(I just came) to say goodbye

It is time to say good-bye to this blog and start anew.

My weight loss journey has been well chronicled here, as well as my religious one and to be honest, I don't agree with a lot of what I once wrote.

Therefore, I'm admitting that I have learned that cupcakes don't have the answer, but I am not sure who/what does.

Thanks for reading.

Don't read the last page

I stopped writing.

For those who actually follow this thing, you're probably thinking "No shit Sherlock. You haven't written a post in 8 months."

It's not because I've been busy or haven't had a thing to say.

It's my mental illness that has been keeping me from writing.

Yes, I am one of the many people on this planet who suffer from mental illness.

The past 15 months did their best to destroy me.

I'm finally attempting to claw my way out of the deep abyss of depression I lost myself in. It's an hourly, if not minute by minute struggle.

And I'm not someone who reaches out when I feel lost.

I'm not someone who asks for help, because I just don't.

And it makes for a rather miserable existence at times.

Except, this summer, I decided it was time to stop being silent about my struggle with a select few people.

And I'm still embarrassed that I admitted that I was such a mess, but I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore, as it would have killed me.

And now, months later, I'm trying to write again, which is not easy, as whenever I get into one of my funks, writing is one of the first thins I eschew, because it's one area where I doubt myself the most.

I've been trying to write the story of this girl who's been living inside my head for a while now, whose name is Violet.

And been told that I can't write the story the way I feel it needs to be told, because I have to let go of my past.

Because the damage that has been done to me thanks to my weight is something I was told I needed to let go of, because I'm no longer that fat girl.

And Violet is a fat girl.

Being told that not just one, but two of your defining characteristics, aren't important...for years I was a fat girl who wrote. And was told I was good at it.

Until I had a horrible experience at grad school and was made to feel that my writing wasn't worthy of being shared.

So I didn't really want to write anymore for years.

And then I realized it could help me deal with the emotions I was feeling around my weight loss surgery.

And it did, until I was told what I was writing about wasn't that interesting.

So now I don't really want to write anymore.

There's not much I want to do these days, to be honest.

Knitting wasn't even bringing me joy.

But thanks to medication, things are slowly improving.

And maybe one day I'll write more again, but I am just not there yet.

I've tried to avoid labels, but they always find you

One thing that I looked forward to the most about my weight loss surgery was that afterwards, after I had lost enough weight, I would be able to stop buying queen-sized pantyhose.

I just wanted to be able to grab a pair that was labelled size b. That's it. I knew the odds of me fitting into the smallest size, a, were negligible.

But a pair of pantyhose that wasn't queen sized--that was my shallow dream.

I don't know why I obsessed over it so, but the day I could stroll into Target and get my size b pantyhose, I was going to dance my way to the checkout.

Here's the thing--even after losing as much weight as I have, even after being able to wear size 8 jeans and buy size medium shirts, I can not buy size b pantyhose.

It's almost as insulting as still being classified as overweight on the BMI scale.

I can see daylight between my thighs. Why can't those thighs be encased in size b pantyhose????

I take after my father is why.

I've gotten so many traits from the man--stubbornness, love of animals, love of true crime, love of word games...the list goes on.

I also got his build. His build that made him the perfect football player.

I also got the hips of my Ukrainian peasant relatives.

I also have the butt you can balance tea trays on.

All of these things combined, plus my height and well, according to L'eggs and Hanes Her Way, I'm still queen sized.

Yet, I have come to a realization.

There are worse things to be labelled than queen.

And if I am meant to wear queen sized pantyhose, then so be it.

I will be a queen. I will wear that label with pride.

After all, who really cares what size pantyhose one wears?

Accepting that there are things that will never change, no matter how hard I try, well, that's the key to me maintaining some form of sanity, no matter how tenuous it may be.

The other day, I finally wore my cowboy boots again. The ones that had gotten me mocked in the grocery store a few years ago.

I saw some folks on the street giving me a look.

I choose to believe they were admiring my style, rather than thinking they were silently mocking me for my cowboy boots.

Because it is exhausting to worry about appearance all the time. I am tired of obsessing over the number on the size label in my jeans. I am tired of trying on tops over and over again, because the letter on the tag makes me pause, because I don't believe it.

