Didjit

I don't recall weight ever being an issue until I was 10. My mom had just remarried after five years of being a widow, and we moved to a new town with a new school.  Obesity runs in the family and it looked like I had the genes, and being the new kid didn't help, nor realizing I was gay, nor being a nerd. Food and our dog were all that got me through.
Then, in college I found that staying busy and skipping meals dropped the pounds.  Feeling better about myself, I took up running.  First one block, then two, then a quarter mile, a half, a whole, five, ten.... I finally made it! I'd gone from 250 in high school to as low as 165 in my twenties.
But the harsh reality caught me off-guard: in order to keep the weight off I'd have to keep working at that intensity.  I was running 40 miles a week, I'd eliminated all fat from my diet, I was in the gym 90 minutes a day five days a week.  I couldn't do it.  I started having knee trouble and I started relaxing my diet, but 180 wasn't bad.  Then I had a motorcycle accident, which knocked out my exercise and workouts for a couple years and ultimately was the end of any running.  But 210 was okay for my frame.  Then I met my husband (why did he have to be such a good Italian cook?!).  And slowly the weight continued to creep back.
By 230 I'd cranked up the exercise and tried to dial back the eating, but nothing was as effective as running.  We've both cut a lot out of our diet - no more baking breads or cakes, no more pasta, backed off on starches and cheeses.  But it has seemed that at best I can only stop the increase and not reverse it.  I've become discouraged -- was the only way for me to keep off weight by having an insane workout regime and highly restrictive diet? If that was the game then I didn't want to play.  And so I find myself pushing 300, wondering "how did I let this happen?"
It's got to be the food.  I know I love food.  But I'd thought I'd had it under control.  Yet the reality is that I'm always hungry, and that I don't realize I'm full until half an hour after I've stopped eating at which point I realize I've over-eaten.  And so I cut back on portions or even skip meals (which counter-intuitively seems to stave-off hunger).  But after a week the hunger is too loud and doesn't relent.
I'm currently in the screening process but all signs suggest I'll pass.  My hope is that a smaller stomach will want less as well as only being able to accept less.  I know my real struggle won't be with exercising or eating right, it will be with not eating wrong - the occasional treat because of a bad day, or a good day, or just because it's there. But I feel like I already had a second chance and that WLS will be my third; and I know now how I'll never be "done" and how easily I can slip back.  I'm determined that this time it will stick.
[Update]
It's been seven months since my surgery. I've lost almost 80 lbs.  I hope to lose 20-30 more, but I've been at a stall for weeks now; this might be as good as it gets.  Even so, I already feel more human. I'm feeling more comfortable about being out in public or facing my ultimate social fear: flying.  But the truth is it's been pretty easy up to now.  The natural limit of my new stomach has resulted in a steady decline, and honestly I really haven't had to work too hard at it. So this is where the work really begins. The little treats here and there have got to stop. Eating less is not a license to eat rich food or to graze all day. This is the real challenge and I'm scared I won't have the discipline.