What About Your Friends?

As you get older, the huge herd of friends that you had when you were a kid seems to have thinned out to a few. People grow and change and the friendships that we've known then, dont quite fit the bill anymore. What we required then in a friendship doesnt necessary apply now and those unfulfilling friendships just didnt carry through into adulthood.

I carried a few friendships into adulthood. Ive also ended friendships in adulthood. Ive noticed that when men get involved, friendships change. You put a dick in the mix and shit gets fucked up. Ask any woman.

I have had so many friends "disappear" when they had boyfriends or husbands. It was like they were just hanging out with you until they found something better to do. Magically, they would re-appear when the guy was gone. Dont get me wrong, I have no problem with you getting your groove on, but is it so hard to get your groove on AND keep your friends?

Not everyone does the disappearing act when a man comes along. Some people know how to balance both.

But, this past year I have met some pretty amazing women who have become friends. These women come from all different walks of life, yet we've all met at the same crossroads. Ive met cancer survivors, incredible self-taught photographers, nurses, single moms, and others. Im in awe of them all.

Reality Check

Damn, I hate being 46! I really hate it. Why is it that this is the age where you feel powerful, content, ok with your body and your sexuality?? Im not saying its a bad thing, but you also forget that you actually ARE 46 and not 26. It sux ballz.

Ive never felt so alive and sexy, than I do now. In my head, I feel 26, but my face rats me out. Dirty Bitch. I think I look pretty good. My skin is wrinkle-free with a few lines by my eyes, but overall, I look good. Youth really is wasted on the young. They dont know what the hell they are doing.

So, with this "I look damn good at 46" attitude, I go to a local bar with some friends to see a band play. The band played, took a break, and never came back. So, we hung out for a little. The bar started filling up with college age kids. Big deal, right? Im a Cougar. I'll blend in, have a drink, check out the cubs. Little did I know, my bubble would be burst by some young little punk with an attitude. Prick.

Im standing in this sardine can of testosterone and estrogen, when I turn around to tell these kids behind me to stop hitting the back of me. This little prick has the gigantic balls to say, "Its a bar, give me a break, its a 22 year old bar, WHAT ARE YOU, 45?" My fuckin head spun around like Linda Blair's, in "The Exorcist". I said, "Who the fuck are you to tell me where I should be at my age, you fuckin punk?" At least, he didnt call me fat. The Pea Soup would have blinded his ass.

If I had a penis, it would have shrunk up into my testicles. That comment, and I hate to admit it, will stick with me for a while. I hate that about myself. I take everything so personally. I hate that this kid's comment will stick with me for a while. Suffice it to say, we left there almost immediately after. I need to have my hotness validated soon or I will fall into a deep depression. Where's Bob when I need him?

I do love my young guys, still. Just not THAT young. They are nice to look at, but I do like guys my age as well. My taste varies. If you're mature and know how to handle your business, Im cool with that. If you're in my age group and are mature and can handle your business, Im cool with that too.

I did recently have a dalliance with a 22 year old. I gave in after he nagged me for days to go out with him. I had refused him because that was way too young and I told him that I would only be using him for sex. I was kidding, mostly. Of course, he said he didnt mind. It was flattering and he was cute. He didnt look his age and he had a good head on his shoulders. He was very driven and sexy as hell for 22. This boy had been around! He stuck his tongue out in such a way that made me feel like he wanted me on a plate for dinner.

It was a mistake. He was cocky. I gotta give him credit for his confidence. He was cocky and clearly thought he could impress me. He threw out lines that young girls would fall for like, "Omg, I'm hooked, you're so sexy. He was good with the talk. His body had no muscle tone. I dont think he was old enough to have muscle tone. He wanted to cook me dinner. Dinner never happened. I think I scared him off. I can be a little rough on people. I think he played me. Im not sure. Or, maybe I played him. I dont know. I hate the games, I really do. Oh, one more thing. Do guys really still say, "Whos your daddy"? Really? How do you answer that? I dont wanna be reminded of my daddy in that moment. Who started that, anyway. Needless to say, I never heard from him again. I didnt expect to. Maybe I should've told him who my daddy was.

