What the hell am I doing?

It's getting late. I should be in bed.

For the past week I've been sleeping on a pull-out bed in the office at home. Rose is upstairs in the tempurpedic bed with the electric blanket. I wanted it this way. (I wanted it this way. I wanted it this way. I wanted it this way.)

Tonight, I'd like to crawl into bed next to her, toss my arm around her waist and snuggle in. Comfortable. Familiar. Safe.

But I feel like I can't. After all, I'm that one that asked for a separation, found an apartment 2 days later and will be moving out on Saturday. I'm the one that decided that maybe our 11-year-long relationship might not make it until 12. I'm the one that said "I don't know if I love you anymore".

What have I done? What am I doing? I could be making the biggest mistake of my life. Or maybe the very best decision yet. It's risky. It's scary. And I doubt myself like I never have before. Plus, it's not just my life. It's OUR life.

It's been a difficult week for Rose watching me pack and move things to the other side of the city. We've had intense nights, frustrating mornings. But it's been hard on me, too. In ways that I wouldn't have imagined.

I have never picked up and left the security of anything. And believe me, Rose would give me all the security I need. The question is, what do I need? What am I willing to do to find out?

Maybe tonight what I really want is not so much to comfort her, but to find comfort for myself. I wish I had someone to put their arms around me and tell me it will all be ok. I'm not too convinced of that right now.

Big fat pig reporting for a spanking

Hey, thought you might like to know that I just ate 2 oz of cheese and a wassa bread, even though I wasn't hungry and even though it started to hurt after about the first ounce.

Yep, I just shoved it in and kept chewing and chewing and chewing and swallowed it all. Every last bit.

My gut hurts. I won't be able to shit for a week now. And I still feel like the fuck up I thought I was when I decided I needed to eat so I'd feel better about the chaos I've brought into my life. Ah, the priceless moments of depraved post-op eating.

Someone kick me in the ass, please.

Fatty Pants

Surgery was 7 months ago yesterday. These are the pants that I wore the week before...size 32W. Now I'm wearing 18s.

"You've lost a lot of weight."

I stopped at the Starbucks on 76th & Layton this morning for my usual grande triple decaf, non-fat, no foam, sugar-free vanilla latte (and a box of African Red Bush tea).

I had the foresight to take in my driver’s license since the card I was going to use to pay for the stuff has my signature worn off because I use it about a gazillion times a day. And the last time I was in, I was asked for my ID.

So…the guy that rang up my order is the same guy that asked for ID last time. And he did again. He looked at my ID. Looked at me. Looked at my ID. Looked at me and said, “You’ve lost a lot of weight. And you look really, really good.”

Damn straight I do! Now this guy started working there about 3 months ago, so he’s never seen my at my highest weight. He’s probably seen me lose only about 25 or 30 pounds.

Here’s the goofy part: I felt like a teenage girl, all flustered and blushing when he told me this. I probably had the biggest grin on my face…and I’m still smiling as I think about it.

Imagine, a perfect stranger telling me that I look good.

Four White Walls

I collect the keys for my studio apartment on Monday. It's not big. But it should be enough for me.

The building is located on the east side of Milwaukee, just around the corner from a great grocery store. How pathetic is that? (I've already scoped out the deli, meat department and what they had for veggies and fruits.)



The place reminds me a lot of the building where my friend Lainey used to live. I spent so much time there, this place should feel like home in no time at all. I better. It's mine for 6 months.

So today I'm off to find a futon. Hopefully at some place that delivers. (I don't want to walk up to the 3rd floor carrying anything over 25 pounds.)

The whole parking permit thing is a pain in the ass. Street parking only. Two kinds of permits. Supposed to change my address at the DMV, but I don't want to do that. I'm afraid that will screw up my insurance. And that's already confusing enough. I'm already confused enough.

transition

If someone would have told me 7 months ago that my life would come to this, I wouldn't have believed them.

I would have believed the weightloss part, the stuff about getting healthy, the stories about being able to do physical things never before possible, the shopping, the scale victories (and setbacks), the vitamin deficiencies, the constipation, the compliments. But never the part about watching a 12-year relationship disintegrate. Or losing myself along the way.

Since my surgery in August, my insides have changed even faster than the outside. I wake up every day not really knowing who I am or what I'm capable of. I don't know what I like or don't like. I don't know how I'm going to react. And that's put an incredible strain on my relationship.

I find that I also don't know who I am in my relationship. How does this Jen relate to that woman? If I had met her today, would I still love her? Would she still love me? And is there room for the relationship to evolve...or is this the end of the road?

So I'm moving out...but not necessarily moving on. I found a studio apartment. I'll juggle a mortgage and rent for a few months. I'll see if I can stand to be with myself, let alone someone else. Maybe I'll be back in a month, maybe not. It's one day at a time, one choice at a time.

