A cautionary tale.

I feel like this is a very important point that people don't address. I'm a member of several WLS (weight loss surgery) support groups, and all of them are full of 'newbies' or people considering the surgery who get conflicting information from different sources. So I thought this might be helpful.

Here's an idea of what my life is like now, post-surgery.

First off, my surgery center was great. Barker Bariatric Center in Dallas, Texas. I had Dr. Charlotte Hodges do my surgery and she was absolutely wonderful. However.

I noticed that once I said I would self-pay and didn't need to finance my surgery out, I'd be paying for it all in one go, the clinic's attention suddenly got much more laser-focused on me. I wasn't a 'possible' candidate anymore, I was a sure paycheck. They hurried me into the next available pre-surgery support meeting and booked my surgery date on my first consultation visit. Since I didn't have to wait for insurance to clear, there were no pre-emptive psychiatric consultations, no pre-surgery diet requirements except for a two-week liquid diet to shrink my liver, and only the basic physical exams done (a stress test/EKG to make sure my heart was normal, and a blood panel to check my levels). From my first visit to inquire about the surgery to my actual surgery was less than a month's time.

After my surgery, I attended two post-op follow-ups and support meetings, but they were in Dallas and it was a two-hour commute each way for me. I called to cancel my participation in the third meeting and said I'd reschedule. Cut to 16-months post-surgery and I haven't heard from the clinic since. No follow-up calls, no "Hey, just checking in to see how your surgery's going!", no "can you come in for a blood panel so that we can check your levels?". Absolutely no follow-up. I've been on my own, without support, since that second post-op meeting, which was basically half therapy session and half a drug rep coming in to pitch vitamins and protein shakes and try to sell them with a kickback to the clinic.

Initially, I was on a very restricted diet and I was terrified of fucking it up so I didn't deviate at all. I counted protein grams like my life depended on it, drank a protein shake every day, ordered expensive supplements from various companies to try and find something I liked. I choked down my vitamins even though they upset my stomach. I was a member of a gym and worked out as hard as I could trying to tone up.

Cut to--- 16 months out.

I can literally eat almost anything I want.

I still have portion restrictions, of course, but there are 'cheat codes' for that. Just eat slower and space it out. By 'grazing', I've managed to overeat plenty of times.

Also, some people 'dump' if they eat something too full of sugar or carbs. They get feverish or sweaty or nauseous or something similar. I don't. I also see other people who don't who say "Oh god, I WISH I dumped." No. Because that's like wishing for an eating disorder. If you say "If I threw up every time I ate a piece of bread that'd teach me!" then you aren't addressing the real issue, which is that you still want the bread.

Most of obesity comes from one of two things; genetics (WAY more rare than people claim. I come from a fat family for generations, sure, but we also thought Kraft mac 'n cheese and deep-fried fish sticks was a 'balanced meal'. Everyone says they are 'big boned' or that they have a 'medical condition' that keeps them from losing weight and while this may be true in some cases, in most the person is simply sedentary with a bad diet and no motivation) or lifestyle. Mine was definitely lifestyle, with a healthy dash of psychological thrown in.

I feel good because I've lost weight. I've gone from 349 pounds and a size 24 to about 200 pounds and a size 10/12. It's nice being able to look at 'normal' clothing stores, or know that if I go to a concert or a convention or something, they WILL have a t-shirt in my size (often the fitted girly-cut shirts these days too, not just men's shirts in an XXL). I wear high heels without pain, my ankles don't roll anymore when I walk long distances, I have energy, I can cross my legs when I sit down. I can sit Indian-style in my seat at the movie theater. I can borrow clothes from my best friend if I sleep over or we're going out.  These are all AWESOME things.

But I have also 'cheated' so much that I'm pretty much completely off the bandwagon. All the things they say you 'can't' do, I do.

I can eat carbs. Pasta, doughnuts, bread, etc. you name it. It isn't how it used to be, of course; I can't eat a dozen doughnut holes for breakfast, or a mixing bowl of Captain Crunch, or a box of mac and cheese. But I do order lo mein, make ramen, and share fettucine with my friends if I go out.

