The End

My many masks, happy, successful, intelligent, used to keep the rising tides of depression at bay. I was the Poseidon of my mind, manipulating the dark seas that threatened to consume me. No longer capable of taming the choppy waters, my dinghy capsizes beneath me, and I wonder about the woman that I might have been. 

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Clarity

I am so glad that I was able to get in to a seminar with the bariatric surgeon before next Thursday.  I know that less than a week is not that long, but I was so desperate for a sense of knowing.  I do a lot of research before I do anything (it’s the lawyer in me) and this was the last piece of the puzzle as far as my decision about weight loss surgery was concerned.  With everything else going on, I needed this decision to be off my shoulders.

As you know, before the start of the seminar I was really nervous, but to be in a room where everyone else looked a lot like me and were undoubtedly feeling the same, it wasn’t too bad. Thank goodness!

Let me tell you that it was quite a profound and emotional moment to hear from a medical professional that obesity is a bona fide disease. To hear from a medical professional that it’s not a personal defect, like I always thought it was, put me to tears.  To hear that for the severely obese (like me), the success rate for losing a significant amount of weight without surgical assistance is less than 2%, means I am not a failure. I am not a failure. Halle-fricken-lujah.

Most of the information about the procedures, complications, etc. I already knew. Some of the statistics were really interesting to learn. One of the highlights was, of course, having a chance to get a few of my more burning questions answered by a doctor and by the patient advocate who has had the lap band.

Above all, the seminar was exactly what I needed to decide that I am definitely going forward with the surgery (gastric sleeve).  I need help to change this problem and there is no shame in that. 

My insurance requires a 3 month supervised diet (I can make an appointment with the nutritionist on Monday) then, so long as I get the all clear following my preliminary tests at month two, I’m covered for surgery.  So I could conceivably be in surgery as soon as July.  July!  I know It’s going to sound strange, but part of me hopes it gets scheduled on her birthday.  That way instead of celebrating her in any way, I can celebrate myself. But if I were to (God forbid) die on her birthday, she probably would not recover from that, especially if I hadn’t told her about the surgery beforehand.  No matter how rocky our relationship is, I don’t want that.  So, I’ll just leave it up to God. If He wants me to have surgery on her birthday, so be it.

I feel some peace, some trepidation,  some excitement and a whole lot of other things about surgery.  I must remember to pace myself,  take this one  step at a time, not let myself get discouraged, and trust the process.  The next portion of my efforts at complete healing have begun. 

By the way, thank you for your kind words recently, dear readers.  I’m incredibly happy to have a growing support group here in the blogosphere as I work through everything. I probably would not be at this point without it. You mean a lot more to me than you may know.  💜

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N.e.r.v.e.s.

Just a short post to say I’m nervous as hell this morning. Jittery. Excited. Anxious.  All of it and more.

The surgery center had a couple of cancelations for a sooner seminar… this morning!  Here we go. :)

Would say more, but I have to get ready or I’ll never make it in time.  Please pray that this helps me decide, once and for all, whether bariatric surgery is my next step along this journey of healing.

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Crock of Shit

That’s what she called it.  My attempt to bring something into her life that might help mend a bridge between us.  A crock of shit. 

Maybe some background.

You might remember that a couple of weeks ago I wrote a little bit about a book my therapist recommend I read, Healing The Shame That Binds You, by John Bradshaw.  I haven’t finished it yet, but it has already given me so many great insights into myself and my family dynamics, why I feel the way I feel, why I way I act the way I act, and is helping me see another side of the picture as far as my parents’ own abusive pasts are concerned.

I couldn’t help but buy two more copies.

One I gave to a friend at work (one of the few people in my trusted inner circle) who expressed real interest in it for her husband. The other, I bought for my parents to read.  Perhaps that was my first mistake. Or was having the hope that she and I were actually making a little progress my first mistake?

