"Show 'Em Whatcha Got." - Public Enemy

Right now I have a cold.  I can’t breathe from my nose.  I can’t sleep.  Lots of sneezing.  Can’t taste anything.  You get the drift.  When the back of my throat started to hurt on Monday, I thought I could work really hard at the gym and sweat it out, but that didn’t work.  I sweated twice as hard but accomplished less than usual ‘cos my body was just not feeling it.  Tried again Tuesday and my body basically said “FU, watch this”, then Wednesday I woke up late for work after a restless night with my phone alarm going off in my ear and a full blown cold……the kind where people look at you like you have two heads and wonder why the hell you are out in public.  And it’s stuck around.  It’s Friday and I’ve still got it.  I never get sick like this so I really thought I could just ignore it and it would go away, but no such luck.

But hey – my hair has stopped falling out!   Praise Jesus!  (Just kidding.  No, it did stop falling out but I don't praise Jesus.)  And it has started to become necessary for me to retire many of my clothes.  This is a kind of overwhelming project…to sort through my clothes.  I have a lot of clothes.  A LOT, a lot.  And I have always liked loose, flowy clothes so I’m not the best judge of what I should keep and what is just plain too big.  After trying and failing to sort through them all in one shot, I decided to take a different approach.  Now whenever I put something on and I clearly cannot wear it anymore, I automatically put it in the donation bag that sits in my room.  I have already filled up 3 garbage bags.  If anyone knows someone who needs women's plus sized clothes, please contact me.

March 2012 - My highest weight ever.  Never going back.

This approach doesn’t always work.  A couple weeks ago I went to my friend Rick’s place and I was carrying a bunch of stuff up to his apartment.  Both hands were full and my jeans started to fall down.  By the time I got up the four flights of stairs to his place, my jeans were down at my ankles. I’m not kidding….I had no pants on!  And I had just walked up four flights of stairs carrying many things and I could still breathe enough to laugh hysterically about it!   It was awesome.   I had just put on those jeans right out of the dryer so it’s not like they were stretched out from multiple wears.  So I had to accept that even though they were my favourite jeans, it was time to say goodbye to them.  I’m sure I will have many more favourite jeans before this deal is done.

On July 6, it was 6 months since my gastric sleeve surgery.  I didn’t even notice.  Rick sent me a text wishing me a happy surgiversary, as they call it in the weight loss surgery community, and I momentarily enjoyed the good wishes and positive energy he sent to me, and then I started to PANIC.  Shouldn’t I have made more progress by now?    Shouldn’t I have lost more weight?  I’m due for my six months follow up…. How could I not even notice?  I’m a terrible weight loss surgery patient, I don’t follow rules and therefore I’m a terrible person. 

That’s how I think.  For me, it’s not a big leap from happiness to soul crushing unhappiness.  I can get there in two minutes flat.  I’m sure it must be somewhat amusing and/or frustrating to those observing from a distance that I can take ANY situation and spin in so it’s not only negative but that it must also somehow be my fault that things went wrong.  I ALWAYS internalize everything.  Something around me goes wrong, it must be my fault.  There must be something wrong with me.  And the thing is….I KNOW I’m doing this.  I just can’t stop doing it.  I don’t know what’s wrong me……Ha!

Before I had my surgery, I thought nothing is going to come before my weight loss efforts…that the surgery and the “journey” afterwards were going to be my number one priorities for the entire year and I wouldn’t focus on anything else.    Nothing could distract me from it. 

Man, I was SO wrong.  There are distractions and stress everywhere.   And I don’t know if I just thought I would live in a bubble for a year after my surgery and that’s all I would have to think about or what but the last month or so has been really stressful, really hard for me.  There’s a lot going on and I’m kind of a mess about it all.   I have found it difficult to talk about or even admit to myself because I know that every single person I know is rooting for me in this weight loss journey and because of that, I don’t want to admit when things are going bad or I screw up or whatever.  I feel like I can only talk about the great stuff – and there is a lot of great stuff.  I don’t want to let anyone down and I don’t want to be a failure.  I don’t want anyone to go, "oh we knew she couldn’t do it.  I don’t know why she won’t just accept herself the way she is.”  I don’t even feel like I can talk about these struggles with other weight loss surgery patients because it seems like everyone else just sails through the first year and drops all their weight like a hot potato.  Not me – I am fighting for every pound.  It is certainly not dropping off.  And my "everything is fine" veneer is cracking big time.

