I'm three pounds away from my first mini-goal of (at or below) 300. I'm numb to the volume of that number, but I know that most normal people are not.
On April 13 of this year, I received the roux-en-y gastric bypass surgery, having approximately 80% of my stomach detached and the remaining approximate 20% reattached to a lower part of my upper intestine (or something like that). Simultaneously, I also lost possession of my gallbladder.
For a long time, I was hellbent against having any sort of weight-loss surgery. I considered it the easy way out. Sitting on the other side of the procedure, I can tell you that's not the case. Now on to the nitty gritty.
I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me.
You'd think after my "slice n' dice", as I semi-affectionately term it, I'd straighten the fuck up. Hellll no. Instead, I like experimenting on what pushes me almost to the edge of throwing up, and then I take a step back. Why am I such a self-sabotaging asshole? I informed my repeat boyfriend the other day that I'm literally afraid of losing weight. He and I have been off and on for nearly 13 years... hence "repeat". Okay, so what if I'm afraid of losing weight? To still barely have my weight budge even after this dramatic procedure tells you, and me, that I'm really just doing whatever I can to truncate my progress as much as humanly fucking possible.
What I can give myself is my determination of every day, making sure that I get in my protein (at least 84 grams a day), as well as the four horse pill-sized vitamins that I have to take daily. I will have to stick with at least this aspect of the regiment every single fucking day, until the day that I croak.
As I was in the shower this evening, doing my best thinking as always, I said to myself, "I really need to start exercising. And stop eating solids exponentially." Something has got to give. It's not that I'm unhappy with the nearly 60 lbs. that I've lost thusfar. I'm unhappy with how I lose a big chunk, and then I plateau for days, if not fucking weeks. It. Is. Maddening. And I can't even take out my rage on a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos or a sub sandwich or even a fucking 20 oz. of Diet Coke.
(sighs, and reflects for a moment)
There are good sides to having had this procedure. I'm just still adjusting.
Once I get below the 300 mark, I do think that mentally a switch will be triggered and I'll say, "Holy fuck! I'll be in the 100s before I know it!" and I'll put my ass in motion. Literally. I have a stationary bike that has the cut-off weight of 300, so as soon as I get below 300, I'll start utilizing that daily. I've always liked biking. I also have Richard Simmons DVDs, which is who I prefer because he's sassy and I'm nostalgic. I was raised on his videos.
I'm depressed because I'm going to be starting up my own classroom (God willing) much fatter than I was hoping to be. I know that is such a superficial thing to say, but I have no issue being my own worst critic. Ack. I think I'm done bitching. Now to wake up ass-crack early tomorrow, do my Uber driving schtick, and maybe come home and risk the extra three pounds on my frame while giving the stationary bike a shot. I might even work up the courage to try the bone broth in the pantry.