So, last night I sought her advice about a career issue.  She’s always been really good when it comes to those things.  I was feeling vulnerable about a choice I made and let her in on it.  I talked to her about how it’s been a rough week. She tried to convince me to work from home today.  I had no real desire to skip the office. Although it’s crazier than ever around there, I actually kind of like going in to work these days. Plus, I have a shit ton to do and there ain’t no rest for the wicked.  I know she means well, so I laughed it off.

Come lunch time, she texts me asking if I’ve left work for the day.  I was still in meetings at the time, and considering that my boss is on spring break with his kids all next week and is leaving me to run the show by my lonesome in his absence, an early day was not ever going to happen.  I see the text, but don’t respond because I have a hundred other things going on.

Then, at about 2:00 p.m., she shows up at my office unannounced.  Lets see, that makes this the fifth time I’ve seen her in the last two years? Someone please tell me how that would ever be appropriate, ever, please?  Naturally I can’t react, I’m at work.  She did bring food, a gesture of good will of some kind I suppose, so I acquiesce. 

I had also been wanting to find a time to give her the copy of Bradshaw’s book and happened to have it in my car. Perhaps after the week I had, it wasn’t the best timing, but now or never, right? I was obviously hesitant and as I handed it to her, I prefaced the delivery with something along the lines of, “I’ve been reading this book and it has really been helping me see a new perspective and I think it would help you and our relationship.”

I tried to explain a little bit about Bradshaw’s premise to her, how abuse turns into toxic shame and manifests in our lives, and why it’s been helpful, but was a bit inarticulate. Her response was two fold: she feels no shame (no surprise there) and an overly broad, narrow minded, and purely ignorant statement that self help books are all a crock of shit.  I couldn’t begin to come up with the right words and that was neither the time nor the place to get into the nitty gritty. So, I just assured her that if I didn’t think it would be helpful, I’d never have bought it for her.

As it turns out, what I heard and felt were: the hard work I’m putting into dealing with my issues is a crock of shit; the clarity and peace I’ve been discovering while reading this book is a crock of shit; the effort I’m putting into trying to maintain some type of relationship with them (and especially her) is a crock of shit; I am a crock of shit.

I am not a crock of shit, though.  Trust me, I am not a self help book kind of girl (wonder where that comes from) and never would have picked this one out on my own.  But my therapist, who has gotten to know my intelligent and analytical side, knows that I need data, case studies, and other scientific or empirical evidence to satisfy the logical side of my brain before the emotional aspect comes into play, recommended this book.  I’m learning to trust in him and this healing process and I have not been disappointed so far.

Why else would I have bought two more copies?  I’m an intelligent woman who struggles with emotion. This book has helped me tap into some of my most difficult emotions.  If I thought it was anything close to a crock of shit, I’d never have made it past the first chapter.

She is the crock of shit. I don’t think she’ll ever read it. 

That makes me incredibly sad.  In fact, that being a real possibility triggers so many familiar feelings of inadequacy, helplessness, and hopelessness. I really put myself out there by offering her a little look into what I’m doing in therapy. It would mean an incredible amount to me if they took the time to do a little work too. I was vulnerable with her in a mostly safe way, and I’m proud of that. I also know now that my self worth doesn’t hang on what she chooses to do with the book, or with anything really. Still, having that little bit of hope I had built up dashed is terribly disappointing. 

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Some Days

Today has been a shit ass day. This week has been a shit ass week. I want to crawl into a hole, cry, and never come out. My anxiety is in quite the state and I’m kicking my ass all over the place in my brain. From spraying gasoline all over myself the other day to feeling like an idiot in Court this morning, and getting stood up on a business dinner date tonight, this week can shove it. I quit.

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Blackout Poetry II

Been working on more pieces for the series of blackout poems I’m doing using pages chosen at random by friends from a book of English poetry and prose, c. 1917.

