I did the unthinkable yesterday...I called a bariatric surgeon and made an appointment. Even as I did it, it did not feel right. I wanted to cancel the appointment before I hung up but didn't for fear he would think I was calling as a joke -- or worse yet, indecisive. Truth is, I am indecisive. I made the call after realizing I've been on a diet for 2 years straight and seen no results...WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
I'm certain I'm not the only one who thinks the struggle is real. My weight loss issues are rooted in childhood. A father who was a physician, did not want his children to be made fun of the way he was when he was younger; as a result, weight was always an issue growing up.
I was on Weight Watchers when I was 12. We're talking old school Weight Watchers where you ate 4 eggs a week and broiled liver once a week. From there, I had a lead in a play but I just wasn't small enough to fit into the wardrobe. Once again, I dieted down 10 pounds. Then, freshman year in high school, I got mono and lost more weight.
Not long after that, I realized I had what boys didn't like...curves. I had hips and larger breasts in the days of the flat chested supermodels. At 5'2 and 105 pounds, I discovered I could go no lower. And truthfully, I was sad because boys talked to the more athletic cheerleaders. I became painfully shy, had one best friend, and we ate to console ourselves.
I found myself at 160 pounds in my junior year of high school. Then I developed a crush on a boy band and lost 40 of those pounds, thanks to my mother who brought home diet pills from the office of the physician she worked for. I was unstoppable. Up until midnight doing homework and awake at
5 AM to go to school. In short, I was on speed. I lost the weight, alright but still did not get noticed.
I think my dad noticed because when I spent the night at his house, he would insist I eat breakfast (something I no longer did). After he left the house, I dumped my cereal down the drain. And so began the vicious cycle of an eating disorder (of sorts). Later on, I discovered purging which helped keep my weight off because diet pills no longer worked.
In college, I gained the freshman 15 and began running with a roommate. But it was hard as I had a D cup by then, and sports bras hadn't been invented.
Fast forward to 20's and 30's. I had my children and lost the weight. The third one, I lost the weight due to severe depression and I developed a phobia to food. I was afraid I would develop an anaphylactic reaction -- something I'd read about. I would eat incredibly slow and no more than one or two bites of food. I also began to exercise. People commented I looked svelte. In a size 8 petite, I felt fat. Nothing I could do would make me feel like I looked good.
Fast forward to my 40's. I finished having all of my children and was left 30 pounds overweight. I could not seem to lose it. I went through my 40's, refusing to take pictures with my family. Let's get to my 50's. I divorced my husband of 31 years, and lost a shit ton of weight. 40 lbs. I looked...haggard. The skin on my neck was sagging because I couldn't eat. I was probably taking in 700 calories a day while working two other jobs and taking on graduate work. I was not actually depressed but the stress was killing me.
One day, I ate a donut and it set me on a downward spiral of a 40 lb. weight gain over 2 months. Since that accumulation of weight, it has been non-stop dieting. Dating after my divorce didn't help. It seemed every 50 year old balding, paunchy gentleman "weighed in" on my weight. Seriously??? How about looking in the mirror, guys! Bye-bye what little self-esteem I had.
So, I look at myself with self-loathing because I am a failure. And as a person who succeeds in everything else, this is a bitter pill to swallow. I love my husband but he is an enabler of the first degree. If I am doing well on whatever eating plan du jour, he will bring in no less than three bags of Hershey's nuggets or a 6-pack of Hydrox cookies that he has ordered on Amazon. Does he hold me down and force it down my throat? No, but he might as well because it is like bringing in alcohol when there is an alcoholic in the house.
I get my relationship with food is not healthy. It has been my friend for many years...during the time of my parent's divorce, my mother's years of alcoholism, my father's suicide attempts (and ultimate suicide), physical and sexual abuse, my years of suffering anxiety and depression and being in a marriage that was a 31 year prison sentence. I am no longer that person, but I think saying goodbye once and for all may be what keeps me where I am. If I don't have "my friend" what do I have? That leads me to alcohol, which scares the crap out of me because I don't want to be on that trajectory my mother was on. It was ugly and it was bad. Although a disease, it doesn't make it any better. But am I any better because my drug of choice is food?
This problem is not insurmountable. It hurts to say goodbye to a lifestyle that although unhealthy, served me well during times when life was unbearable.
As I shed a few tears, I realize why I have struggled all my life. It was because of my life. Food is not my friend... And so now begins the change. I always said change is hard and sometimes it hurts. But, change is necessary. This is going to be the challenge of my life because it is for me; someone I have rarely prioritized. Blogging has helped. I can see the issue much more clearly. It's not laziness or guilt or anything else. It is saying goodbye to my best friend; something that's seen me through the darkest moments of my life.
And so, I move on...Monday I will cancel the appointment. I don't think it is necessary. I just need to break off this unhealthy "friendship" and move forward. "Food, you are not my friend. You are my sustenance. That's it... we're over. Thank you for being there for the hard times but now, it's time to go our separate ways. I'll still see you...we just won't be as close."
