Taken a Turn

Yooooooo. It's been awhile.

LOTS has changed.

I feel a little silly writing, actually. But I don't have many (any?) outlets and I'm going through some stuff and could really use a place to lay out my thoughts, recipes, schedule, etc. so here I am.

Quick recap: Super single. Dated several people (guys and girls) after leaving my girlfriend of 8 1/2 years, but we're still best friends and hang out all the time. I ended up buying the house from her, so I live here alone. Well, alone except my chihuahua, my foster minpin, my Maine Coon, and two bearded dragons. So no quite alone. My relationship with my parents hasn't improved, and has actually gotten worse, particularly since my sister had her second kid (this one with the neighbor she cheated on her husband with). I do still get pilonidal cysts but the ichthammol ointment has kept it from ever getting really bad. I went off of Weight Watchers and pretty quickly gained back nearly every ounce I'd lost. Like, shockingly fast. I had one bad weekend in June of 2014 where I got drunk and didn't track, although I was at like 205 pounds and so close to losing 100 full pounds and being under 200 pounds for the first time in my adult life, and the wheels went off until by March of 2015 I was back up to around 280 pounds, and I've hovered there ever since.

Last October, I went to my favorite amusement park for their Halloween event, and was super excited to ride on my favorite roller coasters. Of course, since I gained back so much of the weight I had lost, I was back to always comparing my size to everyone around me, and amusement parks have always held their own particular horror. I felt pretty safe, however, because not only was I with my ex-boyfriend (the employee one) who is a very sizable guy, but I was also with his current girlfriend, a well-known Instagram model famous for her seriously enormous ass.

I was wrong.

I sat behind them in the first roller coaster we came to, and watched with growing horror as the tiny high-school-aged attendant feebly pushed against the bar and told her the bar was not going to click twice. I watched as she struggled to lift herself from the small ride, and I felt the flush creeping up my neck as I began to frantically push my own lap bar into the fat of my stomach to hear the necessary double click. Didn't work. I had to get out too. And THEN...the guy we were with (her boyfriend, who was my ex) proceeded to ride the coaster himself, as we stood on the other side of the tracks, exposed to the awaiting riders, blinking back tears, waiting for his dumb ass to be done. Of course people were staring. I mean, they're waiting in line, nothing to look at until the loaded cars come back to empty and load again, except what's going on in front of them. And in front of them were two fat assed chicks, crying and waiting for their lame escort. Plus, this girl seriously has the fattest ass of any other person I've met in my life. She's gorgeous--lovely face, great hair, tiny waist, thin arms, decent rack--but her ass is like two seals in a circus. Like, bigger than two hams, for sure. Maybe like two duffel bags full of pudding. Anyway oh my god it's super late and I'm rambling. Anyway, it finally happened, I was too fat to ride a ride.

I pretty much immediately called the local bariatric specialists and looked into weight loss surgery for the first time in my life. My close friend had gone through gastric sleeve surgery and went from 330 pounds, wearing clothes that were too big for me, to 175 pounds and a size 6/8. Even though I had totally hated on her while she was first contemplating surgery, she really talked me into it and has been super supportive. The entire time I was on Weight Watchers, I was HUNGRY. The entire time. I just remained hungry. The idea of having surgery that would remove or reduce my hunger sensors was incredibly appealing. So while I've always dismissed weight loss surgery as 'cheating', I started to really consider it.

I ended up going to a seminar, submitting it through insurance, and meeting with a doctor. She basically told me everything that I guess I knew but loved hearing from someone else: that I DO know how to lose weight, I just don't have the tools to keep it off. And that losing weight would really change my life. The surgeon was extremely optimistic and made me forget all of my protestations. So from there, I had six months of supervised weight loss visits, during which time I needed to lose 10 pounds, and I met with the psychiatrist, nutritionist, and everyone else she suggested. After I had gone through the six months of visits, been cleared by the shrink, and met again with the surgeon, they scheduled surgery and I began the waiting game. My surgery was last Monday. So I am officially six days post-op from gastric sleeve surgery!

When I began going to the monthly visits, I had gotten up to 290 pounds (actually 294 I believe). After the six months, I was around 282. When they checked me in to the hospital on Monday, the scale said 270, which was not terribly surprising since I'd been on a clear liquid diet and was so hungry I honestly would have had trouble not eating even meat if it was put in front of my face. When I got home from the hospital on Tuesday, my home scale said 277. I haven't used that scale for a loooong time, so I don't know how accurate it is. But since Tuesday, I've now gotten down to 274 pounds. Three pounds is not a lot, but at least it's not gaining.

Anyway, I'd like to talk about my recovery, complain about my healing process, vicariously plan out meals I'll be able to eat once I can eat again, share victories, and basically get shit off of my chest since I don't really have anyone I can rely on now. Oh, and I wanna talk about how hungry I am.

Because, unbelievably, but maybe predictably honestly if you know my life, it didn't work. The surgery didn't stop my hunger. It works except in the rarest of cases. Well, hello! I'm a rare case. Now, granted, I am still on the liquid diet (which I am being really really good about) and I know I'm still healing and some of it is gas and some is head hunger. I know these things.

But I am still hungry.

Some things never change.

I Get Knocked Down But I Get Up Again

Yes.

Chumbawumba.

Unfortunately, by "I Get Up Again" I really mean my weight fucking skyrockets again.

It's enough to drive someone insane.

