Tuesday, December 31, 2013

19 Days... and Counting

I am 19 days post surgery and things are going well. As of today I am down 28lbs. Everyday it gets a little easier. I think I underestimated how I would be feeling about food. I just seem to want it so badly. The most random things too. It is as though there is a conveyor belt in my brain and all the foods of my childhood as well as some favorites and NOT so favorites are passing through.  I can't explain it.  The social situations are, by far, the worst.  I skipped Christmas Eve and Day. I'm skipping NYE. I went to a baby shower this weekend and it was rough going. I know that I was doing that food eyeball thing that fat people do when they are trying NOT to eat.  (Fat person food eyeball is when an FP stares at food they are not eating with a longing that boarders on sexual) I will say that normally, I would just eat without thinking. I am finding that there is something to be said about NOT eating mindlessly. It's still hard.

Day 4 was not good. Here's what I jotted down.

4 days post surgery and I feel like I'm fucking tweaking. I'm thinking of the most random foods. It's like I'm going crazy. I'm not hungry, but I want to shovel food into my mother fucking mouth as fast as I can. What is wrong with me? I want to die right now.

Day 10 wasn't a great day either: 

I can't tell if its my head or what. I'm hungry. Maybe I haven't been drinking enough. I don't know. I'm so scared that the procedure didn't work. I had a dream last night that not only was I not loosing, but I was gaining weight.

Those were the worst days. I felt sick and I was mentally hungry. I am probably not helping the situation by watching The Food Network and The Cooking Channel as if it was porn. I can't seem to help it. 

Thankfully, I found Bariatric Pal, which is a WLS support forum.  That has been pretty helpful so far. Lots of people who are experiencing similar feelings.  

19 days in, and no real regrets. 



Thursday, December 19, 2013

Unwritten


"I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined. I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned. Staring at the blank page before you, open up the dirty window. Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find. Reaching for something in the distance, so close you can almost taste it! Release your inhibitions feel the rain on your skin! No one else can feel it for you, only you can let it in. No one else, no one else, can speak the words on your lips. Drench yourself in words unspoken, live your life with arms wide open! Today is where your book begins…the rest is still unwritten." –Unwritten, Natasha Beniningfield


The moment that I saw the guy in the lobby, I knew we were going to the same place. He knew it too. I could tell by the way he looked at me, the way he did the half smile and then looked away. He was an ok looking sort of guy, definitely handsome, in the same way that I "have such a pretty face".  Sure enough, we both reached for the same floor number. 10. When the elevator doors opened, he let me out first. But because I was so sure we were going to the same place, I got out and just let him walk ahead of me. As I predicted, he got to Suite 10S and opened the door. That was on August 3, 2013, the first visit I made to the Bariatic surgeon. 

That was my first step. 

I did it. I caved, won, took a stand, failed, took the easy way out, the hard road in, however you want to describe it, but I had Gastric Sleeve bypass on Thursday December 12, 2013 at NYU Langone Medical Center. Those of you who visit my sad little blog, know that I have been toying with this idea on and off for years. I did not make this decision lightly.  This was a move that was years in the making. I attended 3 different information sessions. I did research. Read blogs. Talked to my shrink, my friends and random people that I know who also had WLS (weight loss surgery).

It wasn't easy, but it just seemed like the logical choice to me. I know that is it not "the cure". I know that I have many difficulties and hard times ahead of me.  I feel as if I already know what people mean, when they say that this surgery is just a tool.  However, this was what was right for me at this particular point in my life.  

I'm ready to see where this step takes me. 

Sunday, September 8, 2013

The Moment...

The Moment

We were in my kitchen. Kissing. Loving. Touching…everywhere.
My back against the wall. You pressed against me. I was feeling…
Consumed. High. Overwhelmed. Wanton. Humiliated. Overcome. Engulfed. Hazy. Confused. Elated. Conflicted. Sentenced. Energized. Hot. Enraged. Angry.
Happy. Cold. Sad. Defeated. Loved. Wet. Discarded. Wanted. Replaceable. Crazy.
I wanted you. I loved you. I hated you.  What did you do to me? How did this happen?
What did I do to myself?  Can I get rid of you like that old coat? But it still fits.
Never mind about the tear in the sleeve. Don’t look at the missing buttons.
How can I look you and tell you to leave? Would it help if I hit you? Maybe. So I do.
HARD. With feeling. With all the energy that comes from 12 years of frustration.
You liked it for a second. Thought it was one our games.
The look on your face when you realized I MEANT it. I WANTED to hurt you.
Maybe make you feel how I have felt. I wanted to kill you.
I wanted you to go back in time and fix it. Make it right.
Make me the ONE. Not the distant second.
In the end, that's what it was all about. I was never first. 
That was the moment that I knew.



