Bariatric Surgery: Trading one issue for another.

August 3rd, 2013 353 lbs
All time highest: 369 lbs

December, 18th 2015 199.6 lbs

Total loss: 169.4

Yesterday I bought two pairs of levi's. From the regular women's sections, size 16. Two years, 4 months, 15 days ago I would've have had to shop in the women's plus size section. Levi's doesn't make a size 28-30. I am so excited and so proud of myself. I really am.  I look in the mirror and when clothed I see a confident, pretty girl. I see the defined features of my face and collar bone. I feel my hips and see the curves I never had before. While clothed.  I feel a surge of pride. Yes I had surgery, but boy-oh-boy have I worked hard to get here, I struggled and fought, but here I am. 

Today I reached my goal of under 200#. I am ecstatic!! I fight my weight battles 20# at a time. And that was last goal, now I work on the next 19.4. My ultimate goal is 160#. I don't look at the big picture, never have. 20# at a time, slow and steady. 

Back to yesterday.  Post Levi's buying happiness was shower time. On my way to the shower I glanced in the mirror. I've done this before but, I don't know, maybe the angle was different or maybe my inner insecurities had me stopping and staring. Not looking at my face, but the rest of me. The rest of me that fits in two pair of size 16 Levi's. I grimaced.  My stomach, my arms, my thighs... sagging skin, jiggling and hanging over, and honestly is disgusting. My eyes teared up. My euphoria was gone. I saw every ounce of my lost pounds.  I was disappointed in myself.  I got out, got dressed, and felt better, so much better. I brought back my sense of humor and considered showering in a bathing suit in the future.     

Body dysmorphia.  Seeing two different versions of myself every day. It doesn't always bother me like it did yesterday. Yesterday the impact was extreme, I knew it then and I know it now. And even with the sagging, I know it's not real. I know the clothed version of me is real.  The rest is just the rest. 

Two years, four months, 15 days ago; I wasn't proud. I wasn't confident. I was grossly morbidly obese. I saw it. My back hurt every day. I had very low energy levels and I certainly didn't love myself. 

Yesterday, looking in the mirror: I wasn't proud, I wasn't confident. I was grossly, exceedingly disgusted by what I saw. But... my back doesn't hurt, my energy levels are through the roof, and yes, I certainly love myself. Even with the doubts and disappointment yesterday.  I think I'll always have this baggage, I'll add to it pound by pound. It's a rare woman who looks in the mirror and sees herself as flawless.  I recognize that and know that this is what it is. Normal lack of flawlessness. 

I'm okay with that. Society is going to have to be too. Cause, I wear a size 16 levi's and I'm not done. The other, the fat image, will always, always be there.  I'll deal, day by day. Maybe one day I'll toss that baggage away and say, fuck off, I am who I am and I'm beautiful.    

For more information of body dysmorphia: http://www.hindawi.com/journals/jobe/2013/837989/

My Only Goal...

Love is a finicky thing. For some it comes and goes, for others it's strong and consistent regardless of the state of the relationship.  For me, when I love, I love strong and fast and forever. It's intense and true. It's overwhelming and amazing.  I need a man who loves like I do. I don't think it's needy or should be perceived as insecurity. It just is. 

My husband. I have never stopped loving him. We spend the last year in turmoil and stress, angry with one another, sad for ourselves.  Half of the year we spend apart walking barefoot in the neighbors grass and trying to find out who we really are.  For my part, I spent the majority of my time attempting to get my bipolar under control.  It's a scary thing, you know, not feeling in control of my emotions.  First I'm at the bottom of the mountain of life, I climb and climb and it's so hard and so stressful and so overwhelmingly emotional. All the work gets me to the top and I teeter there for a while, I am waiting for the meadow of life. The soft hills and valleys, all covered with moss and wildflowers. Waiting is hard. Waiting to make sure the medication is the right combination, waiting to see if I can handle the ups and downs of life, they never go away. They surprise you sometimes, sneak up behind you and push you down the mountain that is always waiting. 

As I said, the waiting is hard. I love my husband. I want him. I need him. I will never love anyone the way I love him. Besides my son, of course, there is no one I want more. There never has been, even before I met him. I waited to get right myself, I waited for him all my life.  

