My name is Erica and I’m fat.

I’ve been fat since I was a freshman in high school. Talk about adding insult to injury. Like being a teenager isn’t fraught with enough angst? Luckily, I had my stellar personality going for me. I was outgoing and funny and people liked to hang around me. Typical fat person stereotype, I guess. I was the fat, funny friend. The sidekick. Never the star. Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I wasn’t miserable. I had boyfriends and dates and friends to hang with every weekend. (Hi Becky!) Eventually, my personality took a turn for the worse and I alienated almost all my friends and boyfriends. But that’s a whole ‘nother story.

I have the fat gene in my family. My mother was overweight her whole adult life and my biological father was super obese when he died. Then, there’s the fact that being raised by someone with food issues doesn’t bode well for nutritional smartitude as an adult. Throw in some emotional trauma and you have the recipe for a fatty. Now, I don’t use any of these things as an excuse or a justification. I merely want you to understand that there is no single reason for my obesity.

Along those lines, there won’t be a single “cure,” either. WLS is a tool that I’m going to use to change my life. I don’t expect the surgery to do anything but give me a large shove in the right direction. I forget where I read it, but a post-WLS blogger wrote that the surgery is only on your body… your mind is exactly the same afterward. I think about that all the time. I can voluntarily have my insides rearranged but that’s not going to change the fact that I’ve got an unhealthy relationship with food.

But I’m ready for this drastic change for so many reasons. I know people say you have to want to do it for yourself, but I think that’s bullshit. Some people want to look hot for their high school reunion. Some want to reverse health problems associated with obesity. Me? I want to be a better mom. I want to run and play with Maddie. I don’t ever want my weight to hold us back or stop us from doing anything. I want to be a good role model. And I want to live a long, long time for her. I can’t control that, I know. But I can sure as hell stop making my lifetime shorter than it has to be all for the sake of food.

Informal Poll #5980934234

Unless you are a Total Skimmer, you know that I’m in the preparation stage for gastric bypass. I should be meeting with the surgeon, nutritionist and psychologist in March, as a matter of fact. Anyhow, there are quite a few things I’d like to blog about in conjunction with the surgery and aftermath, but I’m not sure any of you care about it. I mean, this blog doesn’t advertise itself as a “weight loss surgery” (WLS) blog, so presumably, that’s not what you’re here to read. Or, would you find it interesting nonetheless?

So, my options are to create a new WLS blog, or write about it on this blog. Opinions?

Life After Z*oloft

I find that I am no longer overwhelmed as easily as I used to be. I don’t obsess or worry over things anymore… especially where Maddie is concerned. I used to constantly question myself and my parenting “style.” Was I doing this or that right? Was I causing long-term psychological damage? Of course I wasn’t. I don’t abuse my daughter in any way, shape or form. I parent her the way that works for us. She’s a happy, well adjusted kid and that’s all the matters. I don’t really care anymore how anyone else does it. This is the best part of the Z*oloft treatment. I feel so free of the burden of worrying.

I was talking to a friend last night and she commented on how much better I sounded. Like my old self, even. I suppose I do, to the outside world. On the inside, I’m even better than my old self. My internal dialog is so much more positive. I’m not beating myself up or putting myself down anymore. Well, occasionally, but not constantly.

It almost feels like the first time I wore glasses as a kid. I never knew that I couldn’t see well. I saw things the way I saw things. It wasn’t until I saw things clearly for the first time that I knew I hadn’t been all along. Does that make sense?

Anyhow, the reason I’m telling you all this is to encourage anyone who’s on the fence about talking to their doctor about their depression/anger/anxiety. I’m not saying Z*oloft is for everyone, because it’s not. But I am sure there IS a treatment for everyone. Talk therapy, drug therapy, meditation, hypnosis, yoga, whatever. Don’t be embarrassed to talk about it and don’t wait any longer.

Alive and Well

It’s been a week since my self-imposed hiatus began, and honestly, I’m not ready to come back. This week has been wonderful. I’ve been working out regularly, going to the park with Maddie, and generally not being a slave to the Internet.

I’m not sure how long this is going to last. I’ve been blogging on and off for at least three years, so I’m sure that I’ll be back. But for right now, I’m enjoying this change in perspective. I’m well on my way to getting my priorities straight and it feels fantastic.

Detox

I’m a pretty social person (read: loud and in everyone’s business) and this presents a unique problem now that I’m staying at home. There’s no drama or gossip. There aren’t any cliques, there isn’t any backstabbing. No rumors or lies. When I was at The Workplace, I despised these things (well, all except the gossip since we’re being totally honest here.) but now I find that I’m actively seeking them out. Where? In the blogsphere of all places.

I intuit slight where none was intended, I try to make comments into a popularity contest,  I get pouty and put-out when someone else gets linked or mentioned on another blogger’s site. I want to change my “style” to mirror more popular bloggers so I can sit at this imaginary cool kids table that exists only in my head.

Dude. How pathetic is that? I’ve really got to hang out with friends more often. Meet some local people. Something other than get way too emotionally involved in blogging.

Therefore, I’m going on a self-imposed blogging detox. I’m going to stay away from all things blog-related until I get my perspective straight.

Inner Self

My secret inner self is Kat Von D. All tattooed up and doing my own thing. Sometimes I get the urge to embrace this inner self and say “fuck it” to convention. Bring on the tattoo needles and dirty looks from The UpTights!!!! Then, reality sets back in and I’m ok being my outer self for a little while…. until I see someone who has made their secret inner self their outer self.

