When you try your best but you don't succeed

When you get what you want but not what you need,
When you feel so tired that you can't sleep,
Stuck in reverse.

Sounds pretty accurate.

Due to insurance complications (as I'm telling the family), or my inability to quit smoking (as is the real reason), I will not be having my RnY on 2/3. I now have to wait at least 6 more weeks, possibly longer, as I won't know until tomorrow when they can fit me in the schedule. I'm so incredibly bummed out, but I know it's my fault. I quit, I really did, it just didn't last. I failed, but I will get up and try again, because I want this more than anything.

I was driving today, thinking about why I have an incredible fear of rejection...warning, psychology major will now try to analyze herself. Sounds like a sideshow.

Anyway, I was wondering why I have this amazingly strong fear of being rejected. I know it's why I don't let people get close to me, I just don't know why it exists. If you asked my mother, it's because I'm "not comfortable in my own skin," which loosely translated means cause I'm fat and unhappy about it. But that's patently untrue. My fear of rejection started much earlier than that, along with my hatred of my body. I hated my appearance even before I got fat. I was a normal-sized middleschooler, and yet I cried when I had to buy size 9 jeans, because my two best friends at the time were sizes 3 and 0, respectively. I was always hip-py, with an hourglassish kind of figure, I was never a stick, and I developed curves that I had no idea what to do with. So I threw tantrums about my size when clothing shopping. Looking back, I'd swallow glass to be a size 9...so, and here  comes the crazy part, I wonder if becoming fat was the "cosmos" way of making me realize that size 9 is not fat. I'm not a real devout person, I can hardly call myself religious, or even spiritual, and I mostly consider myself agnostic, but it seems like the gods were teaching me a lesson with this. It's just a thought I tossed around, realizing tonight that I would kill to be a size 9 now, and back then, you would have thought I was having my toenails ripped off, the way I carried on about my jeans size. So I wonder if maybe this whole weight-gain thing was to make me appreciate a 9, or thereabouts.

But that still doesn't solve the whole fear of rejection, combined with a fear of abandonment. Abandonment doesn't really seem like the right word, but I fear that I'll get close to someone and they'll leave...no I guess that is pretty much the definition of abandonment. I've been throwing around common causes, and the only one that fits me is that my parents divorced. But even that doesn't fit, because I actually saw my dad MORE when they split. He worked so much when I was little, day/night jobs, we rarely had family time. Anyway, without getting too far into my parents' story, I really don't think that this is the cause. So I am left to consider other potential reasons. Maybe this would be a good time to talk to my therapist. I want answers, because everyone expects me to "come out of my shell" and become a "social butterfly" when I get skinny, and I have to keep reminding them that I will still be the same me, just less of me. I'm still going to have the same messed-up, pessimistic view of things, and I'm still going to be (for all intents and purposes) emotionally handicapped. I would prefer to be emotionally handi-capable, but that's just not going to happen without a major mind overhaul.

I feel lost here, not just because of the surgery delay, but because it means I now have to withdraw from this semester, because with my luck, I'll get scheduled precisely on midterm/finals week. There's just no way I'll be able to keep up with my surgery that far into the semester. So bummer, I now have absolutely nothing to do with my days, but not smoke, and not eat. Should be nice and easy to accomplish since those are my crutches. When I'm bored, I smoke. When things don't go right, I eat. So now I need to find something to do, or I'm going to lose my mind in this house.

Agh, it's late and I'm tired, but if I'm going to get through these next few days not smoking, I'm probably going to need to be asleep 97% of the time, so I'll stay up. I've read that cigarettes are supposed to be more addictive than heroin, and that in the past years, tobacco companies are adding even more addictive crap to them. And yet I still smoke, knowing this. I regret ever starting..completely.

So, not much else to report. Will hopefully have my new and improved date tomorrow, or Tuesday, depending on which day the coordinator gets back. Hope for something soon for me.

Signing off, comment at will. (or against your will, if you prefer.)

As strange as it seems I'd rather dissolve than have you ignore me

Ah, the big one..15 days left as of midnight tonight..we're getting down to the wire now!

Of course, I have until next Friday, my final weigh-in at my pre-op, to get to 281.6. I was at 292 of my last scale jump, so let's see if I can get there.

I start classes tomorrow (yay, not)...it's going to be interesting. I have 3 classes MW, 1 TTH, and 4 F. So all in all, I'm taking 4 classes, or 12 credits. Not bad considering I'm going to miss a couple weeks for the operation and recovery time. Hoping for a speedy recovery! or else I'm doomed this semester.

