So guess what happened? I went to have a fill yesterday (after a year and a half....lack of insurance and money sort of cuts into that), and it DIDN'T. FUCKING. TAKE. Yes, because it decided to fuck up AGAIN. I knew it when she stuck the needle in. I knew it even before, on a subconscious level. I think it got screwed up this past October. I know I wrote about a ripping pain in my side then. The pain has continued on. I've blamed chronic appendicitis, menstrual cramps, even fucking gluten intolerance for that pain. Looks like I was wrong.
You know, all I wanted to do was lose some fucking weight. That's it. And because I know myself well enough, I knew I couldn't do it without some sort of assistance. Now it's all fucked up.
I have a lot of hate right now for a lot of people. I hate the fucking manufacturers of such a shitty product. I hate the people who have had success with it because I feel like a failure. I hate the people who tout it as being easier than gastric bypass. I hate my surgeon for not making sure that this would stay without falling apart. I hate the physician's assistant who does the fills, because she gave me a verbal smackdown over everything before the fill, and then, oh look! It's busted! Most of all, I hate myself.
I hate that I can't do this on my own. I hate that I have to have someone hold my hand over something so basic. I hate that I can't just be magically smaller. I hate that I hate exercise so much, that I love food so much, that I boredom eat, that I stress eat, that I just eat for the sake of eating. I feel so disgusted with myself over my lack of control and the fact that I will not make a conscious effort to even try. I hate that I've made so many promises in the past, so many bargains of, "Oh, I'll eat this today and then I'll start eating better tomorrow." I hate every fucking inch of my body, every pound that clings to me, every ripple of cellulite.
At this point, I know I no longer want a Lap Band. It is not worth it if I have to have surgery every other year. I'm just waiting for the physician's assistant to call and get everything started. I'm terrified though. What if something goes wrong? What if the band and everything else has become so fucking entangled with my insides that it takes forever to get it out? What if I fucking die? That's the big one. I'm scared of dying. No, it's not so much that. I don't want to die and leave my family.
So all I can do now is wait and ask for your thoughts and, if you are a believer, prayers. I'm not sure how much good those would do for someone who doesn't believe in anything, but it sure can't hurt.
You know, all I wanted to do was lose some fucking weight. That's it. And because I know myself well enough, I knew I couldn't do it without some sort of assistance. Now it's all fucked up.
I have a lot of hate right now for a lot of people. I hate the fucking manufacturers of such a shitty product. I hate the people who have had success with it because I feel like a failure. I hate the people who tout it as being easier than gastric bypass. I hate my surgeon for not making sure that this would stay without falling apart. I hate the physician's assistant who does the fills, because she gave me a verbal smackdown over everything before the fill, and then, oh look! It's busted! Most of all, I hate myself.
I hate that I can't do this on my own. I hate that I have to have someone hold my hand over something so basic. I hate that I can't just be magically smaller. I hate that I hate exercise so much, that I love food so much, that I boredom eat, that I stress eat, that I just eat for the sake of eating. I feel so disgusted with myself over my lack of control and the fact that I will not make a conscious effort to even try. I hate that I've made so many promises in the past, so many bargains of, "Oh, I'll eat this today and then I'll start eating better tomorrow." I hate every fucking inch of my body, every pound that clings to me, every ripple of cellulite.
At this point, I know I no longer want a Lap Band. It is not worth it if I have to have surgery every other year. I'm just waiting for the physician's assistant to call and get everything started. I'm terrified though. What if something goes wrong? What if the band and everything else has become so fucking entangled with my insides that it takes forever to get it out? What if I fucking die? That's the big one. I'm scared of dying. No, it's not so much that. I don't want to die and leave my family.
So all I can do now is wait and ask for your thoughts and, if you are a believer, prayers. I'm not sure how much good those would do for someone who doesn't believe in anything, but it sure can't hurt.
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