Sometimes I can’t think of sentence or phrase that can sum up my feelings.  It's usually a jumble of words that pop into my head.  I have found that it is better to let them happen, give in to my stream of consciousness.

Have you ever seen a building dismantled, rather than simply torn down? I’m not sure why exactly they do it that way. Sometimes, they want to preserve the bricks, other times they must need to be careful about the adjacent buildings. Over the past several months, I have been dismantling my relationship with TG, brick by brick. Too afraid to just tear us down. Too afraid to let him go. I was petrified that I would unravel at the seams. How do I explain to people how consumed I have been by this man? I don’t know why I choose this time to do it. Why not last year, why not next year why now? What was so different? I was ready I guess. Now, I know that I have said this so many times before, and I’ve said THIS IS IT! He and I? Me and him? We are through. Oh no, this time it feels different. Only to have it not be that different after all.

Well… this time it IS different. I have asked gently, firmly that TG remove himself from my life. I have told him the truth, which is that I can no longer live this way. The steady stream that you had to read through was an account of the day that I just realized that we were dead. Not just over, but dead.  It happened exactly that way. We were fooling around in the kitchen and I was taken over by every possible feeling that you could imagine. I had the feeling that my core, my heart, my soul was being ripped apart. Melodramatic? Maybe. But that was the feeling. I wish I had other words. I don’t though. I can’t tell you what came over me and I just slapped the shit out of him. It came out of nowhere. Before I could even stop myself---I had done it.

Throughout the course of our relationship I have often felt that I want to slit his throat then make him soup to make it better. Two Taurus people in a relationship. Too much passion. Too much everything. That’s made it amazing and tragic all at the same time.  My therapist has said to me that sex is the “glue” that has kept us together for so long.  It smarts when he says that to me. I’d like to believe that I am a deeper person than that.  I won’t try and pretend that our physical connection---which is epic, make no mistake about it-- is not a part of the lure that keeps me going back to this man; I just think it’s more than just that.  Without a shadow of doubt, this man is the love of my life. I can’t explain it, I don’t understand it, but he is. Sadly, it doesn’t matter. Like I told him, there has just been too much disappointment, too much sadness and too much deception to keep us going. He loves me. I know he does. It just isn’t enough. Not any longer.  
  

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Interesting... Very very interesting.



" If you can't hear what I'm trying to say If you can't read from the same page Maybe I'm going deaf, maybe I'm going blind Maybe I'm out of my mind. OK now he was close, tried to domesticate you But you're an animal, baby it's in your nature Just let me liberate you
Hey, hey, hey You don't need no papers Hey, hey, hey That man is not your maker."- Blurred Lines Robin Thicke



The song has nothing to do with what I'm talking about. It's just what I was listening to while writing this. Robin Thicke could totally get it, in case you were wondering.

Most of my male friends are gay.  GAAAYYY, honey.  Which while I have been, happily, letting my hag flag fly for at least 2 decades now,  sometimes it is nice to get the perspective of a straight, rather than a gay, male.  This has not always been the case. I used to have more straight male friends, not many, but a few. I have lost all of my straight pals to marriage and babies and other life changes.   

Having said that, I have a friend, a friend who is male and straight and attractive.  We are going to call him Jack.  I adore this man. He’s like the male me. Jack and I met in group therapy and in recent months, have become friendly.  I remember so many times in group he would say the exact same thing I was thinking.  We're just oddly similar. Little things really. We have similar tattoos in the same place. We both hate mayonnaise. (Side note---Mayonnaise is the foul nectar of the devil) We feel the same way about many things.  No, we have not had sex. Never even came close.  Nor will we ever, I think it is far too late for all that.  Besides, why mess up a good thing?  Good friends are hard to come by and you can have sex with anyone.  Yeah, you can. Trust me.  Although, I remember telling him that TG had once told me that even if I think I’m friends with a guy, he still wants to have sex with me.  He agreed wholeheartedly, which leaves me wondering slightly what that means.  “But, we’re friends” I said, he just made a face and muttered some guy thing and kept it moving.  Anyway.  As we are both single and looking,  we discuss relationships.  What we want, what we are willing to settle for and what we just can't live with (or without).  Often, relationship talk will lead to conversations about sex. We talk about sex quite a bit.  It just sort of happens.  He doesn’t like it when I talk about dicks, but seems to think it is ok to talk to me about tits.  (I find men perplexing.) We have discussed at length my deep, deep disdain for chubby chasers.  I have tried repeatedly to explain to this man why I think it’s gross and why I think he’s stupid for not getting it. He, in turn, has repeatedly tried to explain to me why it’s NOT gross and why I’m out of my mind for not getting it.  He told me recently, that when he has had sex with a bigger woman he loves to grab on to the flesh. I think he said “I love to grab on to the stomach.”  Kids. Friends. Readers. This made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. I’m not kidding.  I was disgusted.  I have physically and violently pushed men off of me for doing that.  TG who is bigger and stronger than I am has ended up on the other side of the bed for such atrocities.   