Now, onto some heavier stuff..literally..I'm finding myself having trouble sticking to my diet. I am so sick of MediFast I could pull my hair out. So I've been sneaking snacks. I'm trying to control it, but the problem is, at the time it seems like such a good idea, then afterwards I am so angry with myself. I know it needs to stop, and I've made the resolution to be done with it. No more snacking! I want this so bad, and it almost seems like I'm sabotaging myself, probably because I'm scared. My fat has been a barrier for me since I got sick. It (and my caustic personality) keep people at a distance. I know that I can do that if I need to even when I am skinny, but being fat means I have my best friend (food!) with me, and I can rely on it whenever I need it. I have got to get out of this mindset or I am going to fail at this.

So, the resolution..
ABSOLUTELY NO SNACKING OR CHEATING. It's done, over. I have very little time to get to goal, and if I don't, no surgery. And I couldn't deal with that. Having it cancelled because I didn't lose enough..can you say failure? So I have to do it, lest I be rescheduled (gasp).


Wish me luck at school tomorrow, we'll see just how behind I'm going to get while I'm out from my syllabi.


Signing off, comment at will.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower..

So, I have read that book, and despite that, I have to say I see no perks to being a wallflower.
Have you ever felt like you blend into the wallpaper? Like when you're in the room, no one actually notices. You could leave and it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference. Well, join the club.


Spoiler Alert: This may look like a pity party, and if you feel that way, I suggest you leave now. I'm feeling shitty, and this is my outlet, since nothing else can be anymore.


Sometimes, I just don't understand people. How can you think it's okay to ignore someone so plainly, yet expect them to be there for you? It's so one-sided, and a little hypocritical.


On the other hand, would it be too much to ask for a little self-worth? I have none. I see no benefit to being me, and honestly, I wish I weren't. I don't know how to change that, and after eight years of therapy, I've given up trying. It may never happen. So am I going to have to live the rest of my life thinking nothing of myself? Or is there a 12-step program for this, or perhaps some informational DVDs featuring a man with a lopsided toupee, which will help to "enhance my self-confidence."


I just googled it, and actually there is..


I'm starting to think that maybe I'm wired differently from the rest of the world, or rather, the rest of the people my age..it's Friday night and instead of going out getting shitfaced at some crappy bar on Lark, I'm reading Pride and Prejudice...which is fast becoming a favorite, outranked only by Sense and Sensibility, Wuthering Heights, and Rebecca.


I find myself sometimes wishing that I lived during a different time period. I'm not suited for this life. I would kill to live in a time where manners mattered, sense mattered, and being responsible and kind were things that were valued.


Or maybe I'm just crazy. (most likely)


I am the human doormat. I never stand up for myself, I honestly do not know how. I fear people disliking me so much that I cannot bring myself to tell them that "Hey, I exist, and I'm not here to serve you.."


Maybe I'm not ready for this. My mind is completely in chaos. I sometimes feel like there's no one I can relate to, (unless I'm pretending), and that..to borrow an emo phrase, no one understands me. I'm on a different wavelength than the rest of the world. I try my hardest not to let that show, but I really can't help thinking that maybe I'm just weird, and I think others notice sometimes too.


Maybe it's true. I'll come out of my shell and be confident (read normal) after WLS. But from what I remember of before I gained, I was pretty awkward around people then too.


So my question to all of my (non-existant) readers is, How do you relate to people? Is it totally fake? Is it something that can be taught? (insert hopeful face here).




In other news, either my (brand-new but cheap) scale is broken, or I am just not losing weight anymore..
I really hope it's the former, and I think it might be, considering I stepped on it 5x in a row and got 5 numbers with a range of 10 pounds. Thinking of returning it, and getting one that (I hope) will not do the same, because it freaks me out that apparently, I've lost 2 pounds this week. Not good considering I need 20 gone for surgery in 20 days. A pound a day, probably unrealistic.


Signing off, comment at will.

Without warning she gave up the ghost inside.

Stupid, crummy, broken scale. So much for that ten pound weight loss i (happily) reported.
Turns out my scale is a piece, and i only really lost 2 pounds. definitely not enough to keep nurse dearest happy. she immediately took me off lean and green and 3 shakes a day, and now i'm 5 shakes a day, no food. i don't know where i went wrong, well, yes, i do. i cheated one time, and screwed up my whole week.


now instead of the 10 pounds i thought i needed to lose in 3 weeks (thanks broken scale) i have to lose 20 in three weeks.


i need some serious motivation to not eat ANY food, no matter what it is.


other than that, not much to report. surg in 24 days (weight loss willing) and i start school next wednesday. i wish i didn't have to start school before the surgery, i'm sure i won't be able to focus at all, but what can i do.. i'm not giving up a whole semester to have this surgery, i've already lost a year. (see the lost year, or the year in bed, from my first post.)




ahhhhhhhh....life's nuts.