8
To the race of men,  be mindful:
The glory of kings was first found in the mansion of God.

444
A lovely grace
Whispered thy dream.
Sleep! Sleep!
Fair lady,
For at dawn
The lady is gone
Like a summer rain.

111
I confess, friend,
There was nothing left for me.

There are a couple of others from this series on my first post, Blackout Poetry. More of my found poems are also on Instagram. Hope you like them :-)

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Au Naturale?

This dear universe of ours has a sick sense of humor, I tell you. 

The morning after my last post about questioning my choice to look into weight loss surgery, this video popped up in my Facebook feed about a young woman, Lindsey March, who was bullied and told from a young age by doctors that she’d have no choice but to have bariatric surgery.  Apparently when she finally went to see a surgeon, she was told that she had to (or could) do it naturally. 

Sure enough, Lindsey pulled off a miracle transformation! I couldn’t help but cry as I marveled at the encouragement she received from those around her.  I couldn’t help but cry after witnessing her sheer grit and determination.  I couldn’t help but cry about how pathetic I feel for not being able to do this on my own.  I couldn’t help but cry.

I don’t know what the hell to do anymore.  I’m desperate to know what the right answer is for me and I don’t have any clue how to make a final decision. I wish I had a guide, a rule book, something or someone (anything!) to help me.  All I am is confused and scared right now. 

God, please give me a sign.  Please.

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Questioning Myself

The problem with time is that it gives you room to think. So now that I have more time until the seminar with the bariatric surgeons, I’m thinking about my choice to investigate and pursue weight loss surgery.

What if I regret it afterwards? What if I have complications? What if it doesn’t do anything for how I feel about myself? What if I’m making this choice for all the wrong reasons?

I don’t feel like I’m hanging my hat on surgery as an easy way out. Quite the opposite, I know it’s going to be hard as hell. I know it’s going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Beyond the fact that it’s surgery, I’m not going to have food for comfort. I’m not worried about the surgery itself nearly as much as I’m worried that I won’t be able to cope with that part of it.

I’m working very hard to make sure this is going to work. Even so, it’s a reality that I might fail. You know what? So what. Screw that noise. If I fail, at least I took a chance. The best things come with the most risk.

Weight loss surgery isn’t just about being thin for me. In fact, the weight I legitimately think I would be happiest to be at is still considered obese. I know that the fat isn’t the problem. The problem is deeper than the fat and I’m already confronting that head on. I’ll confront any issues I might have post-op head on too.

I know I can’t predict the future, but I know that the present needs a change. I’m working so hard on my inside and I really want the outside to match. My weight is a manifestation of my shame. I need help to change it; and there’s no shame in that.

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Letting The Cat Out Of The Bag (aka Naked Dreams)

I had an evening out with my two best girlfriends from law school last night and it was a blast!  The three of us don’t get together nearly enough. I took the chance to reveal my decision to move forward with weight loss surgery to my one friend (the other I had already shared the news with).  She knows quite a lot about my background and breakdown and is one of the few people I really trust in my life. 

She’s European, thin, dark hair and eyes, olive complexion, beautiful. I have never once felt judged by her, but I was really nervous and just not sure what to expect.  Other than not being totally sure what weight loss surgery was, she was as amazingly supportive as she always is.  What a relief!

I think I was really worried about the possibility of rejection.  One of the scariest parts for me right now about the thought of surgery is wondering who is going to help take care of me afterwards.  If it’s not my friends, I’ve got no one to fill that role for me.

I don’t even want to tell my parents about it, honestly.  That’s not because of a fear of a negative reaction or anything, but because I just don’t trust them with this decision.  This is a very personal journey for me and I don’t trust them enough to be emotionally supportive (in a healthy way) through the process. After all, their abuse and dysfunction is a huge contributing factor in why I started turning to food for comfort in the first place. 

When I was maybe 7 or 8, my mother put a tupperwear bowl next to my dinner plate and screamed at me, threatening to make me eat my own vomit when I said I was too full to eat anything else.  After I started gaining weight around 10, my mother put a lock on the fridge to keep me from eating when one of my parents wasn’t home.  My mother would grab and touch my butt constantly after I started maturing, because she liked my butt and wished she had one of her own (no matter what weight that woman is at, she has a board flat ass).