My battle with weight loss is epic.  It is life-long. It is exhausting.  And it’s not over.  I don’t know that it ever will be.  I look at myself and think of how pretty, how sexy, how out fucking standing, I could be if I lost weight.  Like, the potential for being a firecracker is right there.  I don’t wish I was taller, or shorter. I think my hair is awesome, big and curly. My skin color? Fine—I have no desire to be darker or lighter. My lips? Full and juicy thank you very much.  I don’t wish my eyes were closer together or further apart. My ears are fine. My nose is what it is.  Actually, I sort of wish that I had smaller feet. Being a size 9 just sounds so much better than 10.  But you know, meh, it is fine. Ain’t no big.  Weight loss is my demon. I think about it and I try all the time to eat less, move more. Eat to live, not live to eat.  Blah Blah. 

I met someone recently and we have started dating. (More on him another time) New Guy (NG) thinks I am “foxy”. That’s what he says. “You are a fucking fox”. "You are a luscious fox" He says that sort of thing all the time.  He’s about a decade older than I am, so I first chalked it up to a generational thing.  But then I thought, I don’t say “fresh” when I think something is good, so he must think he means it.  He really wants to have sex with me and he thinks by giving me these compliments, I'm going to just hop into the sack-a-roney with him.  God.  How fucking predictable.  How fucking boring.  I told Jack and my shrink about it, and told them I thought it was too much.  He lays it on a little thick, I said.  Something is wrong with him.  I think I hate him.  “Sexy fox” indeed.  He’s just trying to get into my pants.  Pfft… He’s heard the stories about fat girls; you know how fat girls are easy.   I’ve proceeded with seeing this man all the while looking at him with suspicion, and frankly, hating him for being attracted to me.  What is his story?  What does he want?  Hop, skip, jump we have sex… and he’s still “sexy fox”-ing me.  Interesting. 

Few days ago I came across this blog The Militant Baker and I don’t even know what to say.  There is a part of me that has chosen to not look at the pro-fat movement.  I have been quietly judging these women.  I've looked at pictures of brave (overweight/fat however you wish to define it) women in bikinis, all the while,  thinking that I would never for a million dollars (and I am broke as shit), pose in a bikini.  I have pride after all.  Disgusting, I said to myself.  I have thought to myself that they have just given up, so they are going to opt and be happy with what they have. They aren’t going to strive to be better. Not me! Not I! I am going to fight this fight as long as I live. I refuse to be fat forever. I will be pretty! I will be sexy! I will be desirable! Men will notice me! Men will find me attractive!

So here is the scary thing. What if I already am? What if they already do?  I read Jes’s post. I read the comments.  I cried. I cried for all the time I wasted, being angry and lonely and keeping myself in the dark. I cried for all the times I wouldn’t be as free, as  I could have been, sexually because I was self-conscious and embarrassed about my body. I could cry now just thinking about it. It boggles my mind that this random blog that one of my facebook friends was going on and on about could make me see things differently in a matter of moments.  

Listen, I don’t want to be fat. I really don’t.  But I think that maybe I can figure out a way to accept myself for the way that I am, while trying to change.  There are things that I do that are just not healthy.  What makes me run towards food when I am angry or sad or upset?  That’s not good for anyone.  I want to stop doing that.  What makes me right away choose the less healthy option on the menu?  That’s not good for anyone.  What makes me rather sit on my ass than go for a walk? Again, fat or not, that’s not good for anyone.  Eating right and exercise is good for you.  It can’t hurt you. Figuring out a way to look at your feelings and deal with them is better than stuffing your face, doing drugs, drinking to excess or shopping till you’re homeless.  I am, decidedly, not ready to just join with overweight women in “sisterhood”.  I am not ready to just decide to accept my fat and live with it. I want to lose weight. I do. I want to be healthier, I do.  I just think that I should perhaps be the best me for right now, as I try and become a better me for later.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Guess who's back, back again? April's back, tell a friend.