Since reaching this decision last week, I've gained a sense of clarity that I haven't had in a long time. I don't regret this decision. I know in my heart that it is absolutely what I must do to survive. If I don't take care of me, I know I will die. But it makes me sad. It makes me hurt. It makes me a little bit frightened to be on my own after so many years.

I really debated about whether or not I was going to write about this separation in my blog. But it's such a huge part of my whole surgery experience that I couldn't not mention it. I'll probably write more about it in the future. But not the personal details, not the private pain of two people. I'd like to keep her out of it. She didn't ask for this. It's just what's happening when one person has surgery and it affects two lives.

A couple weeks ago, I promised her that I wouldn't say anything I didn't mean. Today I told her that I loved her. I really believed it and felt it. But I don't know if she did. How could I blame her?

Searching for Hot Fat

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Body Language

I read a good book while I was on vacation. It's called Holy Hunger: A Woman's Journey from Food Addiction to Spiritual Fulfillment by Margaret Bullit-Jonas.

I opened the book the morning of my last day on the ship and finished it that afternoon. I expected to read more about how "spiritual fulfillment" resulted from her “journey from food addiction.” But for me, the book didn’t quite show that.

What I did get out of the book was an understanding of how similar I am in my food addiction to her. Some phrases were like reading about my own life, my own reactions, my own emotions.

I totally got how she used food to pacify, squelch, enhance, exaggerate her emotions. I caught myself often marking passages that rang true in my own life.

She talked about hitting the bottom, seeing her own food addiction against her father’s alcohol addiction, being paralyzed by fear to move forward.

Like her, I recognize that I am out of control with food. Even though I’ve had this fantastic surgery with awesome results, I am still tormented by what goes into my mouth, still compulsive in my thoughts.

I see that I use food to stuff down my emotions. And I want to stop, but I feel ill equipped to deal with those emotions. They could knock me on my ass. They could kill me.

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve seen myself obsess about food and abuse food in order to avoid feelings and spare myself the pain of dealing with those emotions. I have actually, on two occasions, allowed myself to vocalize those emotions, acknowledge and accept what they were. It didn’t kill me. I felt better afterwards. But still, the thought of doing it again is terrifying. I’d rather dump on carbs than deal with my emotions.

I’ve thought about going the OA route. But the whole 12-step thing doesn’t appeal to me. Therapy will help, I know. I’m working on that. But there are times when I do think having someone to help me walk through each crisis at the point when the fire’s the hottest would definitely be of use to me. Although, that would mean I’d have to admit that I’m not perfect.

Yesterday day my therapist commented that right now, for me, it’s all about my body. Losing weight, doing new things with this new body…and allowing myself and learning how to connect my body with my emotions without the physicality of eating. I think she’s right. It’s just so damn scary.

And another thing...

Here's how much of the airplane seatbelt I DIDN'T need! Yes, that's about 8 inches. See that khaki knee next to me? Never even bumped it during the flight.

I'm Back!

Arrived in Milwaukee at 5 p.m. tonight. Long, long day for travel.

Yes, I was on the RCI cruise ship with the gastro-intestinal disease. No, I didn't get sick. But I did suffer through 5 days of puking, obnoxious college kids on spring break, constant handwashing and crappy food. I'm pretty sure I actually lost weight this week. I'll let you know tomorrow.

There were a few highlights to the cruise. The most important one is that I friggin' climbed the rock wall! Yep, I did it! Of course, I waited until the last possible day at the time when the least number of people would be around. Don't believe me? Look for yourself...

Here I am all outfitted in my climbing shoes, XL harnass (I couldn't believe it fit) and my safety helmet.

I told the people manning the wall that I had never done it before and that if I could get both feet off the ground and on a rock I'd be happy.

Soon enough was SEVERAL rocks high. I had this incredible strength in my arms and legs I had never experienced before. My goal was that to reach the mid point where the first bell was.

And I made it! The bell is just below my butt.

I kept trying to reach for that yellow stone that is above my right hand, but after three tries, I couldn't make it, so...



....I floated down, satisfied and amazed that I got so far!


I landed safely and proclaimed victory! You wouldn't believe how much my knees were shaking. I don't think I stopped grinning for 24 hours!

I'm outta here!

It's vacation time! I'm heading out for a cruise...Cozumel and Costa Maya. I might swim with dolphins. I might go parasailing. Maybe I'll try snorkeling. Full report in 10 days.

The Message is the Medium

I went to get my hair cut tonight. As I glanced over the shelves of hair products, I read: Indulge Yourself in Weightloss Control.

Well, that's how my mind took it in. But at this point in my journey (I hate that word), there's not much difference between weightloss and weightless.

BIRTHDAY PROPS to my gal pal and fellow sassy fat, Dagny. Yep, she's another year older than me. But I will say that her skin looks better than mine. It must be all that virginal blood she consumes.

Just for you, Dagny...