I woke up this week.
Staring at the mirror I’ve always seen a big guy. I know I’m big. There’s no hiding my size. But for some reason, I’ve always seen myself as someone a lot smaller. I’m fed up with how far I’ve let my body go. I’m almost 32. I don’t want to die. I don’t want a heart attack.
On Monday, I made the call to explore getting gastric bypass surgery. I know I have the potential to lose weight, but I am my own worst enemy. I’ve tried dieting and have had some success, but something always comes up – always gets in the way – and I fail. Or I get bored with it. Or I get hungry from starving myself. It’s a terrible, terrible cycle and I’m tired of being in it.
So I’m exploring the surgery. I know there are potential risks from it, and it’s not fool-proof. I can sabotage myself even after having the surgery. But I really feel like this is going to be my best chance to get the excess weight I have, off. Permanently.
I was assigned a case worker today. I’ll have to be under a six month, doctor or dietician-assisted diet plan, undergo a psychological exam, and participate in six months of counseling/support groups.