I can eat fried food. I eat pizza (thin crust only, but still), fried jalapeño poppers, french fries, cheesesticks, etc. If we go out to a bar and get an app sampler, I can nibble on everything there without a problem.

I can eat fast food. I don't get the big combo meals anymore, of course, but I can eat a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger from Wendy's (I take the top bun off, that's too much bread), or a 4-piece chicken nugget, or a small order of waffle fries. I love to get a single Doritos Locos taco from Taco Bell. I can have about 1/2 a grilled cheese from Five Guys, or 1/4 an order of animal-style fries from N-and-Out.

I can drink booze. Oh man, can I drink booze. The surgery has done some interesting things to my body. Pre-surgery, I could drink a fifth of Crown Royal and be functional-drunk. Now, two shots and I am toast. But I also metabolize everything faster, so about an hour after those two shots I'm ready for a third. I can nurse a cranberry-vodka cocktail with my bestie in a bar. I also don't get hangovers so this is a dangerous thing. I can even drink the 'fizzy' stuff like champagne if I sip it and don't rush myself.

I can drink soda. I actually love the sparkly feel of a soda every few days. I try to drink diet or 'zero' sodas but I know deep-down they're just as bad for me. I'll usually get one and just nurse it for awhile, I don't pound them back like I used to.

I don't take my vitamins religiously. In fact, I take them about once a week. I feel fine. I have energy, I don't have any problems with that kind of thing. I just hate taking them and I forget more than I remember. So far, I haven't had any issues with this except for last May when I was about five months out from surgery and I contracted scurvy. It wasn't just a vitamin deficiency though, I was actually insanely sick and unable to keep anything down, not even water. The scurvy was just a result of a bigger problem with that, which resolved itself shortly after. Since then I've had no issues.

The problem is what I can't eat. I can't eat a lot of fruit. I can eat grapes, bananas and strawberries without a problem, but too much fruit actually makes me feel dizzy from the sugar content. I can't eat many veggies; sometimes I just want a big crunchy salad but after a few bites it's too much, my stomach's full of the roughage. I can't eat more than a few bites of rice, for whatever reason, although I do just fine with California rolls at the sushi place by my house. I can't eat anything overly-greasy, like some Asian takeout or a big piece of street pizza. The last time I tried pad Thai I ended up puking for like 2 hours. When I went to Universal Studios, I had a few bites of a hot dog and thought I might die. But those are the only real 'problems' I've had.

Therefore, people who are considering this surgery just need to realize that the surgery isn't a magical spell that makes you WHOOSH drop a ton of weight and keep it off forever no matter what happens. Your mileage may vary. Some people lose every pound they wanted, some people only lose a few. Some people puke when they look at 'bad' foods afterward, and some, like me, can go right back to all of their bad habits if they aren't careful.

I try to combat my cravings. I eat a lot of celery sticks with low-fat peanut butter, and drink a lot of fruity teas. I try to fill myself up on 'good' things but it doesn't always work. I monitor my drinking and keep it to 1-2 nights a week at the most. I walk anywhere within a couple of miles of my apartment because I live in an awesome neighborhood for pedestrians and I figure if I am walking three or four miles round-trip then I can treat myself to a small order of fries once in awhile.

Everyone just needs to realize that there is no magic wand to make this kind of thing successful, failure is a very real possibility and a real option. It's a mental game. I have to make choices, I have to convince myself that I don't want those delicious foods that I know I can handle. I have to pretend that those foods will make me sick or make me vomit or make me faint even though I know that isn't the case. Mind over matter and sometimes it doesn't work. Sometimes I have really bad days, and sometimes I have really great days where I congratulate myself on being such a badass and sticking to my diet.

