I hope you get fat.

I got on the bus this morning to find 3 remaining seats: seats 2 and 4 on the 5-seater row in the back, and one in the 2-seater sitting perpendicular to the back bench.

I took the one in the 2-seater for a few reasons:

1. I couldn't take seats 2 or 4 because it's a tight squeeze and it's the public transit equivalent of riding "bitch."


2. The first seat has a little more "hangover" space, so the occupant can skooch over to accommodate a larger bum.


3. If I take the second seat, it looks like tight squeeze, but the person in seat 1 has the opportunity to take advantage of the "hangover" zone if he or she is uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, seat one was taken by an Aryan blonde man, so I took seat two. Because he had the opportunity to skooch, I felt like I was doing him a favor. I had that smug sense of satisfaction that comes with doing something right, like recycling, taking reusable bags to the grocery store, and throwing styrofoam cups at Greenpeace activists.

Plus, I fit in the seat. The guy didn't even have to skooch.

But what did he do? After doing the obligatory huffing and sulking after a fat person invites herself to sit next to a person, he sat there for a moment. And then he bolted. He stood up, moved 2 feet forward, and stood for the rest of the 10 minute ride.

Bitch do what?

I was kind of put off by this. A little pissed, a little hurt. I moved into his vacated position and skooched as far as possible. There was plenty of room for a person of normal BMI, especially a no-hipped male. As you can guess, I spent the entire ride thinking of shit to say to this guy:

• Fine.


• Fine. More room for my bags.


• (Meekly) There's room for you now...


• (Haughtily) There's room for you now.


• Dick.


• A bit spoiled as a Hitler Youth, weren't you?

Finally I settled on the best response:

• I hope you get fat.

So simple. So true. So raw. What better punishment for someone who doesn't like fat people? I hope he gets fat so that he can see how much it sucks to choose a seat. To see how it feels to be imposing. To feel guilty for taking up space. To feel bitter when people choose not to sit with you. To start wishing it on other people.

I hope your partner gets fat. I hope you still love her/him anyway, but if you don't, I hope that you have an affair, get a venereal disease, get a divorce, lose your money, end up alone. The possibilities are endless!

I was getting so charged up that when Britney Spears' Slave 4 U popped up on the iPod, I started changing the lyrics to suit my needs:

All you people look at me like I'm no little girl

But did you ever think it would be okay to eat Karamel Sutra Swirl?

Always saying tubby girl don't step into Sam's Club

Well I'm just trying to find out why cuz eatin's what I love

eat it eat it eat it eat it oooh, eat it eat it eat it eat it oooh

I'm a slave 4 food...

He was still standing when I got off the bus, and I sooooooo wanted to whisper my zinger to him. How ballsy would that be? How antagonizing? How useless.

Instead I offered a curt excuse me as I brushed past him.

So there's that,

Laura

Stumped

Hey everybody,

Sorry for the absence as of late, but I've been stumped on how to move forward. I've been obsessing over gluten-free food, and I actually love it. I've been coming up with some really creative recipes that I hope to post here in the coming days. I find myself strolling the grocery stores, reading labels, and putting everything that's interesting and gluten-free into my cart. OVERSHOPPING! I have to put a cap on that this week. One of my goals.

Until then, I have this hilarious gif to share:

So there's that,

Laura

Put Down the Knife!

This morning I had to go in for a biopsy on my upper GI tract. 

 

When I did my pre-op testing a few weeks ago, they found I was anemic and had low iron stores on top of that.  The doc put me on a high dose of iron supplements and ordered another blood test last Friday to see if celiac disease was the culprit for my iron absorption issues.  I tested positive, so they set up a biopsy this morning.

 

This involved shoving a camera down my throat.  As I've had practice with long things in my throat before, the procedure was not altogether unpleasant.  I got some good sedatives and a nice midmorning nap.  Plus juice and graham crackers!  Hello again, kindergarten!

 

I just got a call from the surgeon's office, and he, the gastroenterologist, and the physician who oversaw my pre-op labs all agreed that surgery should be postponed. 

 

Because celiac disease requires a major diet overhaul (no gluten forever, no milk for awhile), they wanted me to get a handle on those changes before throwing new ones at me.  Plus, treating the celiac would help my iron situation immensely.  It was better for me to go into surgery with as much iron in my stores as possible.

 

I know it's all for the best, but this has truly broken my heart.  I sat at my desk and cried for a good ten minutes.  I was so ready for this!  Now I have to keep waiting.

 

I know that weight loss will occur in the interim, especially with these new changes to my diet.  But damnit, I've been visualizing this for so long.

 

Gah, I'm just bummed.  More to come.

 

So there's that,

Laura

Cleaning Out My Closet

I don't know how to write about this surgery, and that's why I haven't posted very much in the past month.

I want to write about it, but I'm hampered by some things. I think it's time for a list of what's on my mind.

1. I've been writing about non-surgical weight loss for some time. Do I look like the biggest a-hole in the world to suddenly come out about my surgery? I can't care about that. This is a journey I started over a year ago with a medical team. It's been on my mind for the past 3 years, to be honest. I just couldn't take the plunge and start the process. When I started the process, I couldn't let myself rely on the possibility of surgery.
2. It's sad to admit, but I go through life with the idea that things rarely work in my favor. That way when they do, I appreciate it even more. I figured I wouldn't get approved for surgery, but I should try anyway. Who knows? After 6 months of constant consultation with a nutritionist, a psych, and my doctor, I was rejected for surgery in November 08. We did a little more work getting my weight history and reapplied. I didn't hold out any hopes. I was approved in May, and things progressed quickly from there.
3. I was still on the fence about surgery. I'd lost weight through diet and exercise before; I should be able to do it again, right? Would having surgery be an admission of some kind of defeat? Some kind of weakness? I figured I would make the decision when I had the option. When I got approved, it was pretty easy to make the choice.

