Made the decision to work the application process for bariatric surgery. Saw the GP yesterday – part one of what for some is a long process, is now complete. Bariatric surgery is something I have not wanted for two reasons 1. it is now a key hole surgery – this area of my body is one of the very few spaces left that has NOT been violated in ANY way / shape or form. 2. My umbilical area was the ONLY actual connection I’d had to my birth mother – it was sacred to me and I did not want that to be fucked with when so much more of me has been fucked with.
Three years down the road and I’ve gone from 204kg to the lowest a few months back now which was around 153kg. I began putting weight back on earlier this year, steadily climbing to what I consider to be my ‘safe weight’ – around 160kg. One of the biggest challenges I have is feeling safe, period. Under that umbrella of feeling safe, is a smaller umbrella about being unable to say no to unwanted sexual attention. So the equation goes like this: I loose weight + men begin looking at me in a different light + me being unable to manage the fear that arises as a direct result of that = me putting weight back on in an effort to keep men away from me. And it’s worked very, very well for that specific purpose.
The adverse effect that my cleverly designed formula didn’t take into account was the slim (no pun intended) possibility that one day I may actually like to be thin, feel attractive, perhaps even express my sexual identity via clothing. And guess what? Some days I’m at that place where I’d like to express myself sexually. It was a shock to realise. It was also a shock to then comprehend the reality of my body size – the folds of excess skin – the sweat rashes that feel like raging infernos during Summer months, and just how fuck ugly my body actually looked undressed.
Losing a lot of weight has served to increase the excess skin – mostly the tops of my thigh, the triceps area and of course my lower belly. For a while there I actually toyed with the idea of putting a heap of weight on again just to fill out the excess skin.
ANYways – I’ve digressed.
Whilst with the GP yesterday I got on the scales to pleasantly discover I’d gained the sum total of 1kg since May this year. Now what is astounding to me about that is the way I’ve been eating for the last 6 months. I had a period of what could have been 2 weeks where I went to KFC & McDonalds 2-3 times a week. Sometimes I did KFC & McD’s both on the same day. What did I think I was doing? I was hard out surviving, that’s what I was doing.
It hurts me greatly to know that I still managed to fall spectacularly between the cracks with all the people who are paid to support people like me. It hurts me spectacularly to know that I knew that those who are paid to support me are not of the calibre required to be able to support someone like me. And it infuriates me to learn that some people in support roles believe they are well enough themselves to make judgements and decisions about me without actually bothering to include me in that process.
For those of you reading this and whom can claim to actually know me – my guess for support people making decisions about me without including me in on the decision making process can only be about ensuring that these people manage to avoid being accountable for letting me down.
I often feel incredibly bewildered by the dishonesty and ease in which so called professional people escape being held accountable while vulnerable people like myself are then left to mange lives that we’re already struggling to manage. There is no such thing as transparency in environments designed to excuse those working in it from being accountable for their lacking ability to give a fuck about people like me.
ANYways – exhale ….
This morning I was told that some of those support people whom I’d erased from my life a few short weeks back, are wondering why it is that “I’m not getting it” – in terms of the food thing, in terms of allowing myself to live etc. The wonderful thing was that hearing this validated what I’d known for months – those people & their soul destroying talk modalities were no good for me. I felt acknowledged, that again I’d been proven correct in the knowing that CBT, DBT, SFT, ACT do.not.assist.me. How do I know this? It’s simple – and the first nudge I received that these modalities were not in alignment with me was that I felt cut off from my feelings.
I was more often than not left feeling disempowered, disjointed / disconnected from self and spoken down to – condescended to. At the end of most sessions I’d be awarded with accolades of how well I was doing and all that ridiculous stuff that leaves me and others I’m certain, feeling like children being patted on the head before being put to bed for the evening so that the parent can get some rest.
Four words: Fuck all of you.
Another four words: You.did.me.wrong.
I have a lot more to write about reclaiming myself from those paid to allegedly support others. Why? Because when I stop making choices about attending appointments that I already know are not serving me – and – when I make decisions for myself and disallow myself to continue supporting the bullshit that many wish to believe is a ‘one method works for all’ regime, I begin to feel better about myself – I begin to feel more in charge of myself. I begin making better food choices for myself.
There are some awesome things coming …