Some of the stressful stuff going on in my world:

•  Watching Sam move on – really move on and get totally serious about a new woman – has been way harder than I thought it would be.  I don’t think I expected to be “replaced” so easily and so quickly.  I really, really wanted to be totally cool, just like Sam’s ex was to me when I entered Sam’s life, but I just can’t yet.  Sam has been my best friend for the last 7 years and suddenly that’s gone.  It’s just not there anymore.  I had to detail for USCIS our entire relationship and writing that all out made me so incredibly sad.  Even though I know it’s right for both of us, I feel like a failure for not being able to make the relationship work.
•   I’m experiencing some health issues that have nothing to do with weight loss surgery.  Because of these health issues I have to go for my first mammogram and get a bunch of ultrasounds.  I’ve dealt with medical issues before, obviously, but these health concerns are all centered around my various lady parts and that’s extremely distressing to me.
•   My friendship with Rick has completely ended and I am so very sad about that.  Rick was one of the few friends I had here in Rochester who was not also connected to Sam in some way and he’s been a huge emotional support for me since before my surgery.  The way it ended brought up all kinds of baggage for me about who I tell myself I am…selfish, a liar, a destroyer of people.  Those thoughts have been a struggle to control.
•   The health of one of our dogs has deteriorated significantly.  She’s 14 and appears to now be deaf and blind and incontinent.  And she can’t really get around on her own very well either.  Lately she has been falling down the basement stairs if we aren’t watching her.  Seeing how dependent the little creature we used to call "the Anarchist" has become and watching her decline is really upsetting.
•    My Green Card is expiring on July 30 and I am big time freaking out about what’s going to happen now.  The USCIS issues Permanent Residents a 2 years conditional card when they first enter the country.  The condition is I am married to a US Citizen.  That’s why I was allowed to enter the country.  I have applied to remove the conditions and for them to issue me a 10 year unconditional Green Card.    But with my marriage being all but legally over, I don't know what to expect now.   It could be a year before the situation is resolved, but in the meantime my current GC will be extended for a year so I can still travel and work.  I am almost positive my case will at the very least be looked at closer and both Sam and I will get pulled in for an interview which will delay the process even longer.  I have no idea if we can begin divorce proceedings during this process or not.  The outcome of it is what has me worried though.  If my case officer decides Sam and I didn’t have a real relationship, they will deport me.  If they deport me, they could also ban me for the rest of my life from the country.  That is the worst case scenario, and that is pretty bad.

(BTW - As a far as I’m concerned, after USCIS is done with me, if I am allowed to stay in the US, I should be considered fully vetted and beyond reproach by anyone in this country.  This process has been completely invasive.  There is nothing the United States government doesn’t know about me.  Whether you immigrate from Canada or Iraq, the exact same process applies.  The US government has seen all my financial and medical records several times,  done extensive background checks on me, asked for multiple references who are willing to provide information about me under oath if asked, done completely invasive medical testing – including a strip search – on me and they know the details of my private life.    So I’m feeling pretty self-righteous.  If I am allowed to stay in this country, no future employer, future friend, future landlord or future partner should ever feel at all hesitant about me or question my integrity.  The fact that I successfully and legally immigrated to the US is all the proof I need that I am trustworthy.  No joke.)
•    Work.  I don’t even want to go into this, but I think it’s time for me to move on and this has been a source of tension for me for a while.  I was distracted by my surgery enough that I didn’t care before but now that I’m well into my surgery journey, it’s a problem and it’s stressing me out.

In case I didn’t explicitly say it, right now at this point of my journey I do feel like I’m in a pretty dark place.  The gym is really the only place where I feel in control, completely comfortable, confident, and relaxed.  Every other thing in my life right now has me on edge and I feel really isolated. 

As a result, I have felt myself reverting back to old behaviours, like eating and casual sex to make me feel better.  The cool thing is I could see what I was doing without any analysis on my part.  I really didn’t have to look very hard …it was obvious to me that I was looking for comfort with food and sex.  I bought the damned Golden Oreos and devoured the entire package in 3 days.  And when it was gone I thought, well do you feel better now?  The answer was, of course, no.  And did that guy who didn’t even remember your name make you feel better?  As if.  How about the other guy who knew your name and humoured you enough to talk to you but also clearly didn’t give a shit about you…did HE make you feel better?  Etc.

(Dear Laura:  Fuck you.  I get it, now shut up about it.  Love, me.)

So yeah I reverted back to those behaviours but it was controlled.  I knew what I was doing and stopped myself before it became more than a package of cookies or a few casual encounters.  I’m not justifying what I did but I’m saying that I’m learning.  I’m growing.  I'm onto my own games.  I screwed up and I’m ok about it.  I know it was a problem and I’m not out of the woods yet.  I am considering giving Jessica a call. 