To my profound happiness, we have reconnected and we are starting anew. We have bumps and edges to get past as we learn to live with each other again. We are making it through. And in some aspects, the very good ones indeed, we are like newly weds. That last part surprised me, but I am very very very happy with it. 

My problem, and it's not even a real problem, but an interesting one. There are people, people that called themselves friends, that aren't pleased with our decision to reconcile.  I say, even if you think this is the most fucked up thing I could possibly do with my life, keep that shit to yourself. Smile. Tell me if I'm happy, you're happy, which is a kind way of saying "What the hell, lady?"  Those that tell me I'm making a mistake, I don't know what I'm doing. I understand that you have a strong and significant opinion on my life and my mistakes.  For the past, I do appreciate you lending an ear. I regret what I told you about my marriage and it's downsides. I wish I had told you more upsides to balance it out.  If you think on it, I never said bad things about who my husband is, I complained about the things he did, maybe the things he said, but I also repeatedly said he was a good father and a good man. Those things get lost in the shuffle when a marriage is in danger and the "friends" only remember the frustrations and anger and sadness.  No one is perfect, everyone makes life altering mistakes, everyone pays for those mistakes in one way or another. No one gets it all right. 

So to end this incredibly dramatic and fairly emotional (*for me) post I give you this: 

It's mine, as much as anyone ever could own it, I do. I lost it for a while- not my feelings, never those, but the rest maybe, but it's back and I am NEVER. LETTING. GO. 

Note to self...

Have you ever had a moment, just a flash maybe, in your life in which you knew, I mean knew without doubt or fear, that everything was going to be alright? Better than alright, Good, Great, and Fantastic.  It's important for me to clarify that I don't think this was a message or a sign or premonition. It just clicked and I knew it was truth.  I've had a few of these moments in my life, not all of them were positive as the example above. It's when I'm wrestling with a decision or a conflict or feeling uncertain of myself. Honestly, I wish I had more of these cause that last one is a pain in the ass to deal with.  

A recent one (last spring) that was not fun or happy was the decision to leave my husband.  You must understand, I love him.  Odds are good that I'll never love another man with the depth and strength that I love him.  But things were too hard and I was drowning, they (he and our son) kept tossing me life rafts, but I was just pulling them overboard and dragging them down to the bottom.  I was angry too. Resentful, frustrated, feeling unappreciated... but all those things? They're easily talked through.  The drowning? I couldn't take the two people I love more than anything in this word and pull them down with me. I just couldn't. So I left. I knew it was the right decision. But also the very most difficult thing I have ever had to do.  

Over the last six months I have worked diligently on my mental health. Not just dealing with the bipolar and setting the medicines straight, but my over all physical health, my self-esteem, confidence levels, self-trust, trust in others... there's a laundry list of the things I have attempted to handle effectively.  Some of them worked out very well, the medicines are good, I've become healthier physically, these two are the ones that I need to maintain and stay aware of.  The others, well, they're a bit harder to work out.  Feelings of guilt over leaving, my son going through some serious acting out because of my leaving, not having enough money to support myself and help them stay in their house. (No crap about that last one- that was my decision.)

I'm working my way through these... things, that make life harder than necessary. I spam my Facebook with memes. I keep all the little inspirational tags from the Yogi tea. I write down prayers and helpful hints to help raise my spirits and create more of the  "self-esteem, confidence levels, self-trust, trust in others..." that I am lacking. Honestly? They help. I won't lie. I read them and feel better, but it was fleeting- hence the spamming of my FB, more memes more fleeting moments of clarity. I probably lost some friends with all that.  But good people reached out and helped, you know the ones that have so much compassion that they see random memes all of the same idea and realize someone is in trouble and offer a shoulder or an ear? Those people and they created more fleeting moments, moments that lasted longer and longer. God Bless Them. For me though, I knew the real deal was time and self-trust. The rest would follow. And they have. 

So back to those flashing moments of truths.  