The point being… weight loss surgery is a complicated fucking thing, and I've heard a few people mumbling about how I "took the easy way out". Listen, bitches. I'm still fat. I still eat when I'm depressed, I still feel guilty over my food choices when I make bad ones, and I still try to 'sneak' food. I'm like a fucking alcoholic sometimes-- friends and I order delivery and I'm going into the kitchen trying to pretend like I'm getting a glass of water when meanwhile I'm sneaking a few extra bites of food from the containers we've already put away in the fridge. I'm still guilty of my own bad habits and I acknowledge that this is a long, complicated, fucked-up road I'm on. I have to love myself before I can take care of myself, and that's a whole issue in itself. But I am trying, and making baby steps in the right direction. And maybe someday soon, I won't have to rely on food as a way to make myself feel better about every little stumbling block I run into.

A beast with frothing jaws.

It's been almost a month since my last blog post, and I never meant to neglect this thing so cruelly. I love this blog; it began as a chronicle of my weight loss surgery but now it's turned into an actual catharsis about my emotions and dealing with the everyday occurrences that make up my life.

Most people likely don't care, or think I'm just narcissistic to think anyone wants to read about my life, but that's fine. This is primarily for me anyway.

My life has been crazy and not always in a good way, it just depends on who you ask. We're still finishing post-production on the film, preparing to go to Texas for this big horror convention. Everything's been chaotic and trying to stay on top of things makes me alternately feel like a rockstar or completely useless depending on the day and the time of the task at hand.

Beyond that, though, other things. I'm dealing with a lot of existentialism right now, trying to decide what I want out of my life, who I want to be. What makes me happy. I really do feel like two completely different people, one of whom is responsible and sensible and nurturing and the other that's wild and crazy and spontaneous and impulsive. The selfish side of me wins sometimes and I do something without thinking about how it will impact someone else. I enjoy going out partying and dancing and drinking and being a little bit reckless and then coming home and buckling down and doing some serious ass-kicking work. I can't be 100% one or the other. I'm too functional to be a hot mess and too crazy to be a stick in the mud. However, I spent years of my life being the 'responsible' one and I never really had the opportunity to go out until recently. I lived in Waco, where there pretty much IS no 'nightlife' to speak of, and my friends all lived in Dallas. And even when I was in Dallas, those friends had no desire to go out partying or out to clubs, they were all older than me and had already gotten it out of their system. So now that I'm here, living in Hollywood and going out is such a regular thing for me, I'm getting this reputation among my older friends that I've 'changed' or I'm not the same person they once knew.

If there is one mantra that I've heard from the time I had the weight loss surgery, it's "You've changed."

My own worst enemy has always been me. I've been at war with myself for as long as I can remember and sadly, thinking back, I don't think there was ever a point in my life where anything was 'enough' for me.

I grew up as an only child because my half-sisters weren't in my household and we intersected only at brief intervals during my upbringing; as such, I constantly had my mom and grandparents gushing over me, bragging about me, telling anyone who would listen how amazing I was. You'd think that this would have instilled self-esteem in me, or some kind of self-worth anyway, but I think it actually served to do the opposite. I always felt like I had to keep that going, that I had to be the best at everything. I had to make myself better so that people didn't feel disappointed in me. It's like the joke about how you should go in expecting nothing so that you're not disappointed; I felt like I was in the other boat. People kept saying how great and talented and amazing I was, so when I met those people I'd better really be great and talented and amazing.

My entire life I've worked very hard to be the best, or among the best. I had nearly perfect grades in school and worked hard at extracurriculars. I held down a job from the time I was fourteen years old while going to school. I was the youngest writer on the syndicated New York Times wire when I was in high school. I befriended my teachers and actually kept in touch with a lot of them after I left their classes. I didn't just want to be good, I wanted to be exemplary.

But I also wanted to be liked. I felt fiercely weird inside, completely misunderstood. I didn't seem to fit in anywhere. I was lucky enough in middle school to find other weirdos, and even if they weren't the same exact brand name of weirdo as I was they were better than nothing. I strove to acclimate; I was like an animal forcing myself to evolve to survive to my new surroundings. I was already well-versed in the practice of eating my feelings, so I was never going to be the 'hot' one in the group. I had to settle for making myself funny or good at group projects or reliable or interesting. I had to make myself an asset to my group of friends.

