Therapy.

So, today I had my second visit with the psychiatrist. We’re at that awkward point where I’m still trying to describe myself without sounding all cliche. Yes, I had WLS. Yes, I thought it would help a lot of my “problems” before surgery and…um…it didn’t. Not for long. But really, my whole life just needs ironing out. I’m Getting Things Done. Next week begins my bi-weekly sessions with the psychologist.

One thing I’ve been doing a lot lately is reading. Books on  BPD,  and then in between all that serious stuff I’ve been blazing through the Twilight series. I’ve fallen in love with it. Sigh. It’s embarrassing. I actually went to buy the movie at midnight last weekend and, well, it was insane. There were people cheering and clapping and acting like maniacs. I didn’t see the movie in the theater, but I didn’t think it deserved that much frenzy. People were grabbing at the DVDs like they were lined with gold.

But the movie was good. Really good. I didn’t like that they left a lot of stuff out…but that is to be expected. It’s a giant book, squished into a 2 hour film. It’s not amazing. It’s not going to go on my top 5. I’m not going to wear the t-shirts and cry/flip out/go ape-shit when I see a preview. But yeah, Edward. Hot. And stuff. Guilty pleasure.

Other than walking on eggshells around my new meds (they have some interesting side-effects…like weirdo headaches), I’ve been spending a lot of time with my dog. I think dog-therapy is one of the best remedies, ever.

Party time! Only not so much.

So, tomorrow I’m 23. And I’m one of those people that is going to bitch and moan about it. Because I’m getting old.  Well. I have some of the sag of a 60 year old, if that counts. I think it should. And everyone on a daily basis reminds me that I should be, like, out of college by now. I’m getting “up there”.

I always wanted one thing for my birthday: to be thin. To go to a “normal” store and buy a cute outfit. And I guess this is the first year where I’m “there”. And uh, woop-de-doo. Clothes are expensive. And I can’t have cake. I know if my mom made me a cake, I’d face-plant into that sucker like a 1-year old.

So my point is: I always wanted a “thin” birthday. And here we are. I can’t have cake. When I try on clothes that *should* fit someone at my height/weight, it hurts my feelings. Because I have to shove/pour empty skin in there and hope to God that it doesn’t muffin-top to hell. And who wants to feel fat on their birthday? Not meee. SO.

I think I’m going to the Apple store to buy some pretty things for my iPod, go eat some hummus at California Pizza Kitchen, and call it a day. Come home and sit my old fart-ass on the couch and read a book.

Boy, do I know how to party.

Decisions, decisions…

A funny thing about me: I change my mind a lot.

A lot.

Especially about school/careers/big decisions, the important things. I flit from one thing to the next, with this insane/idiotic kind of whimsy. The only thing I didn’t do that with was WLS–I wanted/needed that/had that seed planted in my brain for years. The other stuff, though, this is a problem. I bring this up now, because? Tomorrow I’m officially going to change my major at my college.

…My college where I went through insanely hard anatomy/physiology classes, took tests, and had literally one point away from a perfect score to get into nursing school, and BAM. I tell them, hey, um, nevermind. I do this not once, not twice, but three times. Yep. Get in. Flake out. Repeat.

I know, by the third time, after getting a full scholarship and paying for books (holy shit, nursing books are expensive!), uniforms, vaccinations, and fees…that this shit ain’t happening. (I already hear it all the time: you gave up a FULL scholarship in NURSING school, wtf is wrong with you, you big dummy?) But for some reason that is still on my transcript. My major: nursing.

And I am clueless as to what to change it to. To change it seems to admit failure on my part. That I couldn’t just do it, even for a while. I’m too far along in college to put “Undeclared”. I’m in a sort of academic limbo. I’m at the point of transferring to a 4 year university, but, uh….they probably want me to have a general idea of what the hell I want to dowith my life. Because before now? All I cared about was “being thin”. Ok. Great. Get thin, then deal with life. Because, obviously, being thin solves everything! Candies and sunshine!

Obviously, I’m no good at logistics/life planning. So tomorrow I will march into the admissions office and be all like “I need to change my major. To something else. Do you have a list?”

Plastic surgery: for when you STILL can’t see your belly button…

So I had pretty much written off my bariatric support group meetings. I’d decided that it wasn’t worth the traffic to go to them anