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.

#YesAllWomen

So this #YesAllWomen thing has gotten me thinking about my changing body. Listen, as a Women's Studies major, a lesbian, a card-carrying feminist, I think a lot about how my body is perceived in public. As a lifelong fat person, I think about it even more. And now that I've dropped almost 100 pounds, well, that just compounds the issue and makes me even more acutely aware of any eyes the fall upon me. So here's a poem I started a few weeks ago in the middle of the night and just remembered as I started reading about #YesAllWomen:

There is a particular fear
That comes with being female
It's not constant--not for me
In the land of the free but maybe
For my silent sisters elsewhere--
But it strikes at inconvenient times

All the typical fears are there,
Like strangers in the shower
Or followers in a solitary wood,
But other fears bleed in

Like on a crowded subway car,
The fear of fingers slipping up your skirt
Or walking alone anywhere,
The fear of a car stopping or
Another walker slowing, intent
On some unspeakable harm

Passing a group of men working,
Pausing at a red light beside
A car of boys, finding ourselves
Alone with any stranger
Our pulse quickens, we become
Prey that's picked up
An alarming scent

We look brave, heads high,
backs straight, small smiles

On determined mouths

to show we're not scared

Eyes averted, never making contact

We clutch our keys, gauge

The distance, plan our escape, 

Prepare for a fight, and smile still

Despite that particular fear

Women share, the fear that

Creeps in and stays

100 Posts, Not Quite 100 Pounds

I'm getting pretty fucking frustrated with myself right now. I KNOW I'm sabotaging myself, but somehow I just can't stop eating. It's like the story of my fucking life. I KNOW I'm getting fatter, but I can't stop.

So right now, instead of focusing on what I'm doing wrong, I thought I would take a moment to recognize a few things I've done right.

This is my 100th post on My Weird Luck, which is pretty weird in itself. When I first started back in 2012, I was high on my Weight Watchers success and I needed an outlet to share my successes and my failures.

I never expected to still be writing more than a year later, but I also truly didn't expect to still be losing weight. I mean, okay, I'm not exactly losing weight at the moment, but I'm still on the right road. It's better than it could be. I definitely didn't expect to still be on Weight Watchers. I figured that I would do what I always do...give up, give in, and keep eating. I figured I'd be back over 300 pounds, whining about my weight, wondering why I couldn't do anything.

I wanted to get my thoughts out there, but I didn't really expect anyone to listen. I'm glad some people relate, though. While I know a very small percentage of people actually comment, I do see that quite a number of you are looking. Hopefully reading. Maybe even finding a bit of yourself here.

The post that has gotten the most attention is my pilonidal cyst story, which is really fucking gross BUT I'm glad it's maybe spreading some info that's otherwise hard to get. I know how embarrassing it is, so it's nice to be able to help spare other people from some of the confusion I had.

Anyway, so here's a sort of rundown of where I am, versus where I've been.

I weighed in this morning at 215.4 pounds. That's a gain of 2 pounds since last week (as expected).

I've lost a total of 88.6 pounds, having started at 304 pounds in August of 2012.

When I started writing this blog, I had already lost 26.8 pounds, which brought me down to 277.2 from 304. Since I started writing, I've lost another 61.8 pounds. I also had heart surgery, which was pretty traumatic but also really awesome.

I had really, really, REALLY hoped to lose 100 pounds before I got to 100 posts. I also really wanted to lose 100 pounds before I turn 32 next week. That obviously isn't going to happen, but I'm turning 32 weighing close to 200 pounds instead of close to 300 pounds.

It could always be worse. Hopefully before I get to 200 posts, I'll FINALLY be under 200 pounds. Otherwise...I mean, I'll totally lose it. I'll lose the weight, or I'll lose my fucking mind! Ha!

Happy 100th post!

Ups and Downs

I lost again this week! CELEBRATE!

I'm down 1.6 pounds this weigh-in, which brings me to a total loss of 47.8 and a current weight of 256.2.

I'm still firmly in the 250s, and it feels great :)

I have a journal from my senior year of college--2004--lamenting, "I went to the doctor and weighed 256! This is the biggest I've ever been!" The rest following several pages contained angsty complaints about my body, desperate promises that I would turn my life around, and careful documentation of every morsel of food I put into my mouth. I started reading Dr. Phil and wrote about how much sense he made and how great I thought I was doing. Of course, I was also snorting Adderall and binge drinking every night, so whatever I ate probably wasn't going to do me much good anyway. The lists were things like "3 tortilla chips, 1 bag of Skittles, 1 bottle of Mad Dog, 1 baked potato, 1 large order of onion rings, 2 bottles of Boone's Farm, vodkaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."

So, well, I didn't get very far. I stopped writing in that journal. My weight continued to fluctuate. I graduated, couldn't afford food, and dropped down to 230 on a diet of rum and ramen. My Dr. Phil book is still in my bookshelf, beside a neat row of food journals, self-help books, hypnosis how-tos, and other worthless paper.

At the time, I know I NEVER thought I'd end up eating my way to over 300 pounds. I felt sexy, even if I was fat, and I thought I had at least enough self control to stop myself from ballooning up another 50 pounds.

But it happened.