When I was younger, someone once asked me what my greatest fear was and I really had to think about it. It wasn't loneliness; I spend plenty of time alone and I actually like my own company most of the time. It wasn't heights, or big dogs, or spiders, or the dark, or any 'normal' fear like that. I gave it a lot of thought, running through lists of things, but none of them truly scared me, they just disgusted or upset or bothered me.

And then it hit me.

I was afraid of being forgotten.

I have a very acute phobia of being left out, excluded, forgotten. Of being a non-essential. A 'luxury item'.

In every group of friends there's the one 'core' member, the one planet that everyone else orbits around. This person is always charismatic and whether it's discussed or not, this person has the final say in things like what movie is seen, what restaurant a group goes to, what bar is best for the night's activities, what time we're all getting together. This person's approval is sought on new purchases, on new love interests, on upcoming plans and ambitions. Their word is valued and taken as gospel most of the time.

Other than this particular person, the other roles are more flexible. There are always people there to fill the archetypes and round out the group. If a hole occurs, either a new member is initiated in to fill it or someone already existing in the group simply expands their own range to plug the gap.

My whole social life growing up hinged on me being on the peripheral of a group. In high school I found a girl who, ironically since she was considered alternative and weird, was by all accounts a 'mean girl', and I was determined to make her like me. Consequently, I became her right-hand lackey and an integral part of the group. When I was in her bad graces, however--- like if I disagreed with her on some vital topic, or refused to cover for her when she was sneaking around with her boyfriend and getting me in trouble as her alibi--- I found myself completely cut off. My group went to the movies or concerts or dinner and no one texted or called me. I was in a complete blacklisted state and that terrified me. It wasn't the idea of not having friends; if they'd simply stopped being my friends it would've been bearable, it would've given me closure. It was the idea that I had simply ceased to be thought of at all, that I was so insignificant a part of the ecosystem that no one batted an eyelash when I suddenly ceased to exist.

It probably comes from a very Freudian place involving my dad abandoning me before I was born, and I admitted years ago that I thought that something I did caused him to leave. On an academic level I realize he was just a shithead and a horrible father and it's very unlikely that anything I ever did would've had any bearing at all on his decisions, but on an emotional level I couldn't accept that. I was convinced that it was my fault, that I didn't try hard enough (despite not having been born yet when he bailed).

I have a hard time saying no to people, disappointing people. I live in fear that if I disappoint them, if I let them down, then they will find someone else who will say 'yes' all the time and will always come through for them and I will find myself replaced. I will become disposable, dispensable, someone who isn't necessary to someone's happiness. And that terrifies me. I want to be vital, I want to be memorable, I want to be looped in.

I get jealous and insecure and petty pretty easily. I am always fighting with insecurity. I have this weird thing where I feel like I am lucky to even have friends, and therefore they are the ones who are being generous and awesome just by hanging out with me when they could certainly find cooler people who'd bring more to the table than I do. Therefore, I always try to come through for people in a big way. I pay attention to tiny details that seem insignificant to so many other people. I remember people's coffee orders, what kind of cigarettes they drink, their favorite stores, some weird kitschy thing they collect, what their favorite pizza is, so that if the situation ever calls for it I can surprise them and get it right. I get original artwork or out of print books or concert tickets or rare old collectibles for my friends on holidays. If I go shopping and see a t-shirt that reminds me of someone, I buy it for them 'just because'. It's something I do completely without thinking about it now; it's the same thing with mix CDs, when I hear a song and it reminds me of someone I immediately send it to them or put it on a USB drive for them or make them a playlist because I just need them to hear it. The people in my life, the relationships I treasure most, are like pieces of a big quilt and I am always adding, expanding, stitching, reinforcing, trying to make it the softest, warmest, most comforting and durable thing I possibly can.

I have this permanent, overwhelming desire to love my friends, to protect them from the outside world and from themselves, to provide them with whatever they need. For the people I love and who I believe love me back, I will go to the mats every time and beat anyone who opposes them into bloody smears.