Stuff Your Bird

Thanksgiving is over, thank God. One miserable holiday done and gone till next year. Christmas is next. Im proud of myself. I havent thrown up in two days. Thats quite the accomplishment for me lately. Because Im very open, maybe too much, about my surgery and all its ups and downs, Im scrutinized at every fuckin meal.

All eyes are on Lisa, waiting for that look on her face that tells everyone at the table, that if I eat one more bite, im going to explode. My sister, the "Lapband Police", is on me like white on rice. That bitch doesnt miss a beat. Shes like a lion in the brush, waiting for her prey to make the one false move that gives the signal to pounce. And, pounce she does.

So, here I am with a full dish, that everyone knows I cant possible finish these days. I have my niece sitting next to me. Shes now the Deputy, by the way. Im eating, and eating, and eating. I know that Im beyond the point where one more piece of food will cause the alien to explode from my stomach. I feel my sister's eyes on me, waiting for me to glance up and lock on. Damn it! I looked at her and she shoots me the "Put the fork down and step away from the plate" look. To my right is my niece, who says" Sisa, you know your full". OMG!!!

I cant go to the bathroom during or after a meal these days, without someone asking me if Im gonna throw up. Everyone is monitoring me. Im surprised they dont come into the bathroom with me to make sure I dont throw up. Its my fault, I share too much. I dont why, I just do. I really need to break that habit. Actually, both throwing up and opening up.

My niece is worried that my esophagus will explode. She saw a documentary on TV about it and now worries that Sisa's esophagus will explode. I feel like a junkie sometimes. I havent learned anything from my lapband experience as far as stopping when satisfied. I just cant grasp that concept. I always want more. Again, Pat says its longing. Am I gonna be longing forever? That sounds so sad, like unrequited love or something. Im gonna be searching for something I will never have in my entire life? The thought of that makes me wanna vomit.

Shhhhhh!

Secrets have always been a part of my life. They are what kept the bad stuff hidden from everyone. Secrets made my life miserable.

I grew up with an abusive alcoholic father who did nothing but hang out at the bar all day and then come home, only to continue drinking and ordering all of us around to get him a beer and empty his ashtray. I can picture that fuckin ashtray, still. It was on a stand next o his chair and the astray bowl was amber and always filled with cigarettes.

Do you know how hard it is for a kid to have to explain away your father's drunken antics to your friends? We were never told that he was drunk. The catch phrase for his condition was either "Daddy's in that mood" or "Daddy is THAT way". I hated it.

Of course, that hatred of secrets was temporarily quelled by food. Just temporarily, though,

I think thats why Im so vocal these days and so not secretive. My business is all out there. I just feel that if you wanna know me, you hafta know all about me and my craziness. Im so open about my stuff, sometimes too much much and hafta be told to reel it in sometimes, but its almost like a defiance. There is something thats feels so shameful when you have to keep secrets, like no one can ever find out or you will be humiliated or laughed at or made fun of. "This is nobody's business".

I guess thats why I kept the fact that my husband cheated on me a secret for 4 years. That was when I got my fattest. That was the only secret that I kept to myself in my entire life........and it was killing me, literally.

Would You Like Me To seduce You?

Ah, SEDUCTION.

Definition: 1.[n] enticing someone astray from right behavior
2.[n] an act of winning the love or sexual favor of someone

Yes, thats right. I am a SEDUCTRESS. I must say, Im very good at it too. Toot Toot!!!! Thats the sound of me blowing my own horn. The ability to seduce lies in all of us, I think. But, it comes naturally for me, even at my fattest.

You see, the thing about being fat with a pretty face is that there is at least one appealing thing about you. People have to look at your face when you speak. Thats when I'd do my best work. Oh, yeah. Look into my big blue eyes, Im batting my long lashes at you, taking in your every word. Im licking my wet, glossy lips and let my tongue sweep across my my mouth. I know you're watching me do that and imagining what I can do to you. My hair falls into my face and covers one eye. I brush it way and tilt my head to catch every word that tumbles out of your mouth. I touch your hand when its my turn to respond and lean in closer. Yeah, I've always had it. Its just in me.. What can I say.