Now I've just got to celebrate being this size again. My next milestone will be 50 pounds lost--and that's only 2.2 pounds away. Amazing. After that, I want to get under 250 pounds. Next, I'm looking forward to being 230 pounds again and remembering what it was like to still be comfortable in my body. 10 years later, though, I'm sure there will be a lot more sagging and grossness than there was in college. After that, I'll be approaching my high school weight. I remember working at Lane Bryant the summer after high school and religiously abiding by the Atkins diet--I got down to 215 pounds, size 14/16 jeans, and then went to college and began a new life of partying and killing myself from the inside. God, I hated Atkins. That was before I was a vegetarian (duh). I subsisted on Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers from Wendy's, minus the buns, and sugar free Jell-O from MCL cafeteria. Gross.

It's so fucking awesome to have Weight Watchers in my life now. Looking back to all of the diets I tried in the past, I realize that I knew I wanted to lose weight but those diets weren't helping at all because I didn't know how to feed myself. Now I feel like I finally have the tools, I have the determination, and I've had a taste of success that's made me hungry for more.

Also, this article made me smile: http://www.thedailymeal.com/too-good-be-true-diet-trends-literally-and-what-you-should-try-instead-slideshow

Weight Watchers is one of the GOOD suggestions! I don't think I've ever been on the "good" diet side before! I'm used to the fad diets, the miracle methods that make lofty claims and let me down, books with chapter after chapter of anecdotes and advice but no real help. This is like confirmation that Weight Watchers works. Although I think 47.8 pounds might be confirmation enough for me.

A Little Background

I feel silly writing in secret, but I don't want anyone I know to read any of this yet. Mostly, I'm just embarrassed because I put down my honest-to-goodness weight, and I've convinced myself that no one around me has any idea I got up to over 300 pounds.

That's a milestone I never wanted to hit. I didn't even know until I was in the hospital earlier this year--they printed the weight that registered on the hospital bed (307 pounds) and I vowed then to lose weight immediately.

I didn't.

Instead, I began slowly transitioning my wardrobe from 2x to 3x. I stayed far away from any scales. I avoided going to the doctor because I knew they'd weigh me. I wore stretch pants and forgot about owning any pants with buttons.

But then I reached that size.

The size where I couldn't go to the amusement park and actually play with my nephew because, for the first time in my life, I couldn't squeeze the safety bars down far enough to click. I only avoided the park ride walk of shame thanks to some very helpful and equally embarrassed ride workers who would use their full force to lock me in. That's such an awful feeling. I've always been conscious of my weight at amusement parks. Always checking out the line to see if anyone ahead of me was my size or bigger, praying that I fit, pretending to enjoy rides when the bar is pinching my fat so badly that I had bruises for weeks. But having my fears realized and having to actually avoid rides for fear of not fitting--what was hurtful, embarassing, and sad because I'd love to take my seven year old nephew on every ride he's brave enough to try. I'd lost touch with how big I really was...or am. I started feeling like the fat lady in a cruel Victorian circus sideshow. I stopped fitting into my life.

Oh yeah, and airplanes. I rode from Puerto Rico to my home state with a cardigan over my lap to hide the fact that my seat belt wasn't buckled. I didn't go to the bathroom the entire time because I didn't want anyone to notice. Worst plane ride of my life. I was terrified the whole way and I couldn't move because I was clutching the belt in my lap. Of course, being uncomfortable on plane rides is nothing new.

I don't even know how I got to over 300 pounds. Less than 10 years ago, I had smirked when my friend weighed herself at my apartment and the needle flew right up to 300 and then a little past. She figured that she weighed 300 pounds, but I knew the scale couldn't go up high enough to tell her an accurate weight. I privately gloated over that for weeks--sure, I was fat, but I wasn't that fat. I was never happy with my weight, but at 230 pounds at the time, I was still confident and I could almost always find someone in the room who was my size. Not anymore. I don't even remember how my body ballooned from 230 pounds to over 300. I was sick several years ago, had some complications, and ended up in the hospital for a few months. I had open heart surgery immediately followed by a case of mono and became totally sedentary for around six months. I also avoided doctors while I was recovering (Not smart. Duh.). So when my clothes stopped fitting, I joined Weight Watchers at work a year or so after my heart surgery. I was stunned to find that I was 280 pounds. I freaked out. I don't remember 240-250-260-270. I lost 20 pounds in two months with Weight Watchers, got bored, and gave up. For a couple years, I just pretended that my weight was probably the same. I stopped looking in the mirror, stopped being intimate with my girlfriend, stopped caring I guess.

Once I realized I was close to or over 300 pounds, I got scared. I was scared for me, scared to die early, scared to never see my dreams realized. I always wanted to write a novel (I still do), but I've always known the story would be loosely auto-biographical. How could I write about myself without writing about my weight? Not possible, since my weight and my body consume my brain most of the time. I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in having difficulties writing about any part of my life until after it's over. Sure, I can write a great poem or short story about a relationship in my life, but not until we break up and I get a chance to reflect. I want to write about my life, and I really think it'll happen one day, but I won't be comfortable writing about my weight until I'm looking at this body in my rear view mirror. I'm staying strong, sticking to the Weight Watchers plan, and hoping that day comes sooner rather than later.