To Cut or Not to Cut...

I've been seeing an eating disorders counselor for a few months now. She has really helped me see my Ed for what it is - a compulsion driven my anxiety and emotion. I know now how to distinguish my own voice from Ed's. If you are reading this and you think you might have an eating disorder of any sort, please read Life Without Ed by Jenni Schaeffer. It's changed my life.

My counselor - uh, I hated her at first - horribly cute, perky, young, skinny - is wonderful. She has urged me to stay open-minded when it comes to weight loss surgery. So I've been considering it. Of course my experience with my father's WLS has left me skidish about malabsorption procedures. Be open to it she says, learn about it she says, decide for yourself she says. So I went to see a surgeon. And guess what, I was diagnosed with MORBID OBESITY! I am so fat it's going to kill me. Nice.

I've really been considering the lap band surgery. But I can't really find anyone who has had it for more than 5 years to talk to me about the long-term effects. Seems like most people start having a lot of trouble with it and have to have it removed. I've found lots of people out there with up to two years of being banded and many seem very happy with it. And then there are those who have had so many problems they've had it removed. And the doctor tells me that, based on my history and BMI, I should really consider gastric bypass.

OK, I've stayed open minded, I've been reading, listening, asking questions. But the idea of gastric bypass scares the crap out of me. From most accounts, there's rapid initial weight loss (frequently accompanied by hair loss) within the first year or so. Sounds appealing, right?! How about this - 5 years pass and suddenly you're in chronic pain, your bowels collapse, your intestine starts pushing up through your stomach, reflux, constant nausea, weight gain, vitamin and mineral deficiencies...NO THANK YOU!!!

Weight loss surgery is all I can think about lately. Should I do it, should I not do it? Can I make the life-long lifestyle changes it requires? If I can, why do I have to have surgery, why not just change myself? If, post-surgery, you can only eat 1/4 cup of food, then shouldn't I practice doing that? I can't imagine going through all of that only to end up being fat again and possibly fat with life-threatening complications from the surgery.

Oh, surgery...I've been dreaming about it. I finally had to quit reading the "support forums" because I'm becoming obsessed with it.

I rejoined Weight Watchers today. It's a good place to start, I think. I was watching Jillian on Biggest Loser last week and she told this girl who wanted to quit, "all you have to do is change your mind." What if she's right? Honestly, after reading all of these forums, I realize that she really might be right, but for some of us, it take a surgical procedure to help us change our minds.

Too Fat to be Attractive

Last night my husband told me he is not attracted to me physically. My heart breaks each time I think about it. I can hardly be mad at him for feeling that way; I can barely stand to see myself in the mirror. But having him admit it aloud, right to my face...it is just heartbreaking. It knocks the wind right out of me.

He also told me in the same conversation that I am everything he wants for the rest of his life. That I alone am the one person that he wants to be with. But he has trouble making love to me because of my appearance. How do I reconcile such a conflict? I love you but I can't stand the sight of you?? I asked for honesty and I got it. Now I have to live with consequences of it.

Over a year ago, I proposed bariatric surgery. He told me that is the easy way out and that the resulting flabby skin would be too ugly. And then he turns around and tells me this now. Well, to be fair, I've gotten a lot fatter in the past year, though I've been plump since he met me. But I put off the idea of the surgery in part because of his reaction to it. Why does it matter to him if I have the surgery or not? Seems like either way, he wants nothing to do with my naked body. I know surgery is not what I want, not the answer for me because of my experience with my dad.

Am I just destined to be stuck on this horrible and now insipid rollercoaster for ever? What am I missing? What, exactly, is it that I just don't get?

I've seriously started considering grown-up fat camp. I'm afraid of something too "Biggest Loser," but maybe I really need a few weeks away to regroup and refocus. Maybe I just need to give up.

Doctors Don't Know

Unbelievable. I just heard a "The Zone" diet doctor giving an interview. He was going on and on about how, if you keep your blood sugar within a certain zone, you never feel hungry and therefore, it's easy to lose weight. That just goes to show that doctor's don't know.

Honestly, if it were only about being hungry, we would not have an obese society. HUNGRY?? Please. I am ALWAYS HUNGRY. Getting to this level of obesity has so little to do with actually being physically hungry. All these experts yapping about being hungry...that's soooo not the problem. It's about being bored, sad, lonely, scared, angry, all sort of things, but not hungry.

It's about being in control. Or feeling out of control. It's about finding a calm satiety. Only the satiety is followed by guilt and despair. This, of course, drives the cycle to repeat.

It took years for me to even know what physical hunger is. I spent 20 some years thinking that hunger was an emotion rather than a physical state of being. Clearly, my problem is not about being hungry. Surely someone with an MD ought to be able to realize this.

My dad has a load of problems. Always has, always will. Chief among them, he is always hungry. In 1976, he had a radical surgery - intestinal bypass - that left him malnourished, constantly dehydrated, and suffering from life-long diarrhea. Today, he is more than 100 pounds overweight. Anyway, I am a lot like him. I learned from him, his eating habits, his emotional immaturity. Luckily for me, I've learned to take better care of myself than he has. I have accepted responsibility for my life in a way that he never has been able to do. I have not overcome all of my "issues," but I have grown and learned and bettered myself. I am still growing.

For years, I was terribly jealous of my sister. She had managed to escape the "fat gene" that our father gave me. She was always cute and little and had a very, very different experience growing up than I did. In recent years, I have come to realize that she has her own issues, that she was damaged as well as I. Growing up as my father's daughter has manifested itself in different ways for my sister. She is emotionally stunted. I have very, very recently come to the realization that she can be mean. She dealt with the situation by hardening herself to it, whereas I soaked it all up like a sponge and took it all upon myself. She is mean and I am messy. I am no longer jealous of her; rather, I recognize the scars and respect her distance from us. She has done what she has had to do to survive, just like the rest of us. Turns out, she's hungry, too.