I just want to get dressed, use my lint roller to rid myself of the dog hair and go about my day.

And the only thing stopping me from this 99% of the time is me.

Not just because of size, but because I worry if the shirt I thought had black is actually deep navy blue. I worry that my glasses don't complement my ensemble. I worry over things that really do not matter in the long run.

One thing I am definitely giving myself permission to stop worrying over is the fact that I get to be a queen when it comes to hosiery.

Because there once was a time that not even queen sized pantyhose was big enough for me.

And now it fits me comfortably.

So, I will be a queen.

For as i said before, there are worse things I can be.

I am brave, I am bruised, I am who I'm meant to be

I have just started reading a book written by a fellow Charlotte transplant, Tommy Tomlinson. Once I learned that the book, The Elephant in the Room, was about his struggles with his weight, I knew that I would read it.

It's a sickness almost, my obsession with weight, weight loss and others' experiences with it. Between that, my knitting fanaticism and my unrelenting love of all things true crime, I'm either a snore to talk to or spellbinding.

Already, this book has made my eyes well up with tears. I don't know if I can finish it, as it's painful for me to read, but I need to keep reading it. It's like the need to get my eyebrows waxed--I know it will hurt, but once it's over I'll forget about it and feel better about myself. (That's a horrible analogy, but I didn't want to resort to using something more trite.)

A passage has made me pause. It compelled to write in this blog again, after months of ignoring it. It reads: "Being fat made me a kid who turned inward. Being fat made me stand out to people inclined to be cruel. Being fat made me think I'd never find love. Being fat made me doubt every good thing about myself. Being fat made me. The past tense is wrong there, I know. I'm still fat, so it still makes me what I. But part of what I'm trying to do is drag the past back into the past. From here on out, I have to unmake me."

These lines sum up what I have been trying to say in this blog for over 3 years now, as the 4 year anniversary of the day Roosevelt and I met approaches.

And therein lies what I have been struggling with since I woke up in the recovery room that day in March. Or rather, since the day I decided to pursue weight loss surgery.

Being fat made me. And for close to 5 years now, I've been unmaking myself, as it was April 2014 I had my first consult with a bariatric surgeon.

In some ways, I have not changed at all.

My introverted self still craves time alone to recharge the old batteries. I still bite my nails when I'm stressed and tuck my hair behind my ears. I still talk with my hands. I still can't carry a tune, but love to sing in my car. I still drink way too much coffee and spend way more time than I should surfing the internet looking at yarn or adoptable dogs/pigs.

However, the funny thing is, the biggest nonchange of all, is that the way I see myself has not changed. I still see myself as a fat girl.

No amount of therapy, no new glasses prescription, no amount of pictures, nothing has changed that.

Over the course of the past few months, I've been working with a different group of people. They learned fairly early on that I had had weight loss surgery, as if you go out to eat with me, it's hard to keep it hidden.

After working with them longer, I decided it was time to show them my before picture. And I was terrified to do it, because I still see myself as looking the same way.

Logically, I know I'm not that size anymore. However, I still have some of my "fat" clothes saved. I still buy clothing at least one size bigger than it needs to be. I had to talk myself out of buying a size 22 dress the other day, when I happened to be wearing size 10 pants. Whenever I start knitting a new sweater for myself, I always cast on a much bigger size than I need and end up ripping it out and starting all over again.

Part of this is also fear of gaining back the weight.

I'm diabetic. Surgery did not cure my diabetes. It did make it better controlled for a while, than my pancreas once gain stopped playing well with the rest of my body.

So, I had to start using insulin again.

Insulin was one of the factors that caused me to pack on close to 60 pounds in under 6 months. I also was overeating, but the insulin didn't help.

Anyhow, my pancreas decided it had had enough once more and stopped chugging along the way it was.

And once I started using it again, weight started creeping back on. Granted, less than 20 pounds, but still, any weight gain to me was/is catastrophic.

Seeing that number on the scale grow instead of decrease...I did not handle it well.

I begged my doctor to let me stop taking insulin. Obviously, that was not an option.

I restricted my already limited eating even more and just tried to accept the inevitable--I was going to weigh at least 250 again, maybe over 300, because I was one of those people who had failed at weight loss surgery.