Now that I've lost weight, I still find myself trapped in this bubble. I want to be memorable and vital and essential. I'm certainly not in the market for finding anyone to date, but I love going somewhere and having people flirt with me or hit on me. It makes me feel like a million dollars to have strangers hitting on me for the first time in my entire life.

It's gotten a lot more frequent since I uprooted my life a few months ago and moved to Los Angeles, and I suppose to a degree it's true. But overall, it's something that has wormed its way under my skin, gnawing at me like parasite kisses until I am constantly feeling pressure to censor myself, to shield parts of my 'new life' from people who knew me in the 'before times', as my best friend Brandy calls them.

The fact of the matter is, I have NEVER been a true twenty-something-year-old girl until now. When I was in high school, I stayed out late at punk rock shows with my friends, but I never did anything 'bad'. I never went on dates, I never snuck out after curfew, I smoked a few clove cigarettes to appear cool before deciding that I wasn't cut out for that rebellious image. I was the alibi for my friends who broke the rules; my house was 'where we were all sleeping over', my mom was the designated driver if any of my friends had too much to drink at a house party, and I patiently waited for my turn to shine. I was the voyeur, the documentarian; I carried my camera with me like a talisman, shooting my friends laughing and dancing and kissing and fighting and playing music and painting, and I clung to the shadows in oversized hoodies and shapeless jeans and t-shirts with sarcastic one-liners on them, trying to carve out an identity for myself in a sea of people who were fast on the way to learning who they were.

My wanderlust took hold early and with rows of shark teeth; it sank in the minute I got the acceptance letter from Concord University in West Virginia and I didn't hesitate before accepting. I packed everything I needed into a car and my family drove me to my new home and for the first time I was out on my own. I lived in a dorm and didn't have a car, so my freedom was still limited, not to mention I wasn't financially independent. I was basically confined to the campus, which was small and quaint but surprisingly progressive. We had a gay-student group that put on drag show benefits in the food court. We had geeks and nerds and goths and punks and weirdos. I felt right at home with them. I dated one of the nerd royalty and loved him dearly. For the first time in my life I could sleep over at someone else's place without having to check in,

To those people who say that I've changed, all that I can say is 'yes, you're right'. I used to be almost 350 pounds. I used to be incredibly shy and self-conscious due to my weight and I hid it behind being the jovial, reliable, caretaker friend who would hold your purse for you while you went to dance with the cute guy who bought you a drink. I am not that girl anymore. Now I'm out on the dance floor right alongside you, enjoying a drink and working up a sweat with my friends. I'm not the wallflower anymore.

Sometimes my head still goes to those places though and I realize that deep down I am still the same girl. Thomas has said to me more than once 'You still think like the fat friend' and I know he's right. I still feel grateful that people who are beautiful and talented and popular would want to hang out with me. I don't see a lot of worth in myself. I try hard to compensate, to win people over, to stay in everyone's good graces. I'm terrified of being alone and rejected. I cry when I'm left out of plans. I have major insecurities with my standing in any group of friends. I don't think that I will ever feel truly 'good enough' to exist in any social situation. I am always on the fringe, nervously smiling, trying to be charming if someone talks to me, trying to be invisible if they aren't.

My depression and anxiety are at a level they have never been before during my adult life, which is scary because on the surface my life is amazing. I have terrific friends, a fantastic, exciting job, great opportunities, a cool apartment in the best city I've ever been to. But I am constantly second-guessing myself, unsure if I can pull it off or not. I am insecure and I always feel like I'm just waiting for the guillotine blade to drop and my life go back to the way it was before all of these opportunities presented themselves to me.

And in the interim of this chaos, I've realized the truth--- my weight loss surgery was not a 'cure for what ailed me'. I lost 150 pounds, but I still eat when I'm stressed. I still find myself reaching for things that aren't good for me, aren't beneficial to my weight loss. And I still feel like the fat girl deep down where it really matters.

I don't know how to fix these things. Depression is a real thing. If I knew how to switch it off, I would've done so years ago.

I'm turning into someone else, someone new, but I don't know what that will mean for me in the long run.