Guess who's back, back again. Shady's back, tell a friend. Guess who's back, guess who's back, Guess who's back. Guess who's back? -Emenim

 
I know. MIA for 5 months. Where have I been? I’ve been here and there. Lurking. Watching.  Not a whole lot to say. When you don’t have anything worth listening to, in my opinion, you should say nothing.  Clearly not everyone feels that way, based on what I’ve been reading. 

Weight Loss:   Laughable really.  A part of the reason why I have opted to say nothing is because I’ve been reading other blogs.  I have felt…dumbfounded  that people who have been struggling with weight loss for years and are disappointed in themselves, don’t  seem to want to DO anything about it.  What is worse, I think, are the followers who are co-signing this behavior.  While I am all for forgiving ones self, there is way too much talk of “forgiveness”.   

Listen, I know all about failed weight loss attempts.  I have tried and FAILED epically at weight loss for years.  I get it. This is our thing, our cross to bear, if you will.  I get why this annoys Allan so much. Really, I do. I don’t agree with his approach, but I get why this pisses him off.  While, I have no desire to call people out by name how you deal with your weight loss or lack therein, is up to you.  However, the idea that I keep failing at something?  Repeatedly?  Makes me sick.  Sick enough that I don’t want to share my failures with the world. I don’t get it. Why would you talk about something you suck at over and over?  Get your shit together and either stop or try harder, privately.   

Starting Monday, Allan has a challenge coming up.  I’m signing up.  No declarations of “I can do it”. “My time is now” etc.   I LOATHE what I look like. I detest how I feel.  I’m sick to death of looking at other people who are healthy and feeling jealous.  I feel slow, and tired and old and ugly and unhealthy.  I’m OVER being a chubby chaser magnet.  Enough is enough. 

Monday, January 7, 2013

Day 7 and April's a Fool



Day 7

One of the many things that I am going to work on this year is duh, my weight.  While it was tempting, I opted out of Al’s plan.  Not sure why exactly, I just did.  I enjoy Alan a lot. There’s a lot of charm in his alleged gruffness. Oh, it’s alleged. I don’t think he’s mean. I think he’s fed up with excuses, his own and everyone else’s.  He’s lost a ton of weight—he’s doing something right. Haters will hate and really should fuck off.

I toyed with joining WW…AGAIN.  I haven’t yet…I still might.  Something about joining a plan that I have joined at least 10 times in the past, just seemed so cliché to me.  I also am feeling like I don’t want to pay for the plan. I am in a financial cliff of my own lately, and don’t feel like shelling out $40 bucks a month for a plan that I already know works, because I’ve lost and gained about 100lbs following it. 

So what have I been doing these past 7 days?  I have been not just watching what I eat, but actually eating with a plan in mind. I have been eating right---no white foods; whole grains; sticking with chicken and fish, drinking lots of water, eating my fruits and veggies and staying away from processed foods.  I would like a more regimented plan this year, but I thought I would try that for now and see where it got me. I had this overwhelming feeling of detoxing.  A good solid way of getting rid of all the butter, cream and crap I shoveled in my mouth the last 3 weeks of 2012.  

I have not exercised. I want to. But I don’t know WHAT to do. I ordered a Lesilie Sanson DVD. We’ll see, something about walking in place makes me feel like an asshole. But we’ll see.  

Speaking of being an asshole, let’s talk about what I did on Saturday. Saturday I did the most foolish thing in the world.  I have been feeling really stressed lately.  Work stuff has been…challenging and I have been feeling it. I decided the way to handle this stress would be to smoke it away. Me and Mary Jane have had pretty hands off relationship. We’d see each other on rare occasions and it was fine.  TG (yeah I know---feel free to judge, I do.)  has had a long love affair with her. It is what it is, that hasn’t ever really bothered me. Maybe it should, but it really never has. Although it might explain his…apathy about life.  Anyway, back to Saturday. Well…first I was chill. I felt great actually. Happy and mellow. Smoked some more and got dizzy and kind of giggle-ish.  Giggles turned into great guffaws. Guffaws turned into hysterics. Hysteria turned into panic. Panic turned to fear that was all consuming.  Before the end of the night I was dying to get away from my own skin. It was really scary.  He was there and sort of talked me down… put me in the cold shower and held my hand. It about 10 mins or so I was better. I had calmed down enough be starving.  Sigh. 5 days of good clean behavior crapped up real good.   Yesterday was fine, because I was in a post Mary Jane stupor, and felt pretty sick all day.

Today I feel better, but still not quite like myself.  I want to kick myself. I totally took something that I have enjoyed on occasion, abused it to hell and now I can’t ever do it again. I’m not lamenting that part of it, but I am lamenting the fact that I went lost all control. WTF? Its killing me that I still don’t feel quite like myself. Ugh. I feel like such a fool.