes the logistics a lot more difficult. Ironically the bigger I was, the more invisible I got and I'd much rather be invisible than vulnerable. Then it started getting hard to do basic everyday things. That's when I realized it was too much but by now I'm in so far over my head. Trying to get out little by little.

I've always known why I over ate. It was a combination of several things and likely, that's the case for most people.

[Please bear with the length of this post if you will.]

When I was young, pre-teen, I was being molested at home. It was happening to my older sister and, when she got too old, I was next. It wasn't every day or even every week, but it happened. I was not threatened or given any indication that what was happening was wrong or harmful. In fact, I was trained to believe it was normal and the attention felt good, believe it or not.

Then one day the attention stopped.

This had a devastating affect. What I didn't know was that my molester had gotten professional help and determined to himself to stop molesting. Back then though, they didn't think children remembered such things or that it scarred them. So nobody got help for me.

Going alongside of this was a mother who taught us the importance of eating everything on our plates. She was a depression era person who knew the feeling of hunger and the fear of not knowing from where your next meal would come. So, when I no longer received comfort and attention from my molester, I got it from eating all my food and garnering Mom's praise.

The two were an explosive combination. Though I didn't start packing on the pounds until Jr. High. But by then the die was cast. The message was deeply embedded into my mind. And, when I finally learned about sex and realized that what had happened to me all those years wasn't normal but a kind of sickness being played out on me, I began to hate myself. Partially because I didn't want to believe it happened and would tell myself, "no this is your sick little mind thinking this." But also because I was in a religious sect that taught we were "better off dead than defiled".

Food was the only place I could turn to by then for acceptance. I ate for myself and ALL the starving children in Africa!

By age sixteen I was 180 pounds and much larger than the other girls. Back then they didn't do plus sizes for teen clothes so I sewed my own most of the time. I went to live with an Aunt for a summer. She tried getting me to lose weight. One egg, one slice toast, 1/2 grapefruit, every morning, and the women's exercise center every other day. But she went to work daily and, when she did, I would sneak out to the diner in town and grab a bite. By the time I left that summer I was close to 190 pounds.

Her constant harping about weight only pushed the feelings of inadequacy.

But there was something else going on in my head as well. Those feelings of wishing I had fought off my molester still stung in my head and, at sixteen, I tried to commit suicide. I didn't know how and, obviously, didn't succeed. A doctor in the ER tried to get me to open up, but I couldn't. I could not embarrass my family. Back then one didn't "put your trash on the street" so to speak.

It took me many many years to get past it all. And I eventually did. And over time had lost weight, going from a steady 250 pounds down to 140. I was all grown up now, feeling great and looking good. I had fought my way through the abuse, through a failed first marriage (also to an abuser), and a rape (yeah sucked), to come out on the other side! Life was good, right?

Hold on. I was only able to enjoy that weight loss for a couple of years when the weight started packing back on. But this time it wasn't really what I was eating as much as what was going on with my body. It took five years for a doctor to finally figure out that I had Hashimotos disease. My weight had soared, and quickly, to over 300 pounds. My hair was falling out. My skin was like that of an alligator. and forget growing nails! I had become diabetic, developed AFIB, and had breathing issues to where I needed a c-pap. I was miserable.

Eventually that was treated but the after affects left me so miserable that I decided to "accept my fate" as it were and just went back to the old ways. The weight climbed up to 325 before I finally got referred to a cardiologist who said I needed to drop the poundage to help with my medical issues.

Truly, you have no idea how much weight has to do with over all health. I worry for those people who are told to go ahead and be obese; that its' okay to be too thin; or that weight doesn't matter. Believe me- it DOES.

I ended up in a cardiac treatment facility for my AFIB. As it happened the electrical impulses of my heart had to work too hard because of the weight. But the vicious cycle was losing the weight while being on 50-100 units of insulin per day. Insulin does not help with weight loss, not one little bit! But the cardiac facility did. I HAD to go through their class to get my insurance to cover the program, which lasted 12 weeks. I had to attend every class and show improvement. So there was incentive right there!

And I did it. And, through exercise discovered that my blood pressure, and even my diabetes, was changing. For the better! Just getting on the treadmill and following the specified plan. Eventually I got down to 260. And then they changed the facility and I could no longer go there. I got kind of depressed but kept soldiering on down to 250, then 240. And then, we moved.

In the past year since the move I put back on 10 pounds and found myself up to 250. My diabetes was still under control as was the AFIB, but a new medical issue raised its ugly head. At first they said it was ITP but the liver specialist they sent me to sent me for a battery of testing. The result? First stage non-alcohol related cirrhosis of the liver. And I didn't even have the fun of getting drunk occasionally to get there! No, I ate myself into it and carried the weight of the world, literally, and for far too long.

I look at this all now and realize that depression, abuse, wrong information about food and its role in our lives (does it REALLY help the starving kids if you eat your lima beans?) all played a role in the weight gain. Add to it the fact that I just plain enjoy good tasting food and cooking it, and there's a recipe for an unhealthy life.

Now, I realize there's those who will read this and give me flack for opening up and others who think they're Freud and will try to analyze it all. PLEASE resist the temptation! I relate this in a transparent way to show that, for most people, its a multifaceted issue. There's not one single thing (usually) that makes a person either grossly over eat or grossly under eat. And I'm purposely not telling people how I came to get past it all because that trip is for another thread (maybe?) I leave that up to the OP. This tale has been long enough, I'm sure.