I'm on vacation in Haiti and my wifi has been spotty. I've been writing but haven't gotten the chance to post...
“…it’s the eye of the tiger. It’s the thrill of the fight! Rising up to the challenge of our rival, and the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night and his watching us with the eye of the tiger…” - Survivor
Yeah. I know it's pretty bad and a cheesy choice of song. But It's all I could think of, and you have to admit---it's catchy and it invokes the image of Rocky doing his thing.
Today is Monday December 29th, and I’m currently mid-flight on my way to some fun in the sun. 2014 has been a year of change for me. I’ve known it but every now and again, something will happen and it hits me really hard. Today it happened on the air plane. I buckled in and didn’t need a seat belt extender! I remember as if it were yesterday the first time I had to ask for one. I wanted to die from embarrassment ing and those change and decided that I would try and piece together my feelings about my weight loss journey this past year. A few weeks ago, on December 12, 2014, was the one year anniversary of my WLS. Over the past 12 months, I’ve lost more than 100lbs from the surgery itself and about 130lbs from my highest weight of 300lbs. I have about 20 more lbs to go. It’s really unreal to me. Though I haven’t posted, I’ve been thinking about what I would post and jotting down notes. Below is is a post I wrote while in class—it was either write what I wanted to or fall asleep.
One year ago today I took a momentous step. I did something that I knew (hoped, wished and prayed) that would change my life. By far it was the best, hardest thing I’ve ever done. Looking back, I have no regrets. What a difference a year makes. That day I was a tight size 24, and I weighed 280lbs. Today I’m a size 12, tip the scales at about 170, and am 20lbs away from my goal. I wasn’t sure where I would be a year ago. When I started this process, I was determined. I really have no words to describe how sick and tired I was of being THAT heavy. I felt tired, ugly, worn out and unattractive. As I got closer to surgery I realized that I was was scared. Not scared to die or anything like that. But scared that it wouldn’t work. What if my stomach grew back? (I know I know) What I was one of THOSE cases? You know those people people you see on “My 600lbs life”? Who have the surgery and don’t loose weight afterwards? What if I was some kind of freak of nature and was able to eat MORE after WLS? What if I figured out a way to sabotage myself and just start eating again? Listen, I know that it all sounds crazy, but those were my fears. Rational or not. Looking back over the year, I will say that the process has been all at once, difficult and easy. At times I’ve been shocked at how easy it was. I often have feelings of guilt. Like I took the “easy” way out. Other times I’ve wanted to scream with frustration, at how hard it’s been. There are days that I just want to eat. I want to eat my sadness, my joy, my anger, my boredom, my pain. In short I want so badly to eat my feelings. There have been days when I want to eat so bad, I can feel myself becoming almost irrational. The killer is that most often I’m NOT eating because I’m hungry, I’m eating for lack of something else to do. I’m eating because I don’t have anything else. The inability to eat, has at times, almost driven me mad.
I wish I had seen a therapist through-out this process. My therapist changed careers right before my surgery. I miss him, and think that it would have done me good to see him. Perhaps it wouldn’t have made a difference. Sometimes I’ve considered that I should have tired to find someone else, preferably seeing a therapist who was equipped to handle someone going through a change such as mine. I haven’t always known what do with my emotions.
I wish I had exercised more through-out this process. I did a little and I know it helped, but once a fat lazy bitch always a fat lazy bitch I had dropped out. I know that I have do something. I just don’t know how to motivate myself into getting into it int he way that I should. In addition to helping me loose those last 20 some odd pounds, it will just be good for me. I feel weak, and I hate that shit. Also, I want reconstructive surgery on everything, and I know that will help. A casual acquaintance has turned into a body builder—she was never fat, but now her body is SICK. I go on her Instagram account and just look at her. She looks unreal. I don’t want that type of body, but she looks so strong. One of my closest friends—really the sister in my heart—is a triathlete. Another one with a sick body. She loves it. She says it clears her head and she feels great. Let me be straight with you guys. The idea of running 26 miles, biking 112 miles and swimming 2.4 miles, doesn’t excite me. It makes want to take a damn nap. My other friend took a tragic time in her life and decided to focus her energy on running. She ran her first NYC Marathon this year. She is someone, as far as I know, who always had a beautiful body. However she wanted to prove something to herself. She was able to prove to herself that she was able to do something amazing. These women leave me awestruck. To say I wish I was like them is an tragic understatement. Where is the “fire in MY belly? I’m in awe of these women. How I wish that the desire was just there. It’s not. I don't know how to create the want. I swear that in 2015 I will discover that want.