ocdgina
One year, a world of difference November 15th marks the 1 year “surgerversary” for me. Over the past year—my life has changed so dramatically and so quickly that it is hard to even recognize myself at times—and to find my place in my new life. My transformation has been much more than just a physical change. Yes, I lost a lot of weight. I also gained a new sense of identity—and am constantly changing. When I look at all facets of my life—they are all different. The person, formally known as sheepish-me A year ago, I weighed almost 300 lbs. I was sedentary. I was secluded. If my friends went shopping, I couldn’t really enjoy myself with them. They’d pick through racks in “normal” stores, as I poured over garments in the over priced Lane Bryant type stores. As they went on dates and their lives progressed—I had stopped dating. Why bother—I figured. I wouldn’t date someone who was addicted to alcohol or drugs—what quality person would date me—with being a food addict, and having the lowest of low self-esteem. I rarely took care of my physical appearance, and wore the easiest and most comfortable elasticized clothes I could find. That way, if I gained another 10 lbs, or ate way too much, I wouldn’t have the painful reminder that yet another pair of pants were too small. At work, I was grounded from travel because of my fear that I’d not fit in an airline seat. I remember the embarrassment of a 1 hour flight from Detroit to Milwaukee—3 across seating—and the two poor folks next to me. It was the longest hour I can remember. I hid from cameras—or only allowed myself to be captured in the background of a group. I stayed away from mirrors. I hid from the truth. Learning from those who have it harder When my Mom was diagnosed with a terminal form of Cancer—and I saw how hard she fought and all of the treatments she took to extend her life—I knew that I had to do more. At 27, I had enough. I decided that my primary doctor was right—I should check out gastric bypass. My anger at myself—and my doctor subsided as I met Dr Prewitt and his staff. Ellen was kind, he was caring, and Barb was an angel. They armed me with information, answered my questions, and I really felt like I could make it. I failed so many times at every other diet—I secretly felt that I would be the one person that would get the surgery and fail. I feared that I’d actually gain weight. More change than I could have imagined No one could have prepared me for the change. No website, no book, no support group. After getting home from the hospital (with no real issues—thank God!) I panicked. What did I do to myself? How could I have turned myself into such a science project? As I measured my ounces carefully, sipped my ounce-size beverages as my 15 minute egg timer chimed—I began to see the weight fall off. I’d scream with glee—and call my Dad every day. “Dad, I lost 3 lbs. today.” “Dad, I’m down 38 lbs.” “Dad, I’m under 200 lbs.” He never told me to stop calling, or to get over myself. He was excited for me—and supportive. Socially—distorted As my weight plummeted—so did my relationship with women. My sister, a fairly healthy weight woman, couldn’t handle the attention I was getting. She’d remark to anyone that’d listen that I took the easy way out. Coworkers weren’t always nice either. My true friends were excited—and all too eager to go shopping with me, and watch my body transform. I started dressing nicer. I could. Every size I went down, I replaced my entire wardrobe. You’re probably thinking I wasted a lot of money—and I did. Emotionally, it drove me. This journey never started out as a vanity mission, but then again, I had never had a reason to be vain. I had never been a good looking girl or woman, and I liked the attention. I liked that men offered me their phone numbers—asked me on dates, paid attention to me, greeted me, and made me feel special. I liked that I could dress more feminine—instead of my usual uniform for the past 10 years—track pants and an oversized t-shirt. Starving myself, and my mind The tracking of my foods was exhausting though. I faithfully used www.fitday.com and tracked every morsel I ate for 8 months. I ate far less than I should for too long. I ate 400 calories a day for a few months, finally graduating to 600 calories a day at 6 months. My test results showed that my levels were low. I was tired. I was thin, but weak. I lost muscle. It became harder and harder to exercise. My obsession and worry about not losing more weight or maintaining my loss became too much. Had I turned from an overeater to an anorexic that quickly? Not exactly. I met with Barb again in July. She gave me permission to accept myself—to stop trying to be a size 0, and to be healthful in my food choices. It wasn’t logical to think I could support an adult body on a child’s portions. It was hard to attend regular support meetings. Not only had I started a whole new leg in my life—I was embarrassed about how scared I was. I’d attend, and hope that I could say how scared I was—but I never got it out. I sat back, listed to others share, and drove home wishing I could have been more open. I wished someone could have known how hard it was for me too. Through counseling and a lot of reflection, I was able to start accepting myself. I had to wake-up and realize that I look damn good. I can do so much more. I can expect so much more from myself than worrying about whether one slice of cheese has too many calories to add to a meal. As an addict (formerly to food) you have to shift your addiction to something. One hopes that it becomes exercise and community work. Although I do exercise, I did pick up some poor habits. Partially because my life style changed, and partially because my coping skills still aren’t as great as they should be. What’s next? I can only hope that as I begin this new year of experiences, that I learn and gain only knowledge J