Now, its even more fun. Men are so easy to seduce. They like to hear how hot they are, how sexy, how strong and virile they are. I gotta tell ya, I love making men feel good. They in turn will make you feel good, too. Keep that in mind, girls. Men really dont require much. They like to eat, sleep, have sex, and be told they have a big dick. Thats it. I said it. Its not brain surgery. I gotta tell ya. All that shit works for me, too. I think Im a man. Oh, and you dont hafta tell me I have a big dick.

I can tell you that losing 100 pounds really does make you feel sexy. I have so much confidence. Some people see it as conceit, but fuck that! I deserve to feel good about myself snd enjoy the fact that other people find me sexy and attractive. I hadnt had regular sex in over 5 years!!! I've got to catch up on what I have been missing. Nothing crazy, just some much-needed affection. I have needs too, you know!

I hadnt been "on top" for over ten years. Ten friggin years, people. Now, Its one of my favorites positions, along with doggy-style. Am I getting to risque for you yet?? Sorry. Im just sayin that sex is better now, thats all. Giddy up.

Can You See Me Now?

Ya know, its funny how losing weight and gaining confidence go hand in hand. I find it quite ironic, really. You become more of a person by becoming less of a person. At least thats the way I felt. I felt so invisible when I was so overweight, but yet I was very visible. I didnt see me and no one else did either. What bothers me is when someone I havent seen prior to my surgery, doesnt mention or notice my weightloss. To me that meant that I didnt matter enough for you to notice me............at all.

You notice me now, though. You see,along with drastic weightloss comes an incredible awakening of your sexuality and the power that comes with that. I feel like everyone is drawn to me now, whether it be male or female. I find myself flirting with everyone, whether it be conscious or not. I like to tease and titillate. I find myself walking differently so as to draw attention to myself. I NEVER wanted attention before. Now, I am a seductress. I put myself in situations where I will be noticed,good or bad. Hell, you're gonna pay attention to me and you're gonna like it, damnit!

Lets Get Physical

This actually has two connotations. The first being exercise and the second being sex.

Exercise has never been something that I could relate to. I kinda thought it was a vain activity that people did just to make themselves seem more interesting. Something they could talk about at dinner parties, like, "Hey, I did a 10k today and came in second", or "I went mountainbiking through this awesome terrain". Who gives a rat's ass? I didnt need exercise to be interesting. I already was. My ass was interesting. Everyone seemed to be interested in watching it get bigger by the day. I think some people even took bets on it.

Exercise was only something you did in gym class, and even then it was a nuisance. Ya know how many times I "forgot" my shorts? God, I hated wearing those in front of the boys. I hated having my chubby legs hanging out for all to see. My thighs would rub together and give me the worst chafing. I've started a few campfires with these things.

Now, I dont hate exercise as much. It feels good to move, run, jump, kick, and punch. The best part is that Im not out of breath. I used to get out of breath just turning over in bed, and drying off from the shower. I got to the top of my sister's staircase and then stopped to realize I just ran up with no problems and I wasnt out of breath. It felt good.

Now,the sex part. Sex wasnt so great at 280 pounds. You have a lot of limitations as to what is comfortable and what is physically possible. Although, I am quite flexible, being flat on the livingroom rug proved to be breathtaking............and, not in a good way. It literally took my breath away. I couldnt breathe down there. I think my fat was crushing my lungs. Getting up from the floor is another story. Roll over, get onto knees, one leg up, hold onto something and away we go. Im exagerating for effect here, but you get my drift.

Being on top was not happening for a couple of reasons. One was the crush factor. You ever have a fat girl riding you? Your intestines probably have suffered from that. Have u ever seen the tires of a bike when a fat person gets on? I couldnt put anyone through that. I was doing you a favor by NOT doing that. The other thing is that its uncomfortable and movement is restricted. I mean, how much up and down and back and forth could I do before I drop dead on you from the exertion? Oh, there is reason number three. How hot can I possibly look flopping all over you like a beached whale? I wanna vomit just thinking about it. Oh, uh, maybe its the Doritos and onion dip Im having while writing this.

