I told myself a few things about November. I’d start running again, I’d eat healthier, I’d slow down. I found myself hitting a wall the other day. One where for a moment, I didn’t care about living. Not suicidal thoughts, more like thoughts where I didn’t care if my obesity killed me or if my head disorder put me out to pasture. That is the worst feeling. When you are not even your own priority.
So I made a call yesterday. Signed up for an information session on bariatric surgery. I know it is not an easy way out, I know it is a difficult journey and fight, I know I lost weight before. However this time, it’s the time that is a factor. I am sick of being sick. Sick of being limited.
I haven’t told my mom yet, even though I registered her to go with me. I told Sterling about it over the phone. I cried to her about it. When she came over later that evening she just gave me the largest hug. I am glad to know that I have her support and that she understands my reasons for exploring this route are medically based. It was also great that she reminded me that I was just gathering information, it wasn’t like I was going in for surgery right then and there.
It’s weird because I keep wondering are there foods that I will never eat again upon making this change?
I just want to be better.
’cause if your skin was soil, how long do you think before they’d start digging? and if your skin was gold, how long do you think you’d stay living?