My 4 year rant

Oct 11, 2009

It's been four years since I decided that the only way I could possibly finally win this lifelong battle with my weight was to allow a surgeon to open me up and remove most of my stomach. Drastic?  Uh...yeah.  My last resort? So I thought.  The answer to my problems?  Not even close.

In a nutshell, here it is:

• I am failing miserably. *Daily*
• I know what’s causing the downfall, but I have no idea why I am doing this to myself. 
• I am so sick of myself that I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hear any of this.

However, I am even more sick of the constant merrygoround in my head, and since I really have no one else to talk to about this, I’m posting it here.  Beware…it’s long, maudlin, self-indulgent and whiny.  Proceed at your own peril.

On October 11, 2005, I did the craziest thing I thought I would ever do and went under the knife.  My Multiple Sclerosis pretty much dictated the surgery I would have…no foreign bodies to inspire an immune response, and no rerouting of innards to potentially screw with the meds I might have to take for future flares.   I had all of the best intentions. I passed my psych eval with flying colors because I *knew* that this was it.  I was no longer going to even have the slightest inclination towards my previous self-defeating attitudes.  How on earth could I?  Even if I wanted to, I would only have a 2 ounce tummy.  How much damage could I possibly do even if I did go back to eating carbs or drinking alcohol?  I mean...come on!  It would take some serious effort to undo what Dr. Cirangle did.  How f*cked up would I have to be to do something this dramatic and then deliberately screw it up??

Pretty f*cked up, as it turned out.  On September 28, 2005, I was 279 lbs.  I lost 13 lbs pre-surgery, and then On January 12, 2007, I hit my goal of 159 lbs.  (For all of about 36 hours, as it tuned out...those last 3 lbs were primarily due to the stomach flue I had that kept me puking my guts out for three days.)  But still-- 120 lbs in 15.5 months.  It was surreal and wacky and as I look back on that period now...a total blur.  Then, I got engaged.  Wedding planning brought out the stress snacking tendencies that I had squelched pretty successfully for the previous few months (For the first year or so, I couldn't even dream of snacking..it was enough of a chore to get in all of my protein and fluids.)  But it was my wedding!  Of course I was stressed out…even though were planning a small, non-traditional event.  So I put back about 12 lbs before the wedding.  No real worries, right? 12 lbs out of 120??  10 lousy percent?  No problem!  Turns out, it was a major problem, because what it did was allow me to dip back into that mind set of ignoring the tiny slips.  And the "slippery slope" that we've all heard so much about began to erode underneath me.  Every time something happened (and with the exception of our wedding, 2007 was chock full of sad happenings), that slope became slicker and slicker.

3 months after the wedding, the store I worked in closed and I was unemployed.  Since that job had been merely a stop gap anyway as I tried to figure out what I really wanted to be doing, I decided that I would take the time to really focus on figuring out what I wanted to be doing instead of just going out and getting another job.  I was lucky...my husband was earning enough that we could get by on his paycheck alone for a few months while I sorted through it.  Alas, amidst all of the other wacky things that happened that year,  the other thing that occurred right then was the re-occurrence of a nasty little health issue I've been battling off and on for many years: Hidradenitis suppurativa.  If you've never experienced it, thank your lucky stars.  Because H.S. is incredibly painful and embarrassing...it's makes it really difficult to sit, much less walk or do any kind of exercise that involves moving your legs.  (Much less have sex with your new husband.)  SO-- there I was, unemployed and unmoving and frustrated in many ways.  So guess what I was doing?  Sitting/lying down.  Bored.  Eating.  Yeah. 

By March 2008, I had put back a total of about 40 lbs.  But then I finally found a job that I thought would be a FAR better fit for me.  Used my education and skills and had something at least vaguely do with my musical background.  And we decided that it was as good a time as any to stop throwing our money away on rent and buy a house.    So-- I started a new job and we bought our first house and moved all within about 6 weeks of each other.  Exciting, right?  You betcha!  Except that exciting things are stressful, too.  Especially when you're only working 25 hours a week so most of the logistical planning of the move falls on you.  Plus exciting things give you just as much of an excuse to eat (this time more for celebratory purposes) as the boring stuff does.   Yet still, even though I was concerned about the weight gain, it wasn't a HUGE problem...I had lost 120 lbs, man...40 was not any where NEAR as big a deal.  (Amazing how we can delude ourselves when we put our formidable talent for it in the limelight.)

Fast forward to a year later:  A year of working in a place with bakeries on either end of my commute that I am somehow unable to pass by without stopping, and what has now become nearly 16 months of constant problems with H.S. meant that I was 225 lbs and a tight size 14/16.  My exercise schedule was nonexistent except for the walk to and from the train and home/job, and the great new job that I thought would be so much better than anything else I'd ever done?  Pretty disastrous.  At the end of the day, my sexy title of Asst. Director of a Community Music Center boiled down to counting other people’s money: collecting tuition from students and paying wages to teachers.  There was very little about it that took advantage of any of my so called skills and the organization I worked for was in a state of nearly complete disarray.  So I quit in April 2009.  And I've been unemployed AGAIN since then.  Back to being bored and isolated.  Back to being an emotional eater.  Back to feeling frustrated and non-contributory and a complete leech on the goodwill of my husband.  And still hurting in unmentionable places that make it nearly impossible to lead any kind of normal life without a pretty major surgical procedure that holds no hope of any permanent fix...just a stopgap to- hopefully- get a break for a few months before it comes back.   Plus we got a puppy in June…a wonderfully sweet but rambunctious little creature named Zumi…a Bullmastiff who is already 67 lbs and isn’t even 6 months old yet.  I’ve been a full time puppy mom to her for the last three months, which – while often fun – really just serves to isolate me that much more since I can’t leave her at home alone unless she’s crated which means 2 hours max before she gets all rowdy and ready to run around…which I can’t do with her since both the Multiple Sclerosis and the H.S. (not to mention the extra weight) make running nearly impossible.  SO where do I find myself now…October 11, 2009?  245 lbs.  A size 18.  Basically back to where I started. And crying as I write that, because despite the novella of excuses I listed above, I have no one or nothing to blame for this situation but myself.

Ultimately, I know exactly how to fix it.  I know all the ways and means.  But I guess there must be some self-destructive or self-loathing part of me that would just rather be fat and a failure than risk success.  Because if I defeat myself before some outside force can do it, then I know what to expect.  And what the hell happens if I succeed?  What else will be expected of me?  And what the hell right do I have to complain about ANYTHING when I have an amazingly patient and loving husband, a family who loves me unconditionally, a sweet little house in a great neighborhood and a puppy who just wants to wiggle and smooch everybody she meets?  The fact of the matter is that I simply have no faith in myself anymore.  I don’t believe any of the promises I make to myself.  I don’t trust any of the pledges I make to change. 

Now you all know why I’m so seldom here.  I hate bitching, but if I’m honest, I can’t say anything positive about my wls journey of late.  And since I don’t feel like there is any wisdom I can give those who have traveled this road after me –unless it’s the example I can provide of how NOT to travel it— I’m not sure what purpose it serves to come here and be a total downer.  I find myself in dire need of help, but completely unwilling to accept it.

Again, I ask you…how f*cked up is that???

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