I’ve had writers block lately. I get into this mindset where I desperately want to write something you all actually give a shit to read. I want to stand out as something special to you, to the world, to myself. As more people pass through, follow, comment and like, the harder it becomes to live up to my expectations for that. In other words, I have forgotten why I started blogging in the first place: for me; for my sanity; for the lonely girl, woman, man or person out there who might chance upon this blog and finally feel they’re not alone. Writing for the masses is not why I started writing. So, no offense, but I have to forget about all of you.
I have been trying to continue to be patient about surgery, but it’s not easy. Patience has never really been a virtue of mine, unfortunately; when I want something, I go for it and I want results now. And boy do I want to have this surgery like nobody’s business. I want nothing more than to shed this fat suit. I want to do all the things my weight has been keeping me from. I want to be comfortable in my own skin. I want to be beautiful.
I have also been working very hard to get into the right mindset for surgery. No, its not about my jean size. I’ve been tackling my food issues in earnest, and it’s so hard. Eating less, being more mindful about what I eat, when I eat, how I eat, and the hardest of all: why I eat.
Why do I eat?
I eat for a lot of reasons. I eat because I was forced to. I eat for comfort. I eat because it makes me feel something other than the crushing sadness and anger deep in my soul. Well, I used to think eating made me feel good, but that’s not true anymore. Eating does make me feel good in the moment, when my seratonin levels are raging. When I overdo it, though, I feel like shit; I feel guilty, gross, gargantuan. It was this sick self fulfilling prophecy that I used to engage in more than I care to admit.
Eating better, eating less, eating slowly, eating to live rather than living to eat is what makes me feel really good, now. Some days I fall right back into old habits, but those days are fewer and getting farther between. It’s a struggle, but I’m making noticeable progress. I’m down a solid 18 lbs. now, but more importantly I’m feeling like I’m developing a healthier relationship with food.
I have to keep working. Daily. I also have to keep waiting.
Although the gal who did my psych eval said I passed, it apparently takes a week to tell the surgery center that. That week was up this past Wednesday, which means I should be seeing the surgeon any second right? Wrong. Everyone who could possibly approve my chart for surgical consult is apparently on vacation until Monday, which means that surgery probably won’t be until September. Or, it’ll be at a time in August when my friends are all gone and I’ll be alone through the worst of recovery. Trying to still be patient and have faith that God won’t give me a surgery date that will leave me vulnerable and without a support network.
On another note, I almost told my parents about surgery yesterday. It’s becoming more complicated not to. Or maybe I’m just so comfortable with the idea now, I’m not that worried about letting them know. Or is it that I’m feeling more careless? I don’t know. Either way, I didn’t do it. I’m still not quite ready, but I hate hiding things. I hate being silent, but these are the people that made me hate the need for hiding things in the first place. I dunno. I’m still confused by this part, obviously.
So, we wait.