Ok, lets go to the flipside, now. Doggy-style, baby! Ooh, how beautiful does this position look when you're this fat? I cant even think about it without having my ass tighten up. Its really disturbing for me. What do you do with all that ass in your face? Nothin, thats what. I have to move on now, otherwise the visual will blind me.

Sex now is HOT!!! The freedom that goes along with weight loss is incredible. I can do it all! I can ride like the wind, I can flip, flop, over the shoulders, behind my head, bend ova and know that although I can still put out forest fires with this ass, it looks pretty good from behind these days. Thats a good feeling. Im not totally comfortable in my skin yet, but its still a work in progess. I got my groove back. Thats whats important.

What goes down, must come up.

If you have had Lapband surgery, then you have heard of "PBing". Simply put, its throwing up. Well, not the throwing up you might be accustomed to, where you experience violent stomach spasms or contractions and then the expulsion of digested food while hovering over the porcelain god in a cold sweat. PB'ing is much less complicated and much less draining.

Pb'ing which stands for "productive burp" happens when you eat too fast,too much, or swallow too big of a bite of food. The food never reaches your stomach. It actually sits in your esophagus at the top of the band where it wont go through. So, now you have this lump of chewed up, undigested mass that wont go down. Dont even THINK about drinking anything with the false hope of helping the food go down. Its not gonna happen. As a matter of fact, it makes it worse.

I"ve made that mistake many times. What it actually does is add gunpowder to dynamite. The liquid you just drank is now sitting on top of the food that's sitting at the top of the band. What happens next? You feel really uncomfortable because this lump of food and water wont go down. You"ve made things worse with the friggin water. I forgot to tell you. You better not have gulped that water down to quickly either. Because in about 10 seconds, your ass better be at the toilet ready for the alien about to expel itself from your body at lightning spped.

If you dont drink anything, though, Its not that bad, really. I've found that all I have to do is open my mouth and out comes the offending matter. Now, Im not promoting this behavior, so relax. Its gonna happen, thats all Im saying. Im just preparing you. Try to avoid it by taking small bites, chewing till its mush, and wait 5 minutes between bites. Yeah, right.

I cant do that. First of all, I eat so fast, you would think it was my last meal right before going to the electric chair. I pb'ed constantly because even though I was "full", I wanted to eat more because it tasted so good. So, I was pb'ing to empty my band, so I could eat as much as I wanted. I would pb several times during the course of a meal.I would do this alone of course, so as not to draw attention to myself. Of course, I would feel so disgusted with myself for doing this.

Seriously, I was doing this on purpose for a long time and it ended up giving me heartburn after a while. I was taking Tums all day long. I just thought it was because I had Lapband surgery. It wasnt . It was because of me. So, Once I stopped, so did the heartburn. Go figure. I havent pb'd in 3 weeks. I feel like a junkie trying to get past the withdrawal stage. Can u believe this shit? I have an addiction to throwing up. Only me.

Are you there, God? Its me, Lisa.

I used to pray. Not anymore, though. I havent prayed since I lost my mother five years ago. I figured , whats the point? He didnt answer my prayers then, so why bother. I used to pray every night. I had a prayer routine. I prayed "in order", not of importance necessarily. When I was too tired to pray or forgot, I would have nightmares. I felt like I was being punished for not praying.

I prayed a lot as a kid. I prayed that my alcoholic father would stop drinking,I prayed for a bike, normal parents, a boyfriend, and I prayed that I would be thin. All of those prayers went unanswered.

I figured my prayers werent important enough to be answered, but that didnt stop me from doing it. He had to answer eventually, right? He hasnt yet.

I havent prayed in almost five years and I sleep like a baby. I guess it really didnt matter if I prayed or not, after all.

Sticks and Stones

Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me. Who wrote that shit? Stick and stones will hurt and then you heal and forget about it. But, words will last forever. They are like the cockroaches of memories for me. I remember every mean thing that someone said or did to me.

All those mean words are seared into my brain and they are as follows: fat fuck, fat shit, waste, blimp, hog, whale, etc. You get my drift. I dont only remember the words, but every sentence they were included in.

