I’ve worked out how the lapband works. It makes you hate eating so much, you don’t want to do it anymore. Ta dah! Net result? You lose weight! You also feel tired, and irritable, and like you are going to have to eat steamed fish FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. The last two days have been absolute hell. I am not going to sugar coat it. Right now, I don’t care if I never eat another mouthful of ANYTHING. The heavy, twisting pain of something being stuck, and the inevitable double time walk to the toilet to hack up whatever is stuck there is demoralising and exhausting. Don’t give me fucking platitudes about how “it will all be worth it” or about how “brave” I am. I’m not bloody brave. I’m desperate. Desperate for this process to work, to change my relationship with food (so far, mission accomplished), and to be something I can live with for the rest of my life. I know things will get better, the band will be adjusted, it will start to settle down. But right now? RIGHT NOW I DONT BLOODY CARE. I feel Iike shit. I am sore, I am sad, and I am incredibly tired. I was warned this would be a side effect for a while, but it’s affecting everything. Starting tomorrow I will have to try not to speak to the husband and kids, cause I don’t KNOW what is going to come out of my tired, pissed off brain.
I decided when I started this blog that I would be warts and all honest. I warn you now, this is probably going to get worse before it gets better, so if you can’t stay, I will understand. I need to write this down, so that when it DOES get better I can look back at where I was, at WHO I was, and see how far I have come.
If you are still reading, thanks for coming on this roller coaster with me. Hang on. It’s about to get bumpy.