[2] my last shot

1st smallfeather

As a follow on from This Post:

Kaiwhakaora Kai (the name I’ve given the Dietitian I with whom I have a strong sense of trust and respect for) responded to my questions in a reply email.  The bottom line is, she feels the best bit is to go see my GP about the loose skin – particularly in the private area. Turns out I can go see a nurse with whom I feel safe with and I made an appointment to see her on Monday.

Despite what I’ve come through in terms of my sexual healing journey, I’m nowhere near ready to have a male anyone look at that part of my body – my GP is male and I have trust in the way that he thinks and processes information I give him.  I’m just not ready for him to touch or see any part of my body other than my back.

Kaiwhakaora Kai spoke about compression clothing in her emailed reply to me.  I haven’t yet looked into that sort of thing. I don’t actually know what I would be looking for either.  The nurse appointment on Monday will be more informative on such things and I will make a list of some questions too.

I will eventually summon the courage to see my GP to find out facts about bariatric surgery and whether or not I’m eligible for publicly funded surgery.  It sounds great etc – however I stumble around the idea of a surgeon slicing through my belly button region to do their job.  As I touched on in the linked to entry above, my belly button is the only body part I have that has never been violated.  Even just thinking now about someone slicing through my belly button for surgery is causing a near enough gag reflex response.  I wouldn’t care what the scar looked like if surgery could be performed elsewhere without having to go through or too near the belly button region.  Just.not.there.


As a child I vehemently hated my body.  I blamed it – believed that it was my body’s fault for being a girl that I got the sort of treatment (abuse) that I did.  As an adolescent I hated my body – I started cutting, carving and slicing into face, my chest, my wrists and my thighs.  While I no longer self harm / mutilate and now that I understand that it wasn’t my body’s fault for being female that caused me to be subjected to prolonged sexual violence, I am still having issues accepting my body and essentially me.

Before losing weight this time around I often felt betrayed by my body for responding in ways that freaked me the fuck out – especially during the decades of sexual violence where my fucking body would orgasm during specific acts.  Fuck I felt hideously ashamed of myself and that is a small part of the reason that so many of the events that have taken place over the years remained unspoken of until very recently.

Now when I think about my body, I’m caught in a hatred and betrayal of a different kind.  Now I am fucking hating my body because of the lose skin thing that is going on.  I felt hideous before – and admittedly that’s how I felt – now.I.am.looking.hideous – and as more and more weight comes off, the more hideous my body is looking.  And I’m freaking the fuck out.

I was aware that I’d have a massive amount of flabby skin if I were able to have surgery or to lose the weight myself.  I didn’t have a very realistic mental image of what my body would look like after shedding weight.  It’s not looking good folks.

For a very short period of time, I was actually able to look at myself in a mirror and tell myself good shit. I have been unable to look into a mirror for some time now.  The baggier my clothing gets the unhappier and happier I feel at the same time.  Huge conflicts happen.

All I am willing and able to do right now, is to take one day at a time and not panic.  I feel so betrayed.  Even though I know it’s not my body’s fault that I allowed it to get so fucking fat as.  I’m unwilling to continue blaming myself and I often find myself embroiled in grief telling myself things like “if only this and that hadn’t happened” etc – the reality is, I don’t know what would have happened had I not been through what I have.  I may still have turned out to be fat as.