I was at a club one night in the early 80's. Mind you, Ive always had a pretty face. I happen to pass a cute guy in the crowd and bumped into him by accident. I apologized and he looked at my face, smiled, looked down at the rest of me and said, "Oh, forget that." I felt like shit the rest of the night and kept that comment with me since. Another time, years before, I was about 14 years old and hanging out with our crowd and as all of us girls walked passed the boys, they whistled at us or so I thought. After they whistled, the made it clear that it wasnt meant for me by saying, " Not you, Lisa."

How dare I think that whistle included me? What was I thinking, anyway? Why would someone whistle at my 14 year old fat ass? Im 45 now and I can see that day as if it were yesterday. And, if I think about it too long, it can still make me cry.

Kids are so cruel. But, dont kid yourself, adults can be also. I was walking in a mall and a song was playing from Hall and Oates, "Youre kiss in on my Lips". I walked passed a couple of guys who as I walked by sang the lyrics as "My kiss is on your hips". I cant get a fuckin break. Isnt anyone taught about sensitivity anymore? I was always nice to the freaks. Why wasnt anyone nice to me? Now, I have become a hardass. It doesnt pay to be nice. People will shit on you if you let them. Nowadays, I'll shove those stick and stones up your ass and I have become a master at throwing words what will send you home crying and then to your therapist. Am I a little bitter? You bet your ass I am.

Let The Healing Begin

My scars are almost gone and now I am able to exercise. Oh, Joy! That means I actually have to get off my fat ass and do some kind of physical activity. Do I hafta exercise? The dotor says it is imperative. Who uses that word anymore, anyway? What happened to the word "required" or "mandatory"? Imperative? Its emperative that you take small bites, its imperative you chew slowly, its imperative you wait 5 minutes between bites, and its imperative that you exercise. Its imperative that you kiss my big ass!

We all know that 30 minutes of exercise daily is important,right? But, for some reason, it seems to be of Uber-importance for us Lapbanders. Why is that? I know why. Do I hafta tell you? Because we pretty much lose weight so quickly in the beginning, our skin cant keep up. So, excercise will help tone as we lose. Therefore, we wont be as saggy. Yeah, right? Tell that to my inner thighs and boobs.


Listen, I have great genes and good skin elasticity. But all the exercise in the world isnt gonna lift my boobs up any higher. Which, by the way, are keeping warm under my laptop. This is why I wont wear miniskirts anymore. My nipples will show. My thighs are another story. I've always hated them. You see, I was lucky enough to get the bottom-heavy gene from both sides. I call it "double whammy DNA". I think a lot of you know what Im sayin, right? Can I get a Hallalujah on that one?

My thighs have always lived in a world of their own. My bottom half was always bigger than the top. They never cooperated with the rest of me. Jeans were a nightmare to buy, because once I found a pair to get passed my thighs, they would gap at my waist. Then I discovered Lycra/Spandex. But with that discovery, came delusion. I could fit into a smaller size than I actually was. And, let me tell you, I could squeeze this ass into a size 16, even though I was clearly 1 size 20 or bigger.

It was a curse and a blessing in one. You see, If I was in a car, you couldnt see me from the waist down and I looked like a moderately thin person. But, one I stepped out of the car......POW!!!!! My secret was out. But, even that was shortlived, because once I ballooned up to 280, being smaller on top wasnt helping anymore. I just looked big all over.

I hated my thighs and still do. My mother had these thighs and every time I look at them, I am reminded of her. When we looked at her old pictures, she would say, "I was always 118-120". Ma,are you kidding me? You mean 118-120 in one thigh, right? No, let me stop. She wasnt fat as a young woman, just a little bottom-heavy. She was like the "J-lo" of her time.

Pat had me write a list of things that I liked about my legs and I had a really hard time with that. The only thing I liked about them was that they gave me the ability to walk. Thats it. I had nothin else.

Arrest Me

Sometimes I wish that I hadnt told anyone about my surgery. I feel like everything I eat is being scrutinized. Its like people around me think its their job to be the food police and make sure that I dont break the laws of the LapBand. They think they're helpingme, but what they are doing is really annoying the shit out of me.