And as much as I want to preach that size doesn't matter, that you just need to be happy in your own skin, blah, blah, blah, for me, in this weird state of trying to figure out who the fuck I am now, it does.

When you've been defined by your size for most of your life, it does matter.

And I had been working on silly little things to help me accept myself. I stopped straightening my hair and embraced my curls. I stopped wearing my contacts and invested in some fun pairs of cheap glasses. I stopped trying to fight the person my genes told me I was--I am a woman with naturally curly hair and horrible eyesight.

However, thanks to taking a 23andme test, I also knew that my genes make me predisposed for gaining weight.

Thanks Ukrainian peasant heritage. I appreciate the love of vodka, but my hips don't need to hold on to lard for warmth.

So in the midst of this whole, I'm turning 40, time to embrace my genes groove I was in, I am hit with this weight gain and the dilemma--do I accept that my genes want me to be fat?

I didn't have 3/4 of my stomach removed for nothing.

And now, after panicking for months I should have never given away my size 20 jeans, the weight is coming back off, a little at a time. Even though I'm still on insulin.

But at the same time, a tiny part of me was relieved, because I know how to be the fat girl. If I gained all the weight back, I wouldn't feel like a stranger in my own body.

This new life, it's too hard some days. It's exhausting trying to pretend how to be in this body. To learn how to not be invisible anymore. To learn how to deal with unwanted attention. To have thighs that don't touch, but to still have a spare tire of loose flesh around my middle.

I thought that post surgery, I'd never need shapewear again. I now need it to hold in the damage that my weight caused to my body, to flatten the skin that will never snap back into place.

What I expected my life to be post surgery and what it is are not the same.

I thought that therapy had prepared me to handle it. And it did, to a point.

I thought that my religion would help. And it does, to a point.

But for me right now, no matter of time spent on a therapist couch or on my knees praying is making any of this any easier.

This could all be temporary. It probably is

However, I have no timeline of how long it will last. For fuck's sake, it has been nearly four years since my surgery. And I'm still struggling, although I have achieved my goal of being able to wear knee high boots, since I could never wear them prior to surgery.

Last night at work, there was an incident with a customer that quickly escalated from disgruntled woman to woman threatening to beat up librarians.

I hit what I thought was the button to summon security. Instead, I hit the button which summons the police.

My hitting the button to solve a problem potentially caused a bigger problem, as the situation wasn't dire enough to have the police come in, guns blazing.

It;s a clunky metaphor, but sometimes I wonder if I hit the wrong button in my life.

Maybe I could have tried another diet. Maybe I could have lost weight by an alternate method than surgery.

Then I think of how I have done WW before, lost a bunch of weight, then wind up starting over. I think of how I did Jenny Craig and ended up gaining it all back.

I needed a way to stop myself from the destruction I was causing in my own life, with food.

Hence, the gastric sleeve. or as I call mine, Roosevelt.

I do not like feeling these regrets, but it's hard to not ruminate at times at what I have done to my life.

Sure, I weigh less than I did.

I'm still overweight according to the good old BMI scale.

I avoid social situations where there will be food involved.

I wish I could eat raw fruits and vegetables still. I wish I could eat without fear of involuntary bulimia. I wish I could stop taking the pill that mostly prevents my debilitating heartburn.

I wish I could have lost weight in a way that doesn't feel so embarrassing.

I had to have a surgery that physically prevents me from overeating because I couldn't stop myself.

It's humbling. It causes me shame to admit I was too weak to just eat less. Or that's how I feel some people see weight loss surgery--you can't just put down the fork, so you have to resort to drastic measures.

Yes, I am addicted to food.

So is Tommy, the man whose book I cannot put down. The man who chose to not have weight loss surgery because he felt it wouldn't change what made him fat.

And that was a hard thing for me to read.

Yet, I know that no one is exactly the same.

I made my choice because I had failed at dieting and exercise. I knew I needed something more powerful than using a pedometer and counting calories.

And I think if I could see more changes in myself than I do, I wouldn't be feeling this way.

And it's not just the physical changes.

I wish I was more confident. I wish I didn't doubt myself so much. I wish I was more willing to open myself up to others. I wish for so much many things that I don't know if I'll ever get.