You Can't Just Stop Eating

It almost seems unfair. There a lot of things in the world to be addicted to, but food must be the worst among them. You have to eat to live. Don't get me wrong, I'm not implying that quitting drinking or drugs or any other addiction is easy. I know that it is not.

I have recently set new goals for myself. In the past it was always to loose some number of pounds or to wear some certain size. Those goals are gone now. Today, my goals are to heal myself, to overcome compulsive eating, to reach a healthy state of being. Certainly reaching those goals involves weight loss, lower numbers on the scale, and smaller sizes in the closet. But those are just the side effects.

I'm 32 years old and already taking medication for high blood pressure. God only knows what 40 would look like in this body. No matter, things are changing.

I finally feel good and strong and willing to make change, real, lasting change, in my life. I am finally looking at the bigger picture and now, after 25 years of struggle, I am finally making changes, not dieting. Anyone who has ever dieted knows the difference.

Food is an Addiction

There is so much to do that when I stop to think about it, I get paralyzed. This sort of paralysis, of course, does not lend it self to accomplishing my goals. The goal is so overwhelming right now that I can not even conceive of accomplishing it. This definitely does not bode well for success.

There is a constant battle going on in my head. The rational, smart, compassionate part of me knows, absolutely knows without a doubt, that I am smart enough to solve this problem, conquer this battle. I need to loose some weight. I know how it is done – eat less, move more. It is so simple.

Then there is the part of me that has, historically, always emerged the victor. This is the weaker, less rational side, yet somehow, someway, this is the side that dominates. This is the side that does not stop to think first, the side that allows the pleasure of the hand-to-mouth action, the chewing and swallowing, and the subsequent feelings of physical fullness to dictate my life. If only I would just stop to think first, I could fix this. But this side of me does not think, this voice is louder than the other, talks more, wants more.

When I come down from the high, I only feel worse. I realize that I am not in control. Feeling out of control is horrible.

Both of my parents are followers of the 12 steps. I have witnessed my mother’s success in conquering her addiction by following these steps. Rest assured that eating the way I do is nothing short of addiction. This is the first time I have acknowledged this about myself. Maybe it is time for me to embrace these 12 steps myself. I was in high school when she started getting herself together and I have clear memories of this time. I distinctly remember her “one day at a time” mantra. I must adopt this for myself, only modified slightly. One minute at a time is all I can handle right now. Just one minute. For one minute, I can be strong, do the right thing. And if I can do it for one minute, then I can do it for the next. And hopefully all those minutes will eventually add up to an entire day of success.

I am determined that, from now on, the rational, smart side is going to have the louder voice.

Myself is an Epidemic

My English 101 teacher would not pass a student if she could not master basic grammar. Most of us graduated from high school with these skills. Others of us, however, had to take the test more than once to be eligible for sophomore status. We all make mistakes and typos here and there. But if you consistently make the same “mistake,” you just do not know the correct way (just yesterday I told someone in an email that “we road from Raleigh,” but I know that I was wrong).

There are certain things that really bother me. “Myself” rates at the top of my list. “Myself” is chronically misused. And the worst part about this misuse is that, I think, most people are actually trying to do the right thing. For whatever reason, they believe that “me” or “I” is incorrect and use “myself” instead. Sometimes I think “myself” is used in an attempt to be more formal. “Me” and “I” are correct and should be used where they belong. “Myself” is a reflexive pronoun! Here’s a tip: never use “myself” unless you have used “I” first; “myself” cannot stand alone. As in, “I fixed the car myself” or “I can help myself.” Never, ever say “the committee members are John, Sarah, and myself.” You would never say “myself is on the committee” (although I am sure there are people out there who would, much to my chagrin), so why would you use “myself” because there is an additional noun?

I also hate quotation marks where they do not belong (forget about where to put the punctuation mark around them) and unnecessary or excessive use of apostrophes. My last name ends with an S. There are people out there who believe that, when referring to my husband and me collectively, that do not need to pluralize our name. The fact that it ends in an S does not make it plural! One Jones is not the same as two Joneses. The Jones house is not the same as the Joneses’ house. Is it possible that most of us to not know when an apostrophe is used to contract two words instead of indicate something is plural? I actually saw a sign in a shop that read, “Available size’s.” I, of course, had to tell the shopkeeper it was incorrect. And why is it becoming acceptable to start sentences with “however,” even when it is used to mean nonetheless? There are so many others.

I blame it on the rise of “reality” television. We regularly see people on TV misusing and abusing the English language. This is what we are teaching our children. Sigh.

I realize that there are bigger problems in the world than bad grammar. There are other causes that need my attention. I am in a profession, however, where I have to write (and read) reports, policy documents, and newsletters on a daily basis, so I suppose I am particularly sensitive to these things. The bottom line, I suppose, is that if you’re going to do something, do it right. How is it possible that so many graduate not only from high school and college, but from graduate school, and they cannot correctly construct a sentence in their native language?

I totally judge you when you use poor grammar.

For How Long?

Just the other day, my husband looked at me and told me how much better his life is with me in it. He told me how, when he was single, despite his overall satisfaction with his life, there was something missing. He made me feel loved and appreciated. I laid awake in bed that night thinking about what he'd said. I was touched; I always enjoy it when he expresses his affection and care for me. But my thoughts quickly turned. When we first married, my body was soft and curvy, never skinny. But now it is lumpy and distorted, stretched and swollen. He has never, not once, criticized my appearance. Have I dissapointed him? Does he long for someone else? How long will he tolerate this?

Is it possible to let someone else love you when you can barely tolerate yourself?