My sister is the "Chief of Police". She has always watched me gorge myself until she literally had to take my dish and fork into custody. I actually welcomed the intervention. I wanted someone to recognize that I was crying out to be stopped. I wanted someone else to take control over this addiction, because I was beyond help.

Everyone wants to "police" everything you eat once you've told them that you've started some kind of weight loss plan or if they see you losing weight. They feel its their job to keep you on track and out of trouble. They want to point out that you shouldnt be eating this or that, and you should be exercising more. Shut up! When, exactly did these people become such experts in diet, nutrition, and exercise? Especially, since their fat asses arent in tiptop shape either. I guarantee you that I have 100 times more knowledge on the subject than all of them together. Im the one who's had experience with this "perpetrator" my whole life and I know exactly what I'm dealing with, not them. Im no rookie .

The Office

Back to work. Oh what fun! I went back to work about a week or so after my surgery. Everyone knows that I had Lapband surgery and everyone has questions. I answer them, proud, like I just came home from the Army. They wanted to know how the surgery was, how long it lasted, how did I feel when I woke up, what did they give me to eat or drink, can I feel the band inside me, how much did I lose, etc. The attention I got was nice. I felt important. Then, I had to start losing weight.

I wondered whether I should have told my co-workers about it. I felt like all eyes were on me, waiting for the weight to come off . Maybe they were waiting for me to fail. Maybe will, who knows. But you can bet ur ass that I’ll go down trying.

Cooking

So, here it is the middle of the week and I’m so bored sitting here all day. I decided to cook for my husband, since he hasn’t really eaten anything home-cooked. I felt bad for him and felt worse for me. Cooking for him was very therapeutic for me. It kept me from going insane from not eating. And, I didn’t just make him any old thing. No, I had to make gourmet meals, like Chicken Cacciatore, Lasagna, and Potato and Egg Fritatta. It was enough to just chop vegetables, beat eggs, and make sauce. I couldn’t eat it, but I can handle the food and create these masterpieces for someone else to enjoy. And, he did.

I couldn’t enjoy it, so why punish him? Looking back now, I should have poisoned the prick. I’ll get to that later. Cooking for someone other then myself gave me back some power, so to speak. I felt back in control again. Control over my food and what I do with it. Sounds weird, right? Even though I couldn’t eat that kind of food, no one can stop me from smelling it, touching it, preparing it. It was almost like I was being defiant while cooking. This band is not going to keep ME from food! I will not let it dictate what I do with my food. I had waged a war against food, daring it to cross me.

I must admit. I have been tasting as I am preparing. How else would I know if its seasoned properly? But, it wasn’t the same as eating it. So, no matter how I cooked food, smelled food, touched food, or prepared food, it was winning this war. It was still controlling me and it pissed me off.

Pat

I found Pat on the internet as I was looking for relationship counselors to help with some issues my husband and I were having, that had gotten worse since I lost my mother. I don’t even know how I found her. But, there she was, smiling on the internet page. She looked really warm and compassionate. I was drawn to her instantly and she was only 15 minutes from my house. That’s a big plus. I like to keep all my doctors close by, so they all have offices within 5 miles of my house. Pat’s office is at her house. Her two dogs greet you at the door as they bark like hell at your arrival. She has her sessions in a kind of den-like room with a big comfy couch that I can sit on with my feet up on it. Pat is very smart and funny and she knows me like the back of her hand. I cant bullshit her and she cant bullshit me. We speak openly and freely and there are no reservations. She’s not your typical therapist. She will call me out on something that she doesn’t think I’m being honest about and she’s right on all the time.

Anyway, our first appointment with Pat was a little awkward. My husband and I had split up for a month and he wanted to come back. But, I had one condition. We have to go to therapy or it wasn’t gonna happen for us. He agreed and now loves Pat. We see her together and separately. It really has helped. We get along so much better and we’ve learned a lot about each other. Its been almost two years now and we still go to see her.
How sad are we?

We are gonna see her as long as it takes to get us right. Even if we don’t make it together, at least we will be able to make it without each other. I feel like I’m working towards something, like with the band. I have goals. Goals, goals, goals. Why does there have to be goals, anyway?