But I never thought I'd be able to wear tall boots. And now I own several pairs.

Irregardless of what people say though, a pair of shoes isn't life changing.

Yet, when I spend time with people, when I do reveal little tidbits of my life, when I can relax and be myself, I realize that I'm not that bad. That I would be my friend if I met someone like me.

I mean, my dog Lila adores me and she doesn't like everyone.

So I can't be all that bad.

And I have to stop this freight train of thought in my head "because you lost weight you should..."

Because who I was before I lost weight wasn't a bad person either. If anything, my fat made me more compassionate. More empathetic.

Last week, I had lunch with my 8 year old niece in her school cafeteria.

There was one little boy in particular who caught my eye. He was very chubby, wore glasses and had bright red hair. My heart started to ache for him, because I assumed he was bullied. I assumed he was friendless. I assumed because he was so deliciously fat, he was miserable.

Of course, my niece told me I was wrong, because she's his friend.

And my heart grew with pride.

And I realized that my experiences aren't necessarily what will be the case for everyone else who struggles with weight.

I just wonder who I would be today if I hadn't been told that I needed to lose weight to be pretty. That losing weight would solve everything.

I don't think I'd fight so hard for what I want.

I don't think I'd be a writer.

I don't know if I'd recognize myself. Or even like myself.

Because while I may not be a millionaire, while I may always have cat fur and dog hair stuck to some part of my outfit, while I may always be socially awkward, while I always say what's on my mind, unfiltered, while I may not be perfect, that's okay.

Because this is me.

Help her to help herself, help her to stand, help her to lose and to find

As I experience the last week of my thirties, I find myself in a reflective state, in between fits of decluttering my house and agonizing over how my skin can still look like a teenager's, but not in a flattering way.

I remember how, the last week of my twenties, I was so nervous to turn thirty, as my twenties, to put it mildly, were not easy.

I don't feel nervous now. I'm looking forward to the next decade, because just as the cliche states, like a fine wine, things get better with age.

My life is so full now. After years/decades of struggle, I feel that I have found my niche in this crazy world. I have found my people. I have found my calling. The point I find myself at is a good one.

There is one little area of my life that I do feel is lacking is that I do not have children yet.

Having children is something I have struggled with, for a long time. For a while I did not want them, as I doubted my ability to parent well, especially a daughter.

While the idea of parenthood still scares me, it doesn't scare me enough to not want to become a mother, in whatever way the Lord sees fit to make me one.

I just hope I haven't waited too long, but I don't have a crystal ball to predict that.

However, I do have lots of little people in my life that I get to love on, which has me wanting to write down a list of things/bits of wisdom I hope to teach my future children, especially a daughter. I look at my nieces and hope that by the time they're nearing 40, women are treated differently in the United States, but again, that crystal ball isn't handy.

So, without further babbling, here is what I wish I had known earlier in life and I hope that my nieces, honorary and related by blood, figure out a lot earlier than I did. (note: I realize the my life experiences have been colored by bullying and growing up fat. I also do not claim to be an expert and realize that there are plenty of women who never would have needed a list such as this. I am no expert nor do I claim to be one on anything, but feel compelled to share this)

1. Do what makes you happy. It might not be what everyone else is doing, but if it makes you happy, then that is what you need to be doing.

2. Money is not everything.

3. Money might not be everything, but debt is bad. Some debt is unavoidable, like mortgages, student loans, car loans. However no free t-shirt is worth getting a credit card. Especially when you are in college.

4. However, if you do get in debt, it's not the end of the world. It's not an unsolvable problem.

5. No matter how big a problem may seem, 99.9% of the time, there is a solution.

6. It is okay to show your feelings. If you get mad, be mad. If you're happy, be happy. And if you're sad, it's okay to be sad and cry if you need to.