Happiness hit her like a train on a track

Surg got moved up, it's now the 3rd of February instead of the 8th, and later in the morning, which means I no longer have to be to the hospital at the ungodly hour of 6am.
On the slightly more unforunate side, I still have 22 pounds to goal and only 3 1/2 weeks to do it instead of a little over 4. i'm losing patience and motivation, and MediFast tastes like chalk. wet chalk.


I'm supposed to be downing 3 of these shakes a day, but I can barely get down 2, and I'm finding myself giving in to temptation more than..well the never that I should be.


however, on the upside of this whine/rant, i just checked the scale and i've lost 10 pounds, so all is well in the world.


happy day! 25 days left!!


motivate me!

Me? Blogging?

Really didn't think I'd ever do this again. I had a "DeadJournal" at around age 14, and it was filled with ridiculous entries about every detail of my days. Silly. Now it's time to get serious. I have a lot coming up, and a lot in the past. I want to get my story out there in hopes that maybe it will help someone...or at least provide a good laugh to someone. :)

So let's see, I suppose it's important to get the past out there, as it provides an insight into my present and future. First of all, I am 21 years old currently. I was 14 and a freshman in high school when life took a turn for the seriously annoying. I began to experience severe obsessive-compulsive symptoms, from using hand sanitizer on my desks at school to washing my books when I got home, and showering and washing my clothes whenever I came home. I think it was the climbing on furniture to avoid the floor that tipped my parents off. Now, bear in mind, my house was not dirty in the real sense, just in my mind. I saw "germs" and "contamination" everywhere. Soon after the symptoms began, I stopped being able to go to school. I remember vividly my parents literally attempting to pull me out the door to go to school. Just thinking about that makes me shiver. A visit with my primary care doctor confirmed what we had already figured out, I was losing it, or in better terms, I was showing symptoms of severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. I was given referrals to a psychiatrist to prescribe medications and a therapist to talk to. After switching around for a while, I found a male psychiatrist and a male therapist that I really do owe my life to. I began taking a low-dose antidepressant, which ironically, I am also taking now, but at a higher dose to treat the OCD. It wasn't enough. My OCD was getting worse, I could hardly get out of bed for fear of the dirt. I was put on an anti-psychotic medication so I could stop fantasizing about the dirt, but that made me a slug. I hardly did anything. I NEVER left the house. My aunt was assigned to come over during the days and watch me so I didn't commit suicide. Things were rough. But my therapist was amazing. He began to help me sort out exactly what I was afraid of, and it turned out that much of the dirt was the product of all the people in the building. It wasn't mold or viruses I was afraid of, it was being around people and touching things others had touched. So a solution was put into place. I was assigned a private tutor by my school district, who came to my home for 2 hours a day every weekday. Working with her, first at home, and then in the town library, I was able to successfully complete freshman year. I showed improvement with my medications, and around Easter of freshman year, I re-entered the gen.pop. of high school. It wasn't easy, and one of the hardest parts was that in the course of the 8 or so months I was on the anti-psychotic Risperdal, I gained about 100 pounds. I managed to get off the anti-psychotic and onto an antidepressant that was better-suited for my illness. At higher doses, antidepressants can function as OCD drugs.

Sophmore year went by mostly without incident. I attended regular school until Easter (some irony that Easter seems to be a crucial time for me), when, on a sick day, a worker putting in hardwood floors in my home cut his finger nearly off. He came into the room my mother and I were in with blood all over his shirt asking if we can call 911. That sighting of blood effectively put me in my room for about 3 days, until I was sure there was no trace of blood anywhere. Then, a couple weeks later, on my scheduled return to school, another setback. My younger sister had to be taken to the emergency room with a quarter stuck in her throat. (Insert laugh here) As I was at my father's apartment with her at the time, (my parents have been divorced since I was 11) I had to go with them. Here is where I dispense some common-sensical advice: Never take a germaphobe to the ER unless absolutely necessary. At the ER with my family, I had my first (and hopefully only!) hallucination. I saw blood EVERYWHERE. On the ground there were pools of it. On the seats, on the walls. I had to leave. My grandmother was commissioned to come bring me home. I spent the rest of 10th grade with a tutor in the library.

Junior year and senior year went smoothly, owing to the fact that I decided thatr it was stupid to keep wasting energy attempting to be in the school building and just focus on studying. I spent a year and a half in the town library and graduated in December of my senior year. By that time, I was 150 pounds heavier than I was in the beginning of this mess. I should probably explain why. The antidepressant I was (and am currently) on makes my appetite soar. I am generally always hungry.You may ask, why not switch. I will explain shortly why this is not a good idea.