Gas Pains or Growing Pains?

I’ve been banded now for one week and I’m so full of gas, I can fuel a jet plane. Don’t forget, the doctors blow your stomach up with air, so they can see your stomach better. Well, as I’m sitting in my favorite recliner, I feel another wave of gas pains coming on. I try to pass a little and I sharted. I heard that word in a movie once, but never really knew what it meant. Until now. As I was trying to expel some of this gas, a little diarrhea came out with it. You don’t realize it at first, but then you do. Now, trying to get up from a recliner after you’ve had surgery is bad enough. Trying to get out of a recliner after you’ve had surgery and just shit your pants is tougher. What a friggin mess!

There’s something about shitting your pants as an adult that really puts things in perspective. I mean, it makes you stop and think about what you’re doing with your life. What brought you to this point? How do I move beyond all this shit and feel normal again? Where do I begin to clean up the mess I’ve made of my body all these years? I know where I begin. I have to make an appointment with Pat. She’ll help me shovel through all the years of shit that’s been keeping me fat.

Anger

I’m so angry with myself. I’m angry at everyone right now. I’m angry at my sister for being the “thin one”, angry at my husband for being able to eat every friggin thing he wants and his cholesterol is only 146, angry at my mother for not being here anymore, angry at every person who doesn’t have to get “banded”. I’m angry that all those skinny bitches are okay with eating healthy. I’m angry that I wont be able to eat a steak sandwich anytime soon, if at all. All this anger is making me very hungry. I think I’ll have a cup of tea. That should help. Yeah, right.

If anger is fear, what am I afraid of? Maybe I’m afraid of being thin. Its seem so scary to look good in my clothes, frightening to be able to fit into theatre seats, and just spooky to think about how good I’m gonna feel. Well. Maybe I’m afraid of how good thin will feel. After all, I was always overweight, even as a child. Yeah, I had a fleeting moment of near thinness between 1987 and 1988. It lasted for about a year. It was great. It was empowering. It was freeing. It was frightening. Wait. Its not the kind of fear where you’re walking around afraid to be thin. Its not like that. I mean, as the weeks went by and my clothes were getting looser and my body was changing, it put me on such a high. It didn’t feel real. I always had a “pretty face”, that famous bullshit line, but I did. So now, I have this near thin body, which by the way, I was lucky enough to be the kind of fat person where I had a small waist and big ass. So, when I lost weight, my body looked pretty good. People didn’t recognize me. I got compliments all over the place, guys were whistling, my mother actually said I should stop losing weight now. You lost enough, she said. I never thought I would ever be told that!.. It was a whole new world. My confidence went though the roof. I was accused of having a chip on my shoulder. I didn’t give a crap. I deserved this. I worked hard for it. I’ll be as obnoxious as I wanna be. Everyone can kiss my fat ass!


Ah, but alas. After about a year, my short bout with thinness was over and I had gained back all that I had lost and gained a few more. It actually was easier for me to be fat. I didn’t have to work at anything to keep my figure. I just had to eat. Everyone expected me to be fat. That’s who I was. That’s how people knew me. It wasn’t surprising to see that I was fat again, it was surprising if I wasn’t. People were more comfortable with me being fat. And, I was more than happy to oblige. They would have lost their eating partner. That would have been terrible. The funny thing is that I was the only one getting fatter and my eating partners weren’t. Bitches.

What did I do?

Oh my God! What did I do? Was I crazy? I actually did it. I had Lap Band Surgery. I had a band placed around my stomach so my food intake can be restricted. Doesn’t sound that bad, right? Wrong. Not only does it restrict my food intake, but I wont be able to eat my favorites foods ever again? What the hell was I thinking?

No more pizza, fried shrimp, cheeseburgers, French fries, grilled cheese sandwiches, or ice cream? Not even small portions once in a while? Not recommended I was told. That wasn’t exactly telling me I could never have that stuff again, right? Welcome to the world of healthy foods. Blech!

