A little about me

[Shawn Pettigrew 2]

This may be long – that sums up my background. This is a paper that I wrote in 2011 for an English class when I first entered college (I graduate in May 2015).

Addiction

His doctor said, "You're at a crossroads. You either lose weight or die." A sinking feeling enveloped him. He had a family; his reason for being. The struggle to battle his addiction had plagued him through his childhood years, through high school, up until the present day. And now, after years of excess, the doctor had delivered the final ultimatum. His thoughts drifted back through the decades of struggling with his weight and suffering as a social outcast.

The classic retail store reference to an overweight kid in the 80's was "husky"; that's what the pants were labeled anyways. Adults chose words such as big boy, big fella, and chunky. He had an issue with overeating, so much as to have an effect upon his social character. For example, once a month at church the congregation would hold a pot-luck dinner. Little old ladies would compile delectable dishes that were worthy of legend in some circles. This event was a welcome time for him, for he got to spend time with friends and family. Walking down the steps to the basement, where the dinners were held, he feared entering the self-service line. It was inevitable, like the sun rising each day, that someone, normally a random old man, would comment, "I better get in there before he does, there won't be anything left." No harm was meant, but harm was done. He would just smile and laugh, but the words still hurt.

Kids, on the other hand, were cruel. They had no idea the words they chose to demean him would leave cuts and scars. Although invisible to the naked eye, these words would cut away at his self-esteem. Grade school gym class was a reoccurring nightmare, a dreaded daily event that went on for six years. Coach would always demonstrate his manliness, showing off the ease in which the pull-up bar and rope could be mastered. He couldn't do either; both were feats that were unconquerable. Although he wasn't the only one who failed the challenge, the snickers, giggles, and under the breath names would always commence. He would just smile and laugh, but inside he cried tears of self-pity. The social hierarchy of school had just begun to affect his self-image. The harshness of public education would only become more discriminating.

His weight was affecting the daily aspects of his life now. His eating habits hadn’t changed, in fact, they had gotten worse. Of course, he had no idea his addiction was growing. food was part of his life; his eating habits were taught to him. Breakfast regularly consisted of bacon, eggs, and fried taters; sometimes a big bowl of Cereal with sugar or honey added on top. lunch was always a double stacked ham sandwich and some sort of potato chips. Dinner was the pinnacle, consisting of some form of meat (normally fried) and potatoes. And of course, what is a good dinner without ice cream for dessert?

Middle school, which is normally a time for a boy to come into his own and begin to grow, was an even more difficult time for him. Once again, the dreaded gym class was forced upon him. Sure, the exercise was needed; the mental anguish associated with it was not. The coach was an arrogant jock; an ass who loved to pick on the weaker kids. Coach's favorite activity was basketball, a team sport that "builds character." He'd gotten used to being picked last. The preppy jocks were always chosen by the coach as the team captains and given the authority to choose who would be on their team. Of course, the teams couldn't wear the jerseys stored away in the closet; one team got to wear their shirts, the other team took theirs off. He dreaded this distinction; it was the fit versus the unfit. The jocks would snicker, laugh, and call him hurtful names. He would just smile and laugh, but inside a literal hate for them consumed him. For comfort, he would unwittingly relish in their destruction, continuing to indulge in his bane.

By this time, his mother realized he had a serious problem with his weight. She tried to force carrots and vegetables into his diet, but his eating habits had already been engrained into his being. She attempted to control portion sizes and he only resisted; he was stubborn and set in his ways. Food literally controlled him. He would eat when bored. He would eat when sad. He would eat when happy.

High School was pretty much a blur. He had become a recluse; avoiding contact with those that chose to use their status to demean the weak. He had developed a genuine hatred for the preppies and the jocks; the entitled ones. He was never invited to their parties, but in a sense, he didn't want to be. He felt like an outcast. As the entitled ones partied and consumed their alcohol and cigarettes, he turned his addiction into an art. He felt like his life was spiraling out of control, paused only to consume the next meal. High School had given him an education; however, it also nurtured and cultivated a true hate for the social establishment.

A few years passed and he had finally reached the pinnacle of his addiction. He finally admitted to himself he had a problem; it was time for a change. He joined a support group and followed their rigorous diet plan. He lost the weight by eating right, but unfortunately, the benefits of exercise were not part of the program. The days of ordering clothing from the big and tall catalog were over; he could shop at any store. People looked at him as a normal person, the vision of normal that society had set. His self-confidence had been restored, a feeling that had been forgotten. The hurtful comments disappeared from his life; he could now smile and laugh without hiding his inner torment. Happiness consumed all but his most inner feelings, and the hate for those who humiliate the powerless still loomed in his thoughts.

Fifteen years passed and time gave way to his self-destruction. The burden was back; this time plaguing his older body even more. His job performance was suffering; his knees and feet were in constant pain. He would stop breathing at night and would have to be shaken awake by his wife. His blood pressure was dangerously high. His cholesterol rose. He was diagnosed with diabetes. The result of years of substance abuse, a substance known as food, had finally caught up with him. He was now dependent on another substance, medication, just to stay alive. His hate was gone now, whittled away bit by bit as maturity culminated within him.

He looks around and sees the analyzing eyes of those that do not know him; those who are quick to provide a solution and quicker to cast judgment. He is criticized for his appearance; a façade of who he really is. His self-confidence has not wavered. The doctor’s words haunt his mind every time he eats. As he sits at the dinner table, he looks across at his three year old baby girl. He thinks back through his life struggles, praying she does not go through the same. He must change for her.

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Well, that is the paper. The fact is, I wasn't able to change my eating habits. I was up to a total of 4 medications with 4 of those being for diabetes. I had my gastric bypass on November 10 in St. Joseph, Missouri and it was performed by Dr. Hornbostel. I'm currently on a liquid diet and go back and see the doctor on Thursday. I have had much less pain than expected, but the smell of food drives me insane. My wife and 2 daughters both live in the house and I understand that they all have to eat. But, it seems that my sense of smell has increased tenfold. The smell of chicken enchiladas and chocolate chip Cookies yesterday was a horrific.

[NewJeffrey 84]

Shawn thank you for your transparency and I'm glad too see you moving forward in your life!!! Awesome brother :-) :-). I am proud to be making this journey with you.

Jeffrey (New Jeffrey)