Who’s your secret inner self? Would you look or act any different if work/family/society didn’t have say?

Tidbits

1. The Z*oloft seems to be working. That, or it’s a great placebo affect. I don’t feel like bursting into song or dancing a jig, but I haven’t cried in days. I’m taking Maddie to run some errands today and I don’t feel anxious about it all. I’m looking forward to seeing what other changes are in store for me as the medicine continues to help.

2. I bought and read four new books last week. The Glass Castle, Water For Elephants, The Almost Moon and The Darkest Evening of the Year. Here’s my review of each in a nutshell:
The Glass Castle: Don’t read it if you’re depressed. You might think that reading about someone who’s life is much worse off than your own might inspire you to stop moping around, but you’d be wrong. Instead, you’d get even more depressed over this woman’s horrific childhood.

Water For Elephants: Even if you have no interest in circuses or the depression era you will still like this book. You will be surprised and delighted by this fact.

The Almost Moon: Yet another bad choice for the depressed folks. I absolutely adored The Lovely Bones, and I missed Lucky, so I picked up this Sebold book in a hurry. I was both depressed and disappointed after reading this book. It’s morose and the ending is so crappy that I slammed the book down in a snit.

The Darkest Evening of the Year: I have been reading Koontz since I was in high school. This book is classic Koontz and left me neither depressed or snitty.

3. Our trip to Austin was canceled two weeks ago do to family illnesses, so we’re going this weekend. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone and showing off Maddie’s new walking skills.

4. Sadie, the new dog, is doing well. I’m discovering that she has no boundaries, though. She just noses her way into wherever she wants to be. She’s stubborn as a mule and afraid of thunderstorms. But sweet and calm. It makes me happy to know that she’s going to live out her remaining years safe, comfortable, and loved.

5. One of my good friend’s mother passed away this week. She battled pancreatic cancer for more than two years. I remember when my mom was dying, I wished for someone to talk to who knew what it felt like. I got to be that person for my friend, but I feel like I failed miserably. I had no idea what to say and I think everything I said probably upset her more than she was. It also brought back a lot of memories…. and not pleasant ones. Surprisingly, I didn’t dwell on it. I felt sad and missed my mom, and then moved on with life again. I’m sure these moments will happen for the rest of my life. I’m ok with that.

6. I really like my new haircut and I’m glad I had so much taken off. I don’t feel smothered by hair anymore. I guess I’m just not a long hair kind of girl. Also, I can put it into very cute little pigtails now…which I have to do when housecleaning. I hate my hair plastered to my sweaty face. Bleh.

Look who’s nutritionally sound!

I made a recipe from that Toddler Nutrition website I told you about. Specifically, I made the Apple Breakfast Bars. While they aren’t really “bar-like” in their consistency, they are super yummy. Maddie wolfed one down at snack time today, along with accompanying “mmmmm”s. I love that this recipe is chock full of fiber and wholesome goodness and has no added sugar. All the sweetness comes from the apples (I used Honeycrisp, fyi.) and the dates. I also used real orange juice without any added junk. Other than a slight mishap with the box grater while shredding apples, I am chalking this one up as a total success. I told Gerald just to ignore it if he happens to find my flesh in one of the bars.

If you decide to make it, or any of the recipes on the site, lemme know. I’d love to hear how it goes.

Birth Stories

I am envious of women who have wonderful, non-traumatic birth stories. Stories where everyone is nervous and excited and scared, but things all work out just fine. Mine is not such a story. I don’t share my birth story with anyone. I especially won’t share it with Maddie when she’s older. I will concoct a new version for her ears.

I am over the nightmares and the panic attacks that used to come with the memory of Maddie’s birth, but I am still scarred by it. I speak of emotional scarring, not physical. I wear the physical scar with with enormous pride. Not only did I give birth to a beautiful and perfect daughter via that physical scar, it is also proof that I survived the most painful thing I have ever experienced.

It took four blown-out veins and an episode of vasoconstriction before my I.V. was in. It took the anesthesiologist an hour to get my epidural in place. By that point, I had to be sedated because I was losing my shit. When I was wheeled into the OR, the nurse kept pinching and pricking me to see if it had taken effect. I kept telling her that I felt it, but she said that was normal. I was supposed to feel it, but it wasn’t supposed to hurt.

The doctors began the c-section and I discovered that my epidural had only taken effect on the left side of my body. I felt everything on the right. Every cut, every slice, EVERYTHING. I kept telling the nurse that it hurt, but she kept telling me that all I was feeling was pressure. I screamed at her that what I felt was PAIN. When they removed Maddie from my womb, I could barely focus on what was going on. I saw her and then screamed with pain as the doctors continued on with whatever it is they do after the baby is out. Finally, the nurse took mercy on me and gave me a mask with some kind of gas in it. I don’t remember anything else until waking up in the recovery room. Gerald says that I was awake and carried on a conversation with him while surgery was finished. I have absolutely no memory of it. I don’t know if it was whatever the nurse gave me, or if I have simply blocked it out because it was so painful.

For months afterward, I felt invincible. I had felt my c-section and lived to tell about it! Now, I’m just pissed. Why is it that the nurse didn’t listen to me? Why did she think she knew better what I was feeling than I did? Did she feel guilty about it later? Did she care at all? Does she even remember? Because I do.

Sick

Sorry for the absence, kids. I’ve got a bitch of a head cold.

I’ll be back when I’m off the NyQuil Express.