7. Try to not compare yourself to others.

8. Makeup is not a necessity. It is okay to not wear any.

9. Good skincare is a necessity

10. Always use sunscreen

11. Once you start dyeing your hair, it may be impossible to return to your natural color.

12. Few things in life are worth a premium price. I don't skimp on toilet paper. I pay someone to dye my hair, as I've turned it orange and pink. You'll figure out what you think is worth the money

13. Coupons are worth the hassle

14. Everything eventually goes on sale. Hesitate to pay full price

15. When you create your personal email address, remember that you'll be using this thing for years potentially. As tempting as it may be to create one that's magicalunicornprincess69@gmail.com, go boring. It'll save you the trouble of creating one that's more professional when it's time to apply to jobs/school

16. You can't outwit your genes

17. If people tease you, it's because they are insecure

18. It hurts to be teased. It's okay to acknowledge that

19. Forgiveness is not always necessary, but it feels a lot better to forgive than to harbor a grudge

20. Food is not bad. It's okay to eat a piece of pizza. It's okay to eat ice cream.

21. it's okay to weigh more than others. We are all different

22. Your weight does not determine your worth. The number on the scale or on a size tag is not a judgment of you

23. Be kind to yourself

24. It's okay to have days when you wallow. If you have multiple days in a row where all you want to do is wallow, get help

25. Asking for help is not weakness. Even Jesus needed help.

26. You do not have to get married to have a successful life

27. You do not have to have children if you do not want to have them

28. You don't have to go to college straight from high school.

29. It might take you a while to figure out what you want to do as a profession. Take the time that you need.

30. Sometimes those career aptitude tests are right. When I took one at 18, it told me to be a librarian. 11 years later, I finally listened.

31. Some times things do not happen for a reason.

32. Have a hobby. Being able to keep yourself entertained is invaluable

33. You don't always have to have the answer or the last word

34. Don't hide who you are from the world because you're scared since you have been bullied for being yourself.

35. When you find your people, you'll know. It is the people that are there when your world comes crashing down and when you're having the time of your life

36. It takes courage to choose kindness. Be courageous more often than not

37. Having a vagina does not mean that you are not worthy of respect.

38. The world will try to label you. Don't believe those labels

39. Stand up for what you believe in

40. Sing in the car/shower/wherever you want. Listen to the music you like. It's okay if it's not what everyone else listens to. If you enjoy it, blast it.

41. Just because someone is pretty on the outside does not make them pretty on the inside. Get to know someone before you deem them ugly, as I've learned that some of the prettiest people I've ever met turn out to be rotten on the inside. And the most beautiful people I know, well, the outside doesn't always match the inside



I could keep going on, but that's enough for now.

Just 4 days left of my 39th year. I plan to enjoy them thoroughly, just as I plan to enjoy my forties.

Life is just too damn good to not enjoy it. And that's the biggest lesson I wish to impart.

second verse, same as the first

The other day, I picked up a book by a romance writer whose work I've enjoyed in the past.

I was looking for the literary equivalent of comfort food. Something decadent, something that would just provide me with some guilty pleasure, not necessarily something that would enrich my brain or life.

About 15 pages in, I set the book down and have yet to pick it back up.

Why, you wonder?

A character in the book was described as being obese at 162 pounds and unable to snag a man because of her weight.

I currently weigh more than 162 pounds.

I have enough issues with body dismorphia that I do not need to read a fat girl redemption love story--this poor "obese" girl is either going to lose weight to snag her Prince Charming or find a Prince Charming that is man enough to overlook her obvious flaw of being overweight and lover her regardless.

This darn book might be Pulitzer Prize worthy, but I might just take it to Goodwill and donate it.

Part of it is exhaustion over these types of stories.

Part of it is feeling disgust that 162 pounds is considered obese when I would cut off my left arm someday to weigh that much.

I have a hard enough time seeing myself as I look these days. I know some people still see me as a big girl.

Seeing in writing, even in a smutty book, that 162 pounds is considered obese, set me off.

So, since that fateful read, I have been spending too much time looking in the mirror, criticizing my appearance

I want to delete all photos taken of me.

I told the man in my life he could find someone more attractive, which made him scoff, thankfully.

It has taken one line in a book to shake me.

Which frightens me

I had a fellow gastric sleeve patient tell me today that I'm too strict in following the guidelines they gave us post surgery, that I need to loosen up

I asked her how many times she's vomited post meal or what side effects she suffers, what foods she can no longer eat

She looked at me like I had a third head and told me she has no problems

So not only I do feel like I'm Moby Dick's daughter, I also feel as though I've failed at this surgery

It's exhausting to overthink this much.