A few days back I went with friends to a karaoke bar. I had a really, really good time. A better time than I have had out in a very long time.  I felt like smart, I felt pretty (oh-so-pretty...), and, what? yes, confident. I trusted myself to make good decisions. And the puzzle pieces all fell into place in a moments time. I knew beyond a shadow of doubt, I am Ok. There is nothing wrong with me. Not my appearance, not my bipolar, not my self-esteem.  It's all good.  That doesn't mean I will never have a difficult day, emotional or sad. It doesn't mean I will never ever be unsure of a situation or not confident that I can handle it.  It means I have the knowledge that at some point the difficulty will be dealt with and I will work through it piece by piece and make it my bitch. I can and I will and no one can change how I feel about myself. 

Fast forward to yesterday. We all met at my dad's house- my ex, our son, and the family that lives there.  We had a good dinner and good conversation. And I played on the floor with my boy. Oh how we played. He laughed so hard and we had so much fun, it was just awesome. And on the way home alone, that moment hit. I'm a good mom. No, I'm a great mom. If only because I love my son with my whole soul, I am a good mom. He loves me. I mean he really really loves me. It's awe inspiring, this capacity for love that my boy has.  More than me, more than his father, more than anyone I have ever known.  And he's mine. And I'm his mom. I'm his really really great mom.  So I decided to tell the mom guilt to take a long walk off a short bridge and just let myself be a great mom.  I've worried more about how I left and how it affected him than I have anything else. And, just, ya know, enough. It had to be done. And we are healing. And he loves me still.  Again, that doesn't mean I won't make mistakes and I won't have doubts... just the opposite, it's ok if I make mistakes and have doubt. I love him. He loves me. We can move mountains with just that. 

So, long story short; I'm great. My boy is great. We are great apart, we are great together. And nothing in the 'verse can stop us now. 

"Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none."

The Bard has always been, always will be, one of the most quoted men in history. I could find possibly a thousand quotes from him that are apropos to what I am feeling on this Sunday morning. Yesterday I published a blog about my bipolar and suicide. I don't know if it came across as emotional, but it was extremely emotional for me.  I almost couldn't post it. Making yourself raw that way, vulnerable to comments and criticism goes against everything I need right now.  Being emotionally fragile... well, it sucks honestly. It can be debilitating at times.  But it is also therapeutic to allow others into my life and share the scary stuff with them. 

So on to the purpose of my choice of memes today. I am applying it to romantic love, but I think that his meaning was meant to be applied to all of mankind in all versions of love, trust, and doing wrong. 

Love all: this is easy. I fall in love as easy as I breathe. When it happens it is strong and perfect and the expectations are high. Quite possibly way too high.  It is always early in the relationship, but it always feels right and it is always reciprocated (at least verbally.) I know a lot of people that will say, oh, that's not love, it's infatuation, it's lust, it's need.  And maybe they're right. But what if they're wrong. In addition, I do realize that I am setting myself up for disappointment. And as stated above, being emotionally fragile- well, I could easily steamroll myself right into a giant cup of depression. It's a gamble. I'm not sure it's worth it, but I'm not sure how to correct it. I do know that I will never apologize for how I feel or say that my feelings are wrong. In my opinion devaluing my emotions is just as emotionally damaging as any other disappointment that may occur. 

Trust a few: This is where I need to reign in the "love all" section.  I am pretty good at telling when someone is lying to me or evading the truth (lying) or telling me part of the truth (lying). See, what is always forgotten is I spent many years puzzle solving (essentially) and got paid for it. It comes naturally to me. My gut instinct has never let me down, I just need to listen and hear. And more than any other thing that I need to do for myself is trust ME. Trust me to make the right decisions, trust me to share honestly-even when it sucks and is hard and painful. I don't hold grudges, I have never been able to- I've even tried really hard cause sometimes you need to hold on to the frustration a little longer for the lesson to take hold. 

Do wrong to none: There are no innocent parties here. For me, there are times where I just cannot mentally or emotionally help anyone else.  For the romantic part, who hasn't snapped or taken a frustrated day out on the one person who is supposed to love you more than anyone ever could. They'll forgive you, right?  My question is, why should they? It's an epidemic. People treating strangers better than their family. I'm guilty of it.  Recently I had a difficult conversation with someone I expected to be around a lot longer than they were.  During this conversation, I was condescending and rude. Now they were too, but that's not the point is it? My actions are what I am held accountable for in the long run. In the end my actions were appropriate and the friendship ended. Basically, I did wrong to them. I apologized. If they accept my apology then good. If not, that's on them.  I don't need their approval to know that *I* did the right thing.  For clarity, I did not apologize for how I feel. I apologized for how I expressed those feelings. 

