Yes I Can
I’m suffering. I’m rubbish. I’m a failure. I can’t do it.
I didn’t think I should write about this on a weight loss surgery blog as it doesn’t entirely have relevance. Especially as I signed out almost two months ago saying I wouldn’t be writing any more. Ah, but how the slow winter nights of insomnia have a way of thrusting the urge to splurge upon one’s frame.
So, why am I suffering? Why am I rubbish? A failure? And what exactly can’t I do? All will be revealed in the next exciting paragraph.
With as much stalling as I can muster – I am slowly coming to the painful realisation that I might well be an alcoholic.
Ouch. Did I say that?
Well – I may not be an alcoholic, but indeed I am a heavy drinker. All who know me and love or hate me will vouch for that very fact. But when it comes to being a true alcoholic – the definitions seem so muddy, I am not sure. Or am I?
I have no withdrawal symptoms when I stop and I am not dependent, but – I continue to drink despite the negative social effects, despite the financial drain on my less than healthy financial state and despite the effects it has on my health. This is where I am stretching the relevance to a weight loss issue. But lately, I am wondering whether it is more closely linked than I initially thought.
Over the last few months, my progress into the halls of The Temple of Normal BMI has halted. My eating has lessened and my exercise has increased. My drinking has also picked up a tad. Goddammit, there lies the big bloody bastard bugger-face staring me straight in the eyes. I know it’s there. I can see it plainly and simply. Alcohol is causing me to not lose weight, despite being over-tightened on the band front.
Alcohol is causing me to slowly lose friends. Alcohol is causing me to lose money. Alcohol is having great effects on my family life and alcohol is causing me to hate myself.
So you can see the attraction I have to it, eh!
I am writing this because I am so disappointed in myself and have used this outlet to vent and eventually feel better about the problems at hand. However, I don’t think this problem is going to be sorted by vitriolic venting.
What has become clear in this whole gastric band journey is the addiction I had to food – and probably still do. You may well catch me of an evening desperately trying to eat a juicy steak. After each mouthful – running to the lavatory to expel what I have just swallowed as my band is currently just a little too tight. I could easily eat less cumbersome things to ensure ease of passage – but I want the steak. And I will return to the plate and repeat the same procedure perhaps four or five times. Because the band hasn’t cured my need to satisfy my desire for flesh! But it has offered me a way to control it should I so desire. It has helped me realise my addiction more than anything else. A knowledge which I am grateful for; but sometimes a little foolhardy with. I have so far, despite my pitfalls and apparent bulimic state, been relatively good with all other food (I won’t bore you with my chocolate rushes).
Booze on the other hand has no control in place. I am at its mercy. In fact, I am at MY mercy. Let’s face it – I decide when to drink – I am aware and I am fully conscious of what it is doing.
I was under the grand illusions as I started to lose weight that I would quit drinking. I know the reason I do it and it is sadly very simple. I do it because I am terribly shy.
When I have had a drink however, I am quite the opposite. I become bombastic, gregarious and hugely annoying and people, despite their best efforts, can’t fail to notice me. Something in me likes that. The shy retiring giant hates being shy and retiring and craves people to remember him. Even if it means the memories for them are bad and the memories for me are non-existent.
I figured it would be the end to my drinking because I wouldn’t be so shy. Losing weight would give me more confidence and make me more outgoing and allow me to stand tall and have conversations with people on an equal standing knowing that they were talking to a person, not a walrus. But, such is life that when a walrus loses weight – it is still a walrus. I am still painfully shy and I still find it difficult to talk to people. Maybe years of fatness have ingrained shyness into my psyche or maybe I am just shy because I am.
The gastric band has given me a great opportunity to overcome some of my demons. An opportunity that I sometimes abuse and take for granted – time has a wonderful way of letting one forget their blessings. What it hasn’t done is offer me a cure for all of my other failings. Perhaps writing this will be the first step on another journey of self-discovery and perhaps it will just be another piece of prose that adds to my posthumous biography that will never be written.
I decided to write this because I do feel it is of relevance to people considering having the surgery as it has shown me that I was perhaps a little over-eager to consider it the answer to my problems instead of a pretty good guide to help me find my own answers – a guide that is sometimes ignored.
So, after that marathon outpouring of in most angst and in summation:
I’m suffering - yes I am, but I am admitting I need help, so my suffering on that side of things is perhaps no longer in silence and it may well help my future efforts.
I’m rubbish - yes again. But, I know I have a way to crawl out of the trash can. It’s just up to me to do it.
I’m a failure - not entirely, because it’s not yet over. Maybe I can turn things around.
I can’t do it - Yes I can.
Originally posted at: www.lapbandblog.org.uk
7 Comments
Recommended Comments
Create an account or sign in to comment
You need to be a member in order to leave a comment
Create an account
Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!
Register a new accountSign in
Already have an account? Sign in here.
Sign In Now