It's exhausting that I am shallow enough to let this all bother me.

I do realize there's other forces at work here, not just my brain weasels firing on too many cylinders

It makes me realize that there needs to be a book written about an overweight woman whose weight isn't her Achilles' Heel, but just how she's described.

However, who wants to read that overweight/obese people can have fulfilling lives without obsessing over their weight?

I'd like to know who decided that fat is evil.

I'd like to know who decided that overweight=odious

I'd like to be able to tell every women out there who has heard that she is bad, that is defective, that she is repugnant, that she is unloveable, all because of what the scale and society says, that she is worthy

That the number or letter on the size tag of her clothing does not define her worth. That the scale does not either

However, I do know how hard it is to believe the truth when you have been force fed a diet of lies for years.

I went from feeling mostly ok about myself to seeing myself as a Golem carved out of lard due to a sentence in a romance novel.

That is how tenuous that sanity of the voices in my brain can be, because of what I was told for decades

Part of me is resigned that this may always just be part of my reality--that I will have my days where I see myself in a horrible light

This resignation is a horrible thing, one that I also feel compelled to fight against.

I just don't always know if I will continue to fight or if I'll just accept the resignation

There are moments that the words don't reach

So, just a mere 4 days into 2018, I'm already enraged by the stories of people who have lost half their size. Or rather, not their stories, but the commentary surrounding them.

This morning, I had the pleasure of watching Good Morning America's segment on the annual People Magazine's "Half Their Size" issue.

Their weight loss is an achievement. I do not begrudge them the well-deserved accolades.

What I can do without is the People editor saying "We chose people who did the hard work to lose weight. No one who had surgery."

Or the anchorperson chortling about how happy these people must be now that they're thin.

I know I sound like a broken record, but the second verse is the same as the first, to paraphrase an old song. Weight loss surgery is not easy. Thinness does not equate instant happiness.

Is labor any easier if you end up with a c-section? Nope. You just end up with a different way of achieving the end goal: a baby on the outside.

Weight loss is not any easier with surgery. It's a tool, just like Weight Watcher's point system, Jenny Craig and Nutri-System's prepackaged portion controlled foods--they are all just tools that will hopefully get everyone to the end goal they desire: weight loss.

And as far as being thin means you're happier than you were when you were overweight, in my case, that's BS. That's all I have to say about that.

However, I do not want my first blog in months to be a rehash of rants I've written previously. I do have things I can rant about, such as the co-worker who had gastric sleeve done not even five months ago and came to me wanting to know how I "cheat".

I don't. Occasionally, or more often than occasionally since I'm the rare thin person who still suffers from bouts of unhappiness, I eat food that I know will make me sick and suffer the consequences, vowing never again. I am much better than I was, but since it is impossible to avoid food, my battle with my addiction rages on, as it always will.

It angers me that someone would go through the process of getting approved for surgery, have the surgery and then fallback to old habits, because they think that having a tiny tummy is going to protect them from showing that they've indulged their vices. Or that all you need to do to lose weight is have that tiny pouch.

Yet, I have also learned I cannot fix them or help them live their lives the way that they should post surgery. It's their path to walk and while I support them as much as I can, I cannot carry them.

There is so much more that I have to say rather then become a big angerball who only writes when she gets upset by the media or by the comments people make.

I used to post monthly pictures of my weight loss progress, because I felt that my weight loss was the biggest accomplishment in my life

Almost three years after surgery, I know now that it isn’t. I’m proud of the loss, however, I have greater accomplishments

1. I am a toddler whisperer
2. I am a writer
3. I make pretty things out of string
4. I’m a good daughter/sister
5. I’m the best Aunt my nephews & niece have in N.C.
6. I am a good friend
7. I’m a stellar librarian
8. My milkshake brings all the dogs to the yard
I’d rather leave this earth knowing that the best compliment people can give me is that I’m kind rather than I’m skinny

And that is I'm going to focus on, being a force of kindness in this world, irregardless of the fact that I just ranted. Ranting is necessary in order to release the kindness.

With that said, stay tuned. There's going to be a lot more writing this year coming from this broken yet beautiful librarian.