So the moral of the story is allow yourself to love, regardless of how you got to that point. Trust the trustworthy.  Follow your instincts, don't let go. In these instances, tell your heart to shut it and use your brain. And try to be the best person you can be, even during a heated, stressful conversation with anyone, but especially with someone you really care about. You can't take back words. 

Be Kind

Robin Williams is quoted as saying "All it takes is a beautiful fake smile to hide an injured soul and they will never notice how broken you really are." 

Just like so many other things mental illness is still stigmatized; people are either crazy, faking it for attention, or crazy, or maybe faking it for attention. And sure, maybe some are, but the vast majority aren't.  I'll go so far as to say that *MY PERSONAL OPINION* is that most all people in this small world we live in have some sort of psychological affliction. There are so many ways that mental illness can and does affect our daily lives. Stress, need for control, anxiety, depressive episodes or depression are all small examples of, albeit minor, of how mental illness can affect daily lives. 

For my purposes here, I'm going to discuss the give some insight of my journey to the diagnosis bipolar 2. An article on the APA (American Psychological Association) gives a brief description of the myths and realities and describes the differences between Bipolar 1, 2, and unspecified. If you have any questions about the differences and what they mean to the diagnosee, please read the link to the article on the website linked to the APA abbreviation above. 

Before I start with my own personal story, my purpose in putting my story out there is to help, to hope that someone sees the signs in themselves and gets help. Or sees the signs in someone else and gets them help before it the consequences become irreversible. The American Society for Suicide Prevention  has a great article on the suicide rates that everyone should read. It is not specific to bipolar, but I think most people would agree that suicide is a result of mental stress and illness and it doesn't care how it's classified. . 

My first divorce took place in my late 20's. As amicable as it was, it was stressful and intense as all divorces are.  Being alone after 8 years and being solely responsible for, well, everything can be really a wild ride for someone like me.  At the time,  my anxiety and unreasonable stress levels were not understood by me. I felt like it was normal. I did not pay attention to the people surrounding me that handled their lives with significantly more grace and fluidity.  

I worked second shift (3-11:30pm) and so had difficulty sleeping and subsequently functioning.  I was constantly grumpy and rude and my friends and family were understandably frustrated with me. I loved them and wanted to be a better person, so I went to my primary care physician (PCP) and she prescribed me lexapro and gave me a sleeping pill.  Two and a half-three weeks later I was better not 100%, but functioning so well that it didn't matter that it wasn't really that significant of an improvement.  Small steps forward feel like large ones when you don't know better.

Fast forward to Spring 2010.  My light, my heart, my soul is born. Everything felt fine until I went back to work. On the way in that morning, I pulled my car over and vomited on the side of the highway.  I did this every day on my way to work for 3 weeks. It was frustrating and hard to understand, but of course it was postpartum depression. They stuck a bandaid on it (increased medication strength) and called it fixed.

Fast forward to 2014, any month...

I cry. I cry a lot. I cry for no reason and I cry for every reason. I can't control it. Once it starts it won't be stop. I cry at work. I cry at home. I cry in the shower. I cry in the car. You've gotten the drift by now. I called it "idiopathic crying syndrome."

If I think about some of the external causes, they are normal, typical reasons.  A big part was isolation.  Working nights, driving an hour to and from work, being home alone, when my husband and child did come home, getting out of bed was torture and when I did manage it, I was mean, grumpy, sad. Sad to the point that my son, the love of my life, thought that I cried because of him. He's 4, he doesn't understand, hell, I didn't understand. I begin to notice that things like crowds and traffic and loud noises and bright lights, they make my heart race and my head to pound. The contribute even this to working nights and being alone all the time. This life goes on and on and on  just like this for what feels like an eternity.