I am defeated. I do have a weakness. I have been obese all my life, and if that's not a sign of failure then I don't know what is.

It's sad that my identity has always been tied to my weight, even since I was a kid. How do you turn around 20 years of beliefs, especially when they've been with you since your formative years?

Short answer: You can't. I can't.

I've accepted long ago that I will never have a normal life when it comes to food or my weight. Since that's the case, why put off surgery? Sure I may lose weight through dubdub over the next few years, but I can't say that it will stay off. Well, I can say that, but who the eff knows, right? I thought I'd keep my weight off last time, but that was a bust. Time gives you all kinds of drama to deal with: love, death, wealth, poverty, babies. Any of that can drag me out of control.

I want control. Everybody with an eating disorder wants control: fat people want it over food and choices about their lifestyle, anorexics and bulimics want it over food and choices about their lifestyle. Our bodies are ours alone, and we want to control it any way we can.

I don't like being told what to do. That started long ago with food, with being told I can't have this or that, sugar cereals or cakes. That I can't have clothes or toys until I lost weight. When I became a big girl who could make her own choices, guess what I did? I bought a box of Cookie Crisp and had dessert with every meal. I got fat, I got thinner, I got fat again when I couldn't control my emotional situation. I know my history. I don't want to keep repeating it.

I have this chance to have a new tool - one that restricts the amount and types of food I can eat. It's not going to tell me what to do, but it's going to pre-empt any of that crazy behavior. I will have to deal with my food issues head on, instead of bingeing and hating myself later.

And really? I'm done with food. In revisiting favorite foods last week, I realized that food's not as good as it's cracked up to be. Last week was a chore, and each meal was lackluster, to be honest. I got fish and chips Thursday night, and it was bland and soggy. I didn't even finish it. I'm over this slavery to food.

I work well within boundaries. I'll find ways to make any restriction flavorful and enjoyable.

This post seems full of contradictions: I don't like being told what to do, but I work well within boundaries. It's true, and I stand by it all.

The only difference is, this surgery is MY choice. This is not my mom lecturing me on my food choices; this is me going into a situation as a fully-informed adult. This is my decision and I am proud of it.

I'm tired of defending it. I will gladly talk about health, diet, fitness, but from here on out I will only talk about my body on my terms. I'm not anyone's property. Everybody has an opinion about what I'm going to do, but the only one that matters is mine. My body is not up for debate anymore. I am not my disease.

This is my new mantra. Now is the time when I have to stop looking at myself as a body and start seeing myself as a person. I need to cultivate my interests because I've thrown so many to the wayside over the past 3 years. I don't want to lose my personality, because I do have one, and I know it's more than being a bitter fat girl.

Which brings me to another pondering - when I lose weight, will I stop bitching? I hope so. I mean, from this day forth I will not be hard on my body. But I will bitch about people who drive me crazy.

Back to the surgery: I hopped on this opportunity because I don't want to be 45 and obese, pissed at myself for not taking this chance. I want to start living my life. Like I said, I've pissed away my twenties, I wasn't a normal teenager; I live like a divorcee, for Christ's sake. Done! I'm done with it!

I shouldn't care about this, but the friends I've told about this surgery have not been so excited about it. It's scary, I know, but for me the benefits outweigh the risks. I hope they can accept my decision and my new lifestyle. I don't think they can really see or understand how I feel at this point in my life right now. I've been asked why I care so much about what other people think. The misconception is that I'm doing this for other people. No...I'm doing it for me. What I'm doing is not living. I need to build up myself before I can be any good to others.

And yeah, other people do come into play. I'd be lying if I said they didn't. Truth is, I don't care what people think so much as I don't want to be invisible anymore. To both men and women. People don't treat me seriously at the gym, at a sports store, at any stores that aren't Lane Bryant. I've been out to bars with married women who - acting as my wingmen - get hit on by the guys they're trying to introduce me to. I can be as tricked-out and present and engaging as a muhfucker, but guys go after the hot women. It's a fact. And while I don't want to go out with the kind of guy that hits on married women, I would so love the opportunity to break their hearts and blue their balls.

Surgery isn't magic, it isn't going to cure me over night, and it's going to really suck for a while, but goddamn it, I'm ready.

And it's not up for debate.

So there's that,

Laura

So long, farewell

Goodbye, Pulled Pork Sandwich with Cole Slaw.

 

See ya, Corn on the Cob!

 

Auf Wiedersehen, Banana Nut Bread.

 

Sayonara, Bagel with Veggie Cream Cheese.

 

Hello Disgusting Sense of Fullness.  I've been expecting you all morning.

 

Seriously, there is no pleasure in this eating.  It's like a frickin' death march - not that I'm mourning these foods, but that I feel obligated to eat them while I can.  I'm not enjoying it, so why don't I stop? 

 

In a way, I feel like if these last meals make me feel like crap, I will have no craving for these foods again.  I'll remember how greasy I felt after downing that pad Thai last night.  How unappetizing the cookie dough ice cream tasted on top of a full stomach at 9:30 pm.  I'll remember the embarrassment of wiping corncob spray off of my cubicle walls just now.

 

Gross.  I keep saying for the next 36 hours, I'll be Ms. Why Not.  At time like this, when my stomach's distended so much that the stretch marks - slack two weeks ago - have now accordioned out again to contain my girth, I need to be Ms. Why. 

 

At the very least, Ms. What Am I Doing?!

 

So there's that,

 

Laura