crosswind's Blog

11 Days Out

No one knows I'm doing this. It's funny, even though I don't qualify for regular insurance and even though I'm clearly obese no one would suspect that I, the quietly growing mushroom in the corner, would one day get on a flight to Mexico to have my stomach cut out. Maybe this is common for wealthy or extremely confident people. I read all the time about movie stars and other sparkly people jetting off to Rome or Cancun -- or what is it these days? Cabo San Lucas with only a bikini and a couple of syringes in a Prada bag but for me this is one gutsy, desperate, expensive, slightly terrifying thing I'm doing. I am not a good flyer. I am a bad flyer. When I get on an airplane I instantly begin to calculate the strength and the agility of the people around me to gauge whether they would be saveable or not if we rocketed into the ocean and it was up to me to get their infirm asses up to the surface and home to their yorkie, Funyons. I usually drink a lot on a flight but this will not be allowed eleven days from now because, as I mentioned, I will be having my stomach cut out the next day. I was just reading an article in the New York Times about the search for an incisionless solution to obesity. They're not having much luck. The fact is that even though twenty percent of people in the US would qualify for surgery, a number that's growing each year, no one's got much more of an answer than to cut your stomach out. I used to think there was some kind of special thing I was not personally doing and once I discovered it I would find myself in an instant size eight, but now I don't think so. I think consumer culture is trying to kill us. The problem is that as food gets cheaper to produce and there are more people on the planet, the quality of it all tanks. There are these places in the US called food deserts where you can't find a leaf of lettuce to save your life but Little Debbie, Hostess and Aunt Jemina are smiling from every shelf like spokesmodels for the apocalypse. I'm five ten and I weigh about 280. Seven years ago I went on the Atkins diet and lost all the weight: I zipped around in teen section jeans from Target and fell in love with a guy who didn't understand what it was taking me, what it had taken me to get to that point. He was a food nazi and a semi-vegetarian and he kept telling me everything I did was "unhealthy". I would work out an hour and a half a day, he told me I wasn't doing enough cardio. He would actually get redfaced over this stuff. His thing was, he was born naturally thin and he really paid very little attention to what he was supposed to be doing or eating, because being naturally thin, he was naturally healthy. I had to work at it. So he would go to work and graze from the Estrogen Bar set out by the office ladies and then come home and want to go out to eat. He loved restaurants.I would have to diet like crazy to keep up with this, and it finally got to the point where I would go off by myself, binge for a couple weeks, then spend the next couple weeks starving myself, and then reappear again, thin as ever. By the time we broke up I weighed about 240, up from a very happy 150 when we first met. During the breakup process, I put on forty more pounds. It was easy, it was instanteous. So for a while I gave up on the whole thing. I mean, how much heartbreak do you need to pack into an issue before you just check out and go for the pasta? I just kept buying bigger and bigger clothes. I didn't care, no one was ever going to love me again and I was now over 40. If I lived in the old country I could put on black robes and a veil and make everybody in the village dumplings every day. And then I realized something kind of odd. The reason we really broke up was because I was too fat for him already, when we met. I wasn't perfect then. I was a blank, doofus of an in-love slate to be improved upon, screamed and tantrummed at and *nothing* in the world would ever make me loveable enough for him. You really have to ask yourself in these moments if you want to live or die, because I had been almost intentionally, systematically destroying myself for a couple of years. But I didn't have the heart for another diet. Atkins wasn't working the way it had for one thing and my life and my body had changed in the past seven years. I had started smoking again. Seven years ago people were saying my god you're so thin how are you doing this you look like a different person just beautiful where is the rest of you? I'm ashamed I'm all the way back where I was then. I don't like to go out where people can see me and compare my old self to my new self. I hate the whole thing. For a while I just decided to be fat. I would walk around asking myself, am I loveable this way? Am I really disqualified from society because of a hundred pounds? It's still a good question, right? Then for a while I tried to do a Geneen Roth thing and "just eat normally". The problem is, for me, eating normally means I gain forty pounds in six months. It would take a year to get back there if I got there at all. I need help, that's just all there is to it. I am not going to count, measure, starve, obsess, and do all that, live on the edge of anxiety all the time worried that I'll somehow destroy my life if i have a piece of cake, only to gain it *all* back anyway in a moment of weakness. There has to be a better way. I really hope this is the way. I'm so sick of this now. It's enough already.

crosswind

March 17, 2011

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