I have done nothing but gain weight in tiny increments for the past three or so months. After my Key West gobble-a-thon that helped continue my shameful holiday food orgy, I weigh MORE than I did in November. I mean, duh. With the amount of food I've been eating, and the quality of food I've been eating, it's, like, SCIENCE BITCH! Of course I gained weight! I'm eating like a pregnant rhino and I'm moving as much as a paraplegic sloth. No fucking wonder.

But...still, I'm eating less that I would normally be. Which is pretty scary when you think about it. I'm sure that being on Weight Watchers for almost a year and a half now has helped my body adjust to lower calories, so the binge eating lately is probably making me gain more than I would have a year and a half ago, but it's still scary that I gained weight while still cutting back. If I wasn't on Weight Watchers, this annoying 5 pound gain could easily have been 20 or 25 pounds since November.

It's still discouraging though. I keep reading about people losing 100 pounds (like Chumlee. From Pawn Stars? He looks great! So good it makes me sick. I fucking hate him now.). All it does is make me bitter and jealous instead of lighting a fire under my ass.

But I'm still going. It might be close, but I'm going to try to stay within my points this week. I am SO close to losing 100 pounds...I just need to stop fucking around and get there.

Ugly Green Monster

I think I mentioned earlier that I am not very tech-savvy. I’m not hip to all the new-fangled social media these youngsters are using. I’m really pretty curmudgeonly for being only 30 years old. One of the few things I do use is Facebook. I use it in a more voyeuristic way—I very rarely post anything. I tend to just creep around, liking statuses, and peeking into everyone’s lives through their Facebook posts.

Since the New Year, though, I’ve avoided Facebook like the plague. Why? Because I can’t fucking stand watching all of these idiots posting “I lost 6 pounds this week!” and “My New Years Resolution is paying off! Dropped a size already!”. And of course these jerks all get, like, 80 “Likes” and supportive comments. I just hate the fact that these people have only been eating healthy for two weeks and they already lost more than I did in my first full month on Weight Watchers. I’m jealous, okay? I’m totally jealous. I can’t help it.

 

What’s worse, though, is that one of my friends (okay, really one of my sister’s friends from high school who was always really nice to me so I accepted her friend request) just had bariatric surgery in December. She’s talked about it for months but I didn’t think she’d actually do it. In the first month, she lost 40 fucking pounds. FORTY POUNDS! That’s the exact amount I’ve struggled to shed since August. I’ve worked hard, watched (and tracked) every fucking thing that passed my lips, cut back on drinking, cut back on CHEESE (oh the horror!) and I lost in five months what she lost in one. 

 

As Sarah would say in The Labyrinth: IT’S NOT FAIR. 

 

No, it’s no fair. But I obviously don’t want to put my body through unnecessary surgery. And I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, without surgery or pills or crazy cleanses. But still…damn. 

 

Honestly, it feels like she’s cheating. It feels like she’s cheating and barreling toward some invisible finish line, and I’m slowly trudging along at a fraction of her pace because I’m playing by the rules (whatever “the rules” are). 

 

It’s totally wrong of me to feel that way. A doctor would not have cleared her for surgery if she didn’t need it. Her insurance or parents wouldn’t have paid for it if she didn’t need it. And I don’t know her life. It’s not my place to judge these people. 

 

But where’s my magic button? 

 

Her first week after the surgery, she had lost 12 pounds. Do you know how long it took me to lose 12 pounds? And she had to do NOTHING except let a doctor cut into her and magically make her skinnier. All of the Facebook comments are like "Way to go! Keep up the good work!" and "We're so proud of you!" Seriously? Proud that she had surgery? Keep up the good work...like doing nothing? Nothing at all? Just eating and magically losing weight? That just seems shitty to me. Again, it's not my place to judge AT ALL...but I can't help it. I'm also really jealous that she's full all the time...I would give anything to feel full all the time. I love feeling full. Now, I feel half starved all the time. Not actually hungry, but not stuffed either. I would love to eat a crouton and feel like I ate a loaf of bread. But I'm doing it the hard way instead.

 

The grimmest thought is that my journey is only going to get harder the further I go. Each pound I lose, I know I’m getting closer to a dreaded plateau, or closer to that invisible line where losing weight takes much, much more effort. That’s a scary thought. Especially when I’m watching all of these other people dropping weight so effortlessly. 

 

It just…it just sucks. 

 

Anyway, I finally brought myself to take some actual measurements in hopes that I’ll see some progress even when the scale gives me bad news. And I'm staying away from Facebook for as long as I can, because that shit can get some serious jealousy stirred up inside of me. I can't imagine going through high school with something like Facebook...I don't know how girls today do it. I want to blow my brains out after reading a few hours' worth of posts, and I'm freakin' 30 with a good job and a great girlfriend. High-school-me probably would have slit her wrists if faced with obnoxious, bragging posts day in and day out. Blah. 

 

Rant over.

 

Now here are my terrifying measurements:

 

Neck: 15"

Bust: 49.5"

Chest: 44"

Waist: 43"

Hips: 52"

Thighs: right 29.5", left 29"

Calves: right 20", left 21"

Ankles: right 11", left 11"

Upper arms: right 15", left 15"

Forearms: right 10.5", left 11"

Wrists: right 7", left 7"

 

There. My soul is totally bared. You know I'm enormous, and that I'm also a Mean Girl. I'm trying to change both, I swear.