Wrestling Demons and Food

Well, apart from the damnable ankle keeping me sedentary for over a week now, I have had some stronger de-motivating emotional battles not directly related to food -but we’ll get to that-or surgery .  This post is off the beaten path of this WLS blog.  I wasn’t really sure I wanted to come here and expose myself so vulnerably, but maybe it will help me to close Pandora’s lid and put her back in the attic of my mind – for longer this time.   

I know I’ve mentioned my marriage literally crumbled before my eyes in 2013 and crescendoed into the “rock bottom” stage in late 2014.  Just days before Thanksgiving of last year. We thought we were through and had begun planning our divorce and the communication plan for our (if you can believe it) oblivious children. 

God intervened.  Placed his hands right inside our hearts and our family and my marriage and saved us. I promise you it was a miracle we survived it, and not only survived it, thrive as an essentially brand new couple.  We’re now newly weds who’ve happened to have been married for 15 years before. Although I find that I don’t count the first 14 as a marriage anymore. I mean we were married and had three children together. But we were living lies. 

All I will really detail about it all is that it was hella traumatic and my therapist truly described that my coping routine mirrored true PTSD. 
It’s been a full year since the day I said I want a divorce and everything changed. And I wouldn’t trade what we have now, a year later, for anything. 

But the demons still strike at times, as much as I would like to believe we are past it all and looking ahead. Something will trigger my mind and I cannot help but to fester on it, sometimes a few hours, sometimes a few days. 

In my current throw down at the mat, I’m coming up on two weeks. Doing everything I can to shake it-throwing myself into work, school, watching TV–all in an effort to use my brain in overload or use my brain for entertainment, so as not to think.   Conjuring up woulda-shoulda-coulda and what did..all of it perculates. I neeeeeed it to just stop!

I haven’t seen my therapist since the week before surgery. It’s clear I am over-due for an appointment. 

This circles me back to food. Early in 2015 I gained 40+ lbs alone. I ate my grief, my pain.  Things were going well then, repaving the road to emotional intimacy and trust. But I hid my pain, suffered in silence, I didn’t want to rock the now calmed boat, and I fed it with whatever I could to make me feel better. Food, Valium, alcohol, sleep. He knew, understood it, and was helpless to change it. 

This brings me to my WLS journey. Having this surgery was going to give me back control of me.  And it’s been such a blessing to be focused on just me, my emotional healing, my strength and my body. 

This raging demon has been relentless. It’s taken me away from my focus on WLS-food prep, execise, protein, water, vitamins. It’s work. And if it’s something I don’t have to do like work or school, I don’t want to do anything at all except sleep. Housework, laundry, cook, nothing. I find myself searching for food to comfort me. Thankfully I have very little if any in the house to feed it and I’m home 85% of my days. I recognize this pattern and am trying to fight it but honestly I have been losing.  Add in the ankle, and I’m just defeated. 

So please send prayers my way that I can get past this muck of memories soon and re-focus on my journey and me.   

Thanks for listening. 

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Sappy Thursday

 

So I feel compelled to give my husband a shout out. He doesn’t even read my blog, so I’m not looking to score brownie points with my man. 

My husband an I have been through the rigors in our 15+ years. I mean serious shit. But somehow we manage to prevail and have a better marriage today than ever before. 

Yay me right? But see, this surgery was kind of a big deal…

My husband likes my size. Seriously. He is not super excited personally for me to get ‘skinny’. But he knows, knew, my weight was killing me. Potentially, quite literally.  He watched me and cheered me as I rode the diet and excersize yo-yo hell.  Watched helplessly as my self esteem went to the shitter with every pound I didn’t lose and gained +.  And he stood by me when I finally broke down and said I have to have this surgery. 

I didn’t go through health insurance folks, mine specifically excludes coverage for gastric procedures. I paid cash.  That was a big deal. As he tries to build up our cattle herd so that we can have a lucrative retirement, I essentially went out and bought a new car, when we could have bought 20 cows with that money. But he didn’t even bat an eye. Because he knows this was my last straw, my last weapon in the arsenal to finally conquer my weight problem and my relationship with food problem. And hopefully regain me in the process. He can’t wait to see me again…  

So yeah, shout out to the hubs. He deserves it.