So I’ve been hacked. I take a writing hiatus for a few weeks (OK, almost a month) and the barbarians invade. I’m flattered. Now take your battering ram and Molotov cocktails and be off with your bad selves. There is truly nothing you can gain by hacking my little blog.
I just posted my most recent photo below (taken on Thursday, May 17th). I can finally buy clothes in Lane Bryant again, as evidenced by this very Lane Bryant outfit. I know, they are the devil — for only Lucifer himself would make sleeveless shirts and short shorts in size 28. I can assure you — you are NOT ready for this jelly.
It’s been so mentally therapeutic to buy clothes that somewhat reflect my tastes (as opposed to the tastes of, say, Liz Taylor). I can’t quite fit into leather chaps and crotchless undies, but you know damn well that’s where I am heading. It’s hard enough weighing 300-plus pounds. But it kills your spirit when you are forced to wear ugly clothes made of synthetic or paper-thin fabric simply because they fit. The horrible fat clothes are almost worse than being fat. Seriously.
I had an a-ha moment yesterday while at my three-month post-surgical checkup. The nurse started talking about the obesity gene. Not much is know about it, other than the fact that a child who inheirits the gene has little chance to escape it. 75% of obesity is inheirited. 25% of obesity is lifestyle. That’s what she said. Holy shit. I think of all the years I spent feeling guilty for my weight — all the years I thought discipline could solve my problems. God damn the medical society for even suggesting Weight Watchers or Xenical or Meridia to someone like me. You fuckers should know better.
Now, for the first time in my life, I am able to implement discipline effectively. I am not driven batshit crazy by the thought of a chocolate chip cookie. I still — and will always — need to exert discipline in eating and exercise. Surgery does not cure these things. It simply levels the playing field. I now get a bat, ball and glove like the rest of the normally-sized world. But I still need to push myself away from the hot dog stand and join the game.
Some other things I’ve noticed. Guys now hold doors open for me (they never did before). They even strike up conversations with me, whether I’m in the elevator or at the convenience store. I find this interesting, cause I’m happily married and wear my ring. I used to stand for minutes at the Clinique counter to get service. Now, she is right there. Theater seats are much more comfortable. The world is so hard on fat people — as if they need it.
I know I have said it before, but if anyone out there has a body mass index of 40 or above, you should seriously look into this surgery. Once you have it, you’ll wonder why you waited so long.