Let's fast forward again to March 2015. I'm in Norfolk, working for the red cross, some training or whatnot.  I have too much to drink, not enough to eat. All I can think about is how much easier it would be to not be here.  I don't think of it in terms of committing suicide, I really didn't. It was just going to sleep. Not feeling so fucking sad all the fucking time.  I think I want my head to SHUT. UP. So much noise.  I hold the bottles in my hand, the ones I think will help me sleep and stop me from hurting. I stare at them, crying.  And even through the haze of tears and the buzz of wine, it occurs to me... I can't miss Quinn's first day of kindergarten. I can't miss Quinn's graduation. I can't miss it all. His wedding. His baby being born.  My mom missed out on Quinn and there's not a day that goes by that this isn't sad to me.  So I take just the one pill and I sleep.

The next morning I wake, embarrassed for myself, pissed off that I even allowed myself to get to this point.  I still don't know though, I don't know about the bipolar, I just know something is wrong and, yes, it scares me. I don't tell anyone for a long time. But I do make an appointment with a therapist. For me, but more for my family. I think maybe it's not too late to save us.

The therapist encourages me to see a psychiatrist so I do. I talk to him for almost two hours and he thinks I might have Bipolar 2.  He gives me homework, literature to read, to write down when I'm sad.  And medication. Plenty of medication. Weening off some, starting somethings new. One of the drugs is something I will end up taking for the rest of my life.  The others, he hopes, I will be able to do away with.  It's been close to six months.  I'm a different person. A better person. I can love better, I can be loved finally. I'm starting not to hate myself for what I put my now estranged husband and my wonderful son through.  I don't think I can put my family back together.  I'm not sure it would be a wise choice even if I could.  Maybe I've changed too much, maybe not enough. Who knows what the future holds.

Here's a few things I do know.

I found some faith: myself, friends/family, God.
I also found Peace: head, heart, soul.
I found endurance: life, body, love.

I leave you with something I read every day. It's on my wall at work, at home, in my wallet, in my car.  It helps, more than any other words I read.

  

Name all the things you love

When I decided recently to use prayer to help bandage and heal my heart I began to write them down.  I do not have long, cathartic talks with God, but I would say what was heavy in my heart in that moment.  Usually in the form of a list, what I would like to see better or receive extra blessings. 

Down the road aways from that way of thinking I came across the above meme.  I laughed, other friends laughed, other FEMALE friends laughed.  There are so many people who we come across in life and they need touch, they need love and compassion. As a person who is highly sensitive to others emotions, I give them what they need with all the ability I have to do so.  Every woman in my life, every single one, is the same way.  It's like it's in our DNA. I see someone who needs something, I try to give it to them. At the detriment to me.  Here's the thing, the part that women like my friends and I need to get, we don't realize it's to our detriment.  We keep going and going and at the end of the day, we've given all of ourselves away. To strangers, to coworkers, to neighbors, friends, lovers, children, husbands, family.... it's all gone. We are used up.  On that list, the list above, we come in dead last.

So in while talking, again, with my friend Angel about prayer and God and healing, she mentions something a mentor said to her in passing about praying for oneself.   It sort of scorched me. I've never done that. I pray for my son. I pray for my sister and dad and extended family, for their health and happiness. I pray for friends struggling with pain, be it physical, emotional, or mental.  I pray that the person holding the sign saying he's out of work gets enough money to feed himself, even if he does only buy booze with it. But not once did I ask for help myself.

The things that hurt my heart and weigh me down are the people I love that struggle. I like to use the term "mom guilt" a lot. I use it sort of tongue-in-cheek, because I laugh when I say it, but it's so very real. 

(Side note: as of this writing, my son's father and I have excellent communication and are attempting to maintain the friendship that we have cultivated through the decade we have known each other.  Even through the probable ending of our marriage I will maintain that he is a good man. He is a great dad. I am lucky to know him. I will never put him down intentionally either in these writings or verbally.)

This morning before I went to work I went to see my son and, truthfully I was almost as happy to see the dog and cat too, at his dad's house.  We all chatted and my son showed off and the dog showed off, even the dad showed off. I watched because, I'm the mom that's what mom's do. We watch, approve, and appreciate the people around us. After the visit was over and it was time to go to work, in procession, I hugged the dog, I hugged the cat, I super hugged the boy, and yes, I hugged the dad.  My son feels very proprietary towards me and I guess I hugged the dad a tad bit longer than I hugged my boy. My boy says, "Mama loves daddy more than me." And ran off. **crickets**

What do you say to that? This is the very definition of mom guilt. Not only does my son think I love his dad, that I am separated from, more than I love him.  But he still says stuff like "Mama loves daddy." Earlier in the visit he said I was the princess and daddy was the prince.  

