I'm not quite sure when my thinking changed course. At some point in time, probably in the midst of yet another failed diet, I made the decision that I couldn't fight this disease on my own any longer. I decided after much prayer and many heated arguments (yes, arguments) with my spouse. You see, he's a quick loser. He's not hopelessly addicted to food. He wants to lose weight; he just stops eating. I try to explain that it's more complicated than that for me. I guess it isn't really. I'm weak. I try to stop eating and I fall every single time. I end up eating twice as much as before. I cover every emotion with something sweet and chase it with something salty. I freaking love the way food makes me feel. So, here I am 200 lbs overweight. I have high blood pressure, pre-diabetes, i've had a ruptured disc in my back and my joints ache and pop every move I make. I'm only 34. I shouldn't feel this way. I should be active and healthy and energetic. I'm not.
There's a reason behind the lack of energy and general motivation. It's the extra 200 pounds. That and the crippling social anxiety that comes with the extra flab. I'm a typical textbook fat girl. I make jokes. I'm cynical and sarcastic. I'm usually the loud one in the group. The whole time I'm laughing on the out side my anxious brain is over analyzing every glance from every person in the room. The anxiety tells me that everyone is looking at the way your shirt gets caught at your waistline, "quick pull it down so they don't see how high you have to wear your pants. Wait, don't cross your arms, put your hands in your pocket, stick out your chest more so they don't notice your belly, what are you doing with your arms? wait did she just look at you funny? she thinks you're a slob." The anxiety gets me so worked up that i feel like a drug addict that needs a fix. I drive home from a social gathering and can not wait to get to the junk food I have stashed where the kids won't find it. Or, better yet, I stop and get a burger and some nuggets and a big box of fries and eat them while I'm driving, because if I stuff it all down before I get home no one will know how much I eat. Of course I feel guilty about this afterward. Guilt is easily dealt with... with more food.
I recognize all of this about my psyche and my body. So, just as an alcoholic has to recognize that they have a problem, I decided that I was ready to confront my addiction. Food addiction is tricky, though. I can't completely eliminate food from my life as one would drugs or alcohol. I have to have food to live. I can eliminate the bad foods. I have some success with that on my own. But here's where the surgery comes in. The folks in the support groups call it a tool. Basically the doctor will remove over half of my stomach and create a physical barrier to overeating. It's a scary thought. I've watched the surgery more times than I can count. I know all the things that can go wrong. I also know that I will be a burden on my family by the time I'm 50, that's if I make it to 50 and right now that's not a guarantee.
I don't think this is going to be easy. I think this is going to be the hardest thing that I have ever decided to do. My brain goes into panic mode when I think about all the things that I will crave and have to go without. The hopes and dreams out weigh the panic and dread, though. I want to be able to run and ride bicycles and take hikes with my husband and kids. I want to be able to enjoy social events without my weight and my crazy anxiety brain. I want my self confidence back. I want to ride a roller coaster (I don't fit in them right now).
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