As I count down the days until surgery (it’s really just days left, omg!), I’m trying very hard to put the negativity of last week behind me. I have been a complete mess as I’ve been trying to get my head back in the game (I really should have scheduled an extra therapy session this week), but rather than rehash all the bullshit with her, I’ve got to let it be. I’m too emotional, too hormonal, and honestly, have much bigger things to worry about than one set of toxic voices. I just wish those voices weren’t still so powerful in my life.
I have a couple of theories to share about her true motivation for being a complete shithead and getting my dad (who was overweight forever and ended up with diabetes and painful neuropathy in his feet and legs) so worried and worked up about the risks of this relatively safe surgery that he actually told me not to go forward with it at all. That’s right, he thought it would be better I stay fat, with all the worse long term risks, than choosing to be healthy at 33 because of whatever it was she put into his brain. Then, she actually tried to blame it on him, claiming HE did research on all the surgeries and told HER! Yeah, my dad, who is rarely on the internet, told my mom, who is always on the computer, supervised the medical department at the detention center she ran, and has always been a wannabe doctor for everyone and everything since I can first remember, about the horror story complications of the gastric sleeve. Right. Okay. Does she seriously think I’m an idiot?! Come on!
Goosfraba. I digress. Back to my theories.
1. She wants to claim the glory of my success as her own (like she has tried to do with my career). Let’s face it, if I actually changed my mind, went with the lap band and lost a ton of weight, she’d be able to hold it over my head that it was her idea and, in her narcissistic logic, that would mean she was the reason I did well. Not all the hard work that I would still have to put in, but her. Fuck her.
2. She wants to keep me fat. At my young age, I have outshined her in almost every area of life: intelligence, education, career, friends, personality. Being thinner (she’s about 140) is really the only thing she has to compete with me. Getting me worked up enough to change my mind to have a surgery I don’t think I’ll be happy or successful with, or even better, decide not have the surgery at all, would keep her on top. When I lose weight and am a tall, thin, gorgeous redhead dominating the legal scene here in Vegas, she’ll have nothing to lord over me anymore. She won’t have anything to subtly demean, manipulate, and berate me with. I’ll say it again, fuck her.
Of course, since she’s made her opinion well known, if I have one ounce of complication or fail in the long run with the gastric sleeve, she’ll have that to use against me. But you know what? Yep. Fuck. Her.
Unfortunately, she did accomplish part of her asshat goal – to put unnecessary seeds of doubt in my brain just three weeks before surgery – but that’s where it has to end for me. While her bullshit admittedly had me swinging from the rafters emotionally this week (at one point I was convinced I was going to die in surgery, because anxiety is an effing bitch), I’m turning my back on those thoughts, because they’re not really my own.
My thoughts are these:
If I stay fat, I will die an early death. If I stay fat, I will never have children. If I stay fat, I will continue to exist in the misery of avoiding booths at restaurants, hating photos, turning away from reflective surfaces, and generally being unable to live life the way I have always wanted and deserved to live it. If I stay fat, I will keep missing out. If I stay fat, I will likely end up as miserable as she is now. If I stay fat, she wins again. I’d be an idiot not to have this surgery, and I’m no idiot.
Am I nervous, scared? Oh hell yes! I’ve never had surgery before and there is a small risk of death in every surgery, so there’s that. I live a busy and stressful life and worry I won’t be able to get my protein and fluids in. I still, and will continue to, struggle with eating my feelings and living a food focused existence. I am terrified of failure in all aspects of my life and this is no exception.
But I’ve got so many things that get me excited and keep me looking forward to being on the VERTICAL SLEEVE losers’ bench. Shedding this fat suit I’ve been hiding behind since I was a kid. Things like crossing my legs like a normal woman. Increased confidence, physical ability, stamina, beauty. Hiking farther than I ever have. Zip lining. Horseback riding. Doing one of those parachute flights behind a boat above the water. Rollercoasters. Getting rid of my airplane seat belt extender. Keeping up with my nieces and nephews. Having the chance to have children of my own. Loving myself more. Learning how to live a healthy life. Not fearing an early heart attack, diabetes, and death. Getting to onederland someday. Putting myself first, finally. Cheap fashion (plus size clothes are effing expensive)! Not feeling invisible. Not feeling like I have to prove myself as capable even more than the average sized woman. Mirrors. Photographs. Living life with more zest, energy and vibrancy than I already do.
I’m so thankful, overwhelmingly grateful, for all the support I’ve gotten here and on Instagram and in real life so far. Everyone, except a few shitty ass people, have been fully supportive of this life alteringly glorious decision I’ve made for myself. Or, if they’re not, at least they’ve been smart and respectful enough to keep their damn mouths shut. And for all of that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
16 days y’all!! Eek!
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