As I lay there in recovery, these thoughts whirled through my head and made me more nauseous than the anesthesia. I felt such regret for doing this and fear for what I had to look forward to. That fear was having to live my life never enjoying food again and always feeling deprived. I felt so angry with myself for not having the willpower to do this on my own, for giving in to the desperation I had felt when nothing was working for me anymore. I felt like someone just informed me that my best friend had been banned from speaking to me again. I was now on my own and had to find comfort elsewhere, other than in the arms of food. What a weak fat bastard I had become.

Food has always been a source of comfort for me. I grew up in an Italian American family with an Alcoholic father and a mother who tried to overcompensate for that by bringing home “goodies” to make us feel better. She worked in a pastry shop and would bring home cakes and cookies and Italian ices. She made fattening foods, nothing healthy. Everything had sauces, gravies, bread, and potatoes. We never had fresh vegetables growing up. Just canned corn, peas & carrots, and string beans. But, we loved her food and enjoyed those goodies.

I was now an emotional eater. Thanks Ma. I ate when I was happy, sad, bored, tired, full, walking, sitting, watching tv, working. Hell, I even ate while I was on the toilet. No Shit. I cant remember what being hungry is like anymore, because I ate so much all the time. I never gave myself a chance to be hungry. The funny thing is that I get full really fast, but just keep shoveling it in because it tasted good. My sister, the skinny bitch, would actually have to tell me to put the fork down because she could see that I looked absolutely stuffed that I couldn’t breathe anymore. She was right. I was stuffed. But there’s something about getting that last piece of food in that was so satisfying to me. It would annoy the crap outta me to leave an unfinished hamburger or hot dog on my plate. Im a freak, though. I had to have a little of everything on my fork. I dont eat my food separately. Oh, no. A little bite of my burger, some French fries and cole slaw on my fork. I had to have a taste of everything together and had to make sure that I would end up with an equal amount of everything down to last bite of food.


If you took the last bite of food off my plate, I would be pissed. I later learned from my wonderful therapist, Pat, that its called “longing”.

I’ve been longing my whole friggin life. I’ve longed for a happy childhood, a non-alcoholic father, an assertive mother, thin thighs, a prince on a white horse, a better job, nice house. We all have some type of longing, right? Right now I have longing for Ham, Fontina Cheese, and bacon on a Panini, hot and gooey. Oh my god, I have to stop this. I’m gonna drive myself crazy. Oh, and a pickle would be good with that.

Am I NOT supposed to be hungry?, I ask the nutritionist. Because, I am. I thought that I would not feel hungry, that I would not have the desire to eat. I had been home one day and I was feeling very hungry. She says, Oh, that’s just “head hunger”, if you were really hungry, you would feel dizzy, weak, and lightheaded. Bullshit! This is real hunger, stomach growling hunger, hunger pang hunger. The kind of hunger that comes from drinking one miserable shake a day. Yeah, sure. I can have clear broth, tea, sugar-free drinks. Big deal. I don’t know about you, but that liquid crap doesn’t satisfy my hunger. A big mac and fries does that. Pat tells me that fullness and satiety are two different things. Whatever. A big mac and fries would make me full AND satisfied.

Satiety is something that escapes me when I think about food. I mean, I’m satisfied when I’m full. But satiety is not fullness. Satiety with food is about eating until you are comfortable and your hunger is gone. I’m not satisfied when I feel so full that I could throw up. In fact, I’m disgusted. I guess I’m satisfied that I’m so full that I’m disgusted with myself. Sure, I can get full on steamed chicken and vegetables, but I wouldn’t be satisfied.

The food network is all I’ve been watching since I came home. I cant seem to get enough of it. Watching these cooking shows is almost like a punishment for me, a kind of torture that I am imposing on myself for being so self-indulgent all these years. This feeling of deprivation makes me so angry for going through with this surgery. I cant believe that I actually thought that this is something I could do. Me? I’m a foodie. I have had this love affair with food for so long, it seems odd not to have it in my life, on my terms. Its not up to me anymore. It up to the Band. The band is with me. Forever. Maybe. Well, it is removable. Ok, I’m not gonna remove it. But the hope is that I will one day be able to control my eating on my own, to one day be able to stop at “one”. Yeah, sure. I have to call Pat.