I was doing so well in therapy and at the library that I made the decision to live on-campus at the local SUNY school. I was given permission to keep my car on-campus, owing to the need to continue therapy, and the possible need to flee campus if things got to be too much. I live about 20 minutes from campus, so it seemed like an okay idea. At the end of August, I moved into a double room, with a forced third person (thanks overenrollment) and until second semester, things went perfectly.

Again, I find myself needing to backtrack a bit and explain my condition at the time. My OCD had progressed, grown into a fear of a specific disease. I still have some trouble with the disease, namely typing and saying it, so I will let you choose which disease it is. Your imagination is most likely better than mine anyway.

So, second semester freshman year of college. Over break, I had decided that it was time to start playing around with my medication to find something that didn't cause me to eat like a horse. So I switched from Lexapro to Prozac. I was living on-campus, now with only one roommate, and I had a dream. I dreamt that someone living on our hall had "the disease." Excellent, way to derail my life, subconscious. So I attempted to put it out of my head, knowing it wasn't real and that the person I dreamt about was perfectly fine, and basically that if I let it influence my life, I was most definitely a loon. Unfortunately, with the medication change, I was basically taking M&Ms everyday for all the good they did for me. I switched back immediately, but the damage had been done. I ended up moving home and commuting for the rest of the semester, still managing to finish the year with a 3.7 GPA. 

Over the next summer, I looked into solutions to my problem. It was clear that the OCD was there to stay, so I decided to force it out. An OCD Institute looked like a good idea. The only drawback, it was 4 hours away from home, meaning I was going to have to live there, a loooong way from anyone who knew me. Home had always been my safe place, and my family, my safe people. But, seeing no other option, I took the plunge. I was admitted in August, although by then the fear of going was pretty much gripping me. I knew a few people back home with the disease I feared, and consequently, their names became "dirty." I was unable to say or write them, and so when, on the same day, someone with one such name moved in down the hall of the OCDI, it was not happy news for me. I lasted a week, until the man, who, having OCD that caused him to compulsively organize things, came in and rearranged the shoes on my floor. Yay. I remember exactly what happened. I was sitting in group and I heard someone say that the man had been in their room and was caught arranging things on their dresser. I immediately turned to ice. As I walked back to my room, I was praying for my things to be in their usual state of disarray. And it was, except for a pair of shoes. That pair of shoes, lying neatly in front of my bed, sent me practically into hysterics. It was the last straw in an awful week. The OCDI had communal, unisex bathrooms, and so I had stopped using it days ago. I also did not eat, because anyone could have touched the food, including Scary Name. So I was told that if I stayed and continued this way, I would be transferred to a more frightening wing, complete with feeding tube and catheter. I opted to call my mom and order her to come get me. Don't get me wrong, my parents did everything they could to talk me into staying, citing this incident as the exact reason I needed to be there. But they were talking to deaf ears, so to speak. That night, my mom came and got me, and I ate my first meal in 5 days and peed for the first time in ages. If you are considering holding it for days, which I don't know why you would be, but I must say...DON'T. I was doing the pee-pee dance waiting for my mom to pull up and get me.

After the nightmare at the OCDI, I spent roughly a year in bed. I worked part-time, but after a couple months the names began to haunt me again, and I was forced to admit I was losing it, and quit. It should have been my sophomore year, but instead it is now referred to as my lost year. I tried several different medications, including Anafranil, Seroquel, and Zoloft, but nothing worked the way the Lexapro had. So back to Lexapro we went. It was realized by my psychiatrist that I may need something to augment the Lexpro, so Abilify joined the crowd.

For the past two years, I have worked hard at school and on my OCD. Today, I am a second-semester Junior in college, and still taking Lexapro and Abilify. I am doing well in most areas.

But here comes the kicker. As a result of the past 8 years, I am 300 pounds. 303 to be exact. So I am scheduled for gastric bypass (Roux-en-Y) on February 8, 2011.  I am three weeks into my MediFast diet, which consists of three of the most disgusting shakes every day, and 4-5 oz of lean meat, and 1 and 1/2 cups of veggies...corn, peas, and carrots excluded, I can't eat those at all. I believe that's because of the carb count. So I needed to lose 41 pounds from 322.6 to get to 281.6 or else I have to reschedule surgery. So I guess the point of this journal is to keep me motivated and to (hopefully) get some support. I need this surgery, I look at this tool as the opportunity to get back what I lost 8 years ago. No, not my figure, haha. My confidence, my health, and consequently, my life.

So far I have lost 19 pounds, and I need 22 more. I have 5 weeks to go.

Help me stay motivated!!!

Will update as soon as I have anything of interest to write.