Signs you are not in control

Here’s my sign:At 10:30 last night, I got out of bed, went to my computer, searched on recipes and then deliberately went downstairs and made almond shortbread. Then I proceeded to eat it until I wanted to die. Fortunately, that doesn’t take long with a gastric bypass. Four pieces and I was in the bathroom, huddled over the toilet, waiting to puke or die. Then a few minutes later all that crap made it to my intestines (thanks to my tiny little pouch) and I was BACK in the bathroom.

I thought about eating something else. Drinking a glass of water. I thought about blogging. I thought about putting on some music and dancing. I thought about just going back to sleep. I thought about calling for help.

I did none of those things.

I ate until I puked.

I ate until I dumped.

There, I said it. I dumped. Part of me is jubilant – I DUMP! Really, I’ve been pushing the limit and pushing the limit and other than a sweaty, heart racing kind of experience, not so bad.

Last night – hideous. My heart was pounding so hard that I was in pain. My whole body was shaking and sweating. My stomach and intestines were bloated, and so painful it stole my breath. It took about three hours for the pain and symptoms to subside. Three hours while I drifted in and out of sleep, shaking and sweating under the covers.

This morning I woke up, pain and sweat free, trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my head. It is clear to me that the shopping was doing something for me – distraction, reward, pleasure center – whatever, that I’m not getting now and that I haven’t taught myself not to need.

Here I am, entering the danger zone: close to gaol, a year from surgery. This is when people start to slip and slide or in my case, run screaming back to where they were.

I will not do that.

But – I have over eaten every night this week. I have been eating crap. I have been drinking with my meals. I have broken every rule I’ve learned, except the exercise. I have gained four pounds.  All my pants are tight, because all that four pounds is in my poor, bloated belly.

Is it just boredom? Flirting with danger so I can have a little drama back in my new peaceful, yoga breathing, meditative life? Is it that I know how to lose weight and have still not mastered the mindset for maintaining it, so I want to gain so I can go back to losing? Is it because I am so close to goal? I got to within 1 pound of my goal this week. Did that scare me too much? Is this a reaction to getting what I wanted? What I worked so hard to earn? Do I think, somewhere, deep down inside that I don’t deserve it? That I can’t ever be a normal, healthy person?

I have to stop.

I have to gain a measure of control. No one else can do this for me. I can’t blame it on my husband, my best friend, my sister or my mother who told me I was fat when I was eleven. It’s just me. Right now.  This minute. Making a choice.

In an effort to do that, every day this week I’ve gone to the site and posted my intentions about what I would eat and when I would eat it. Every day I’ve made it until  mid-afternoon and then gone on a wild Mr Toad’s ride with carbs instead.

Today must be different.

I am going to start over at the beginning. Today: clear liquids with unflavored protein added. All day. 24 hours from now, I will have made a good start at de-carbing my system. Tomorrow I will start a three-day liquid protein training session. I will make protein shakes and sip them all day. For three days. That should bring me to Monday and back to sanity. Back in control.

Send me some power, my friends. I need it. Call, write, email, send up smoke signals or let fly with a carrier pigeon. Tell me that I am not alone. That I am heard and loved and supported. That I deserve to succeed.

Or not.

If I am truly alone, then I can still be okay. I am strong. I can do this, alone if I must. After all, I’m the one with the hand, cutting the almond shortbread. I have to be the one to pour the protein drink instead.

6 thoughts on “Signs you are not in control

  1. Karen,

    You poor dear. You are NOT going to be one of the folks who slide back. You are not Oprah….you are KAREN BRIER, one of the most disciplined folks I know. You set goals (I still haven’t written down), you accomplish goals; you’re not afraid to put it all out there to everyone and then hold yourself accounatble in front of everyone: you give from the heart until it hurts….and give some more; I could go on and on, my friend. I have been in awe of you since I met you in March of 1989 (RSS).

    My home is still cluttered, my closets still need me to go trough them and I still haven’t written down goals and stuck to them. You will continue to ba a human being and have bad days. But I know that you are meant to inspire others!

    Lots & lots of hugs to you!


  2. Take another look at this line, British Studies major: “Here I am, entering the danger zone: close to gaol….” Interesting typo!

    An all liquid protein diet would make me feel sorry for myself, not calm, but that’s me. If this is the right kind of focusing mechanism, drink up. You have so many resources to bring to your aid in this moment, starting with the recognition that it’s a critical moment. I’m pulling for you!

  3. Just read this and thankful that today was better. All I can say is that you are not alone. You are heard, and loved and supported. It seems that both places (eating until you are sick and only liquid) are extreme and punishing.
    Sometimes the pendulum has to swing in both directions before it rests in the center. I hope you are finding balance and recognizing your strength again.

  4. I am into my tenth month (Jan 6, 2010) gatric bypass. I eagerly look toward persons like you for guidence as I navigate my way on this fatastic yet scary voyage. Your courage and the fact that you can openly confess your vulnerability gives me courage. I’ve continue to take medication for depression (probably for life) and recently started HRT therapy medicines. My endocrinologist has scheduled me for our second visit after a blood draw. I don’t want to bore you, but at age 56 and surviving breast cancer in 1999, taking HRT meds causes me a degree of anxiety and will be frowned upon by PCP. Desperation and courage inspired me to persue RNY which has paid off and I’ll trust my instincts that this will be for the best as well. Please keep writing, I’ll keep reading and finding nuggets and jewels that I can keep and use. Sincerely – Cynthia AKA Destine on before and ater at BE’s message board.

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