I think the challenge for me is navigating the very fine line between self-destructive behavior and pleasure.  I have always thought of myself as a hedonist…..someone who devotes their life to the pursuit of pleasure.  For as long as I can remember, pleasure has been a priority for me and I never saw anything wrong with that and I really don’t want to change that.  Pleasure is the ultimate high for me and I’ll do what I have to do to get there….even if it’s humiliating, even if I’m scared, even if I need to suspend my common sense or intelligence.  For me, there is something valuable in the experience of the pursuit of pleasure.  Experiencing pleasure is a revelation, it’s a religious experience, and it’s mind-altering.   A life without pleasure seems so dull. 

But many of the things that give me pleasure are also the things I use to self-destruct.  I can’t completely eliminate food and sex from my life, and it is a real challenge for me to treat these things “moderately” and with respect.  Treating food that way has become a lot easier for me since my surgery.  I know if I, for example, get 4 beautiful scallops and perfectly sear them and eat them with a side of spinach for dinner, that I’m treating myself well and giving myself pleasure.  Sex is another story.  When you don’t have a partner you are committed to, sex is a tricky deal and the line between pleasure and self-destruction is blurry.  You can start an experience off with the best intentions and try to make it about pleasure but if your partner isn’t about that, then it can turn self-destructive FAST.  Most casual partners don't give a shit about your needs, your process, your wish for pleasure.  Even if they say and think they do, they really don't.

One of the things I worked with my therapist on was the idea of living through feelings of discomfort.  Any feelings of discomfort, for any reason.  For whatever reason, I never learned to handle "feelings"....I knew anger and happiness.  That's it.  So my response to any unpleasant feeling has always been to automatically get angry and eat so I feel better and whatever uncomfortable feeling there was just goes away.  Jessica and I talked a lot about mindfulness and acknowledging the uncomfortable feeling and just allowing it to exist while still getting on with the rest of the day.

It occurred to me this week that working out with my trainer has also given me some amazing skills for handling discomfort.  When I think back to when I first started with her, man - was I a whiner.  Yeah I kept going back but I didn’t think I could do anything, I didn’t want to try anything, I didn’t want to sweat, I didn’t want to hurt, I didn’t want anyone to see me working out.  One day, Dana - my trainer - told me, “girl you need to develop some mental toughness!”.  I’ll tell you what, I nearly punched her right in the face.  I was so insulted that this perky 26 year old girl who had dedicated her life to being fit and has never experienced true hardship had the guts to tell me I wasn’t tough.  It was only months later that I could understand where that comment was coming from and I had to agree.

I’m not sure how or when the toughness transformation happened but it happened at some point during the last two months.     Dana told me a few times that during a good workout you get tired, then feel pain, then numbness, and if you push through all that then you’re ok and you can just keep going.  I thought she was crazy….surely only crazy people think like that, but she was right.  I don’t complain anymore or say no to anything she has me do.  If she asks if I want a lighter weight or a heavier one, I always pick the heavier one.  I never stop when she tells me I’m allowed to stop, I always go a few reps more just so I know I’m pushing that little extra.  I don’t want to feel like I’m doing the bare minimum.  I deserve more than the bare minimum.  In fact, I’ve upped my 60 minute workouts to 5 days a week, and Dana gave me a walking challenge of 10 miles for the month of July and I’ve already blown way past that with 5 days to go.  And........she made me run one day last week.  Run! 

I’m never sore or tired the day after a workout.  This baffles her.  She is convinced now I just won’t admit that I’m sore and tired so she tries to break me by working me harder and harder each time.  I’m grateful for her determination and I push myself but I just am not sore or tired the next day.   Last night I did a mile on the treadmill to warm up like I usually do.  (Actually, sometimes I row instead.)  Then I did:  100 squats with 15 pound weights; 100 push presses with 15 pound weights; 75 two-hand swings with 15 pound weights; 25 leg lifts; 25 flutters; 125 jabs with 5 pound weights; 125 power hand with 5 pound weights; and 100 rapid fires with 5 pound weights.  I was so sore and so tired when I was done.  Today I don’t hurt and I’m not tired.

It was hard and it hurt like hell but it also felt amazing.....exhilarating!  The whole point last night was to do as many reps of each thing as I could possibly do before I felt like I would die and honestly I could have done more of each (except the leg lifts and flutters – I really need to work on abs!) but I wanted to keep moving.  Each time I started the next exercise, after a few reps, I really wanted to stop……I started to get tired very quickly.  But then Dana started talking to me and I found after awhile I was automatically going with the momentum of the movement and not even noticing the pain even though it was still there.  Working through the discomfort.  Accepting it and allowing myself to feel it without trying to push it away.