Needless to say, my confusing and distorted relationship with food and my body started very early.  I’m trying to fix that and feel that they will be more of a hindrance than a help.  So, while I might tell my parents at the point that the surgery is actually scheduled (there is a small risk of death, they should probably know eventually), I’m keeping this decision to myself for now.

Plus, telling my friend left me feeling plenty vulnerable as it is.  So much so that I had my first naked dream where I wasn’t the only one concerned about my nudity.  Naked dreams usually mean youre feeling exposed, but normally no one else knows in my dreams.  It’s my own internal fear of exposure that has driven those dreams in the past.  Not this time.  Everyone else eventually saw it too and it was a disaster.

I was at a baseball stadium, watching a game with a couple of my friends.  It was almost like those two people were all my friends all at once, though.  I was naked and fine being with them.  There was this big blimp drone thing (that was also a huge fan) that was entertaining and added complexity to the game as it flew around the stadium.  On one exciting play, the fan blimp blew a ball into the stands right to me. Not even thinking, I stood up and caught it.  I immediately sat down and tried to cover up, but it was too late. Everyone saw me naked. People gasped, laughed, and started calling me disgusting. One woman got on the loud speaker and lectured me about how I should do some bullshit to lose weight.  Another threw pies in my face.  It was awful.  I woke up and cried. 

I can only imagine the dreams I’ll have after telling my parents.  Ugh.  I hope I’m doing the right thing.  I know all I have scheduled is attending a seminar right now, but I intend to go through with surgery.  I hope I’m prepared emotionally to deal with this.  It seems like that’s one of the hardest parts for people who have blogged about their experience.  Who am I to think that I’ll be any different?  What if I fail and gain the weight back?  What if I tail spin into another breakdown?  But what if it’s the best thing I ever do for my health and happiness? So confused.

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The Road to Weight Loss Recovery

I’m up late tonight pouring through articles, web sites, blogs, and forums about the different types of weight loss surgery, complications, and all the struggles and success stories.  Of course, I’ve been down this researching road before, but I was always too scared to take any of the next steps. 

Knowing what I know about myself now, I’m pretty sure I never felt worthy enough.  I never really felt worthy of anything.  I learned early on that eating felt good when life was really bad and getting fat was a way to stay small and invisible in a home where standing out for anything other than good grades was dangerous.  The thought of giving up food – my only means of comfort – has been as terrifying as any one of the physical or emotional punishments doled out in my childhood home. I continued to need the feelings only food could give me, because I simply had no other outlet.

With all of that in mind, it’s quite strange to think I might actually join the legion of brave souls who have gone down the surgical weight loss route for a healthier and happier life (and blogged about it!).

As weird as it feels to say this, I think I owe this change of heart and mind, in large part, to my breakdown.  Although part of me still really wishes it never happened, it’s the primary reason I’m finally comfortable moving forward toward weight loss surgery.

Despite all of it’s embarrassing and shameful glory, losing my grip on reality was the catalyst for my quest to dig deep into the nitty gritty of my life.  It was the beginning of this incredibly difficult and rewarding journey.  While I will continue to struggle with and work through feeling unloved and unworthy (which drive my emotional eating), my breakdown has helped me finally do more than just scratch the surface of my core issues.

Now, with my breakdown behind me and the lifelong process of genuine healing underway, the thought of giving up food as comfort doesn’t give me the overwhelming anxiety that it used to.    My weight is the physical manifestation of 30 years of toxic shame heaped upon me by myself and others. Weight loss surgery, along with plenty more therapy of course, is just another step in my recovery process.

Wow. I never would have imagined at this time three years ago (to the day, damn near) that I would be, in a way, grateful for my breakdown.  I’m nervous as hell, but this April 2, 2015 seminar can’t come soon enough!

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