So you people that wonder why I cry all the damn time, this is it. This is the hardest part of my life. Subsequently, I pray for my son to have patience and understanding and to mature just a little so this will be easier on him.  I pray that the boy's innocent words don't hurt his dad and that his dad will have patience when our son is challenging (he's always challenging.) I pray for his teachers that they realize he is just acting out because he doesn't understand. 

What I don't pray for? What I have never prayed for?  Me. The strength I need to be there for them, hell to be there for myself. For healing in my heart when my boy says those innocent words that cut like a knife.  If I can't be healthy emotionally, mentally, physically, how can I nurture and help them to do the same?  I need strength. I need nurturing too. Who is there to help me with those things? No person is. They can't be they're already split so far apart themselves that they disappear by the end of the day.  So, I'm told God is there.  I keep wondering when my prayers are going to kick in. When will I see the healing for my son and family that I beg for? I won't. I'm not there to see it. I'm so busy taking care of everything and everyone that I can't see the forest for the trees.  So here is the hypothesis.... Ready? If I stop and breathe and pray for the healing inside me to happen first, if I let God in and give him the control that I cling to with my every fiber... won't that take away some of the heavy load and let me see the forest of my life?

I don't typically, here or in real life, get so philosophical about religion. But I want things better. I need things better. In a lot of ways they are. I have significantly more control on my reactions and emotions. I am not so lonely being alone.  I am easily able to stand up for myself and say no, this is not right.  6 months, 9 months, a year ago? This would have been an impossible task.  Now it's right as it should be. And it's easy.

I remember a time, a time when I really liked myself. I have a good sense of humor, I have normally, in life, been easy going and fun to be around... and that girl has been lost.  But guess what, friends, I'm putting her back together again. And, honestly, it's going to be great!

I didn't need you to fix me....

Why does everything always come down to love? I moved out of my home because I couldn't love myself enough to be a good mom or a good wife. I've isolated myself from family and friends for the same exact reason.   I find now that putting myself out there, be it meeting new people or dating, is not only difficult but can be very painful. Even worse? Just when I think, ok, I got this. This is good. My bad days aren't bad weeks, my bad weeks aren't bad months. Sometimes the "bad" part only lasts a couple hours.  Then something or someone triggers that self-deprecating mechanism embedded deep in my head that says (literally, I suspect), "haha, joke's on you, babe!"

What I should be thinking is, don't call me babe.  Followed closely by a firm, but well placed, fuck off gloomy cloud, I don't want you!  But what I do think is "Hey, welcome back, how long are you here to stay? Would you like some tea?" I don't want to be that girl anymore. I want to be the one that says "Fuck off."

So, while I'm concentrating on this new way of talking to the confusion in my head, people try to help.  For some of you reading this, and you know who you are, I am *NOT* talking about you. Some of you have quite literally all but saved my life. I don't mean you. Please trust that.  But the others, the ones who don't know what I'm feeling, what I'm talking about, the ones that still believe that bipolar means you've flown over the cuckoo's nest.  They give advice. Lots and lots and lots and lots of advice.  It's hard to remain gracious. It's hard to nod and smile and say thank you. It's better though, than arguing with them, than listening to them defend themselves when you really already know? They're just trying to help.

I like the above quote quite a bit because it is honest and simple. You can't fix me, I have to fix me. Just stand by and lend a hand when I need it.  It doesn't need to be in terms of love, though that is nice, but if you like someone, are friends with them. Or just a compassionate person. Just be there. Just reach out a hand to hold, give a hug to help metaphorically hold me up while I deal with the demons (depression/anxiety), because you can't do for me.  And tough love? That never works. It'll piss me off, but it won't work.  

Honestly, it can't be done alone and the battle is lifelong and undeniably difficult. Medication helps, at least for me, but it's a bandaid while I learn what triggers me and how to either avoid that trigger or react to it in a different manner so it doesn't hurt me. 

For those of you out there are dating someone who is bipolar. Accept them, love them, as is. /discussion