This is all new to me ‘cos I'm pretty much a spoiled princess.  Always have been and I know it.  A princess who is obsessed with black, who listens to Lords of Acid and has no interest in finding a prince who will rescue her……but still, a princess all the same.  I want what I want when I want it and I usually get it.  I have no patience.  I don't wait.  I have to work hard for anything.  I’m permissive with myself and expect other people to be also.  These are not my best qualities.  I’m not proud to have these qualities.  I don’t think, “oh well that’s the way I am so I’m just going to accept myself.”

I have always simultaneously loved and hated people who say no to me.  The 10 year old kid in me who has no impulse control hates people who say no to me, because……. how dare you say no to me!  Indignant outrage!  The woman in me really respects people who say no to me.  Thank you for caring enough to say no, thank you for being stronger than me, thank you for providing some stability to my pandemonium.  It kind of makes me feel safe when people tell me no.  When people tell me yes, I feel like I’m in control of the world and that scares the shit out of me.   In spite of how bossy I appear, I don’t want to be in control of the world.  I just want to be a bossy smart ass.

A few nights ago at the gym I met a guy who had gastric bypass surgery (a different kind of weight loss surgery than what I had) in Mexico.  He developed a very nasty infection afterwards and he almost died.  He was in ICU for four months…he just got out.  Talking to him about his experience made me feel incredibly grateful for mine and made me realize that it really is about time for me to start saying no to myself.  No, I don’t “deserve” the package of Golden Oreos because I’ve been working so hard.  What I  deserve is to love myself enough to say no to the Golden Oreos.  No, I don’t “have” to have a piece of cake because it’s someone’s big night.  No, I don’t get to “treat” myself by skipping the gym tonight.  And no, this dude who doesn’t give a shit about me is not going to give me the night of my life, so don’t expect he will and hate myself when he doesn’t. 

"Dare to Be Me", by Janet Visser



I’m not sure I ever talked about what I want to do for my first tattoo.  I was actually going to get it done a month ago but instead bought a piece of art called “Dare to Be Me”.  I’m completely mesmerized by this piece and it seemed more important to my journey at that moment than the tattoo did.  What this piece says to me is I am a work in progress and the end result is me...... the real me.  Whatever path I take, it contributes to who I am, but that I always need to be brave enough to make the choices that are true to myself.  It’s a mixed media piece so it says to me there is no one “thing” I am.    It was created using paint, pages from a magazine, pen….it isn’t just one medium.  And that’s me too.  I’m a complicated and bold collage and I’m beautiful and growing into the person I am by making the right choices for who I am.  Usually I just buy pieces that are beautiful for the sake of their beauty.  This one is beautiful, but it has special meaning to me also.

In any case, now it’s time for the tattoo.  My original thought for the tattoo was “True Grit”….the words spelled out with some sort of design.  Then I got the idea to use an Italian version as a nod to my grandmother, who was probably the grittiest woman I knew.  So I came up with a few variations:  Vero Grinta; Vero Grana; or Vero Coraggio.  I haven’t decided which I want to use yet.  But the idea of “True Grit” is something I need right now.  I want to put this tattoo on the underside of my left forearm so I can see it all the time and be reminded of it. This concept came up during a session with Jessica where we talked about the idea of being selfish and what it means to be selfish.  She talked with me about how making choices for yourself, even if they are choices that others don’t agree with, is not selfish…it’s determination.  She helped me see the word “selfish” – which has always been a real sore spot for me – in a new light.  After the month I’ve had, it’s time for some true grit, pronto.

Random Stuff:

·        I can’t write while I listen to music.  It’s one or the other.  In fact, I am just bad at multi-tasking in general.  Two stimulants happening at the same time is just way too much for me.  I forget what I’m doing.

·        I’ve had inner ear problems since I was a kid.  I experience vertigo on a pretty regular basis.

·        My dad was an amateur race car driver when I was a kid.  I grew up at racetracks and I still get kind of a thrill at a track.

·        When my dad raced, he picked up the habit of shimmying the car back and forth while driving and he still does it.  If he’s driving on a highway and I’m in the car with him, I am completely nauseous the entire time.

·        Like most girls, I love horses.  But I hate horse racing. 

·        I like driving fast.  A lot.  There are certain spots where it is a lot of fun….on the 490 going into Rochester across the bridge, around the curves and past Monroe.  I am always really sad when there’s too much traffic I can’t pass anyone there. 

·        I’ve gotten more speeding tickets since I moved to the States (not even 3 years ago) than I have in all the time I drove in Canada (25 years)!  It feels like the cops here are more interested in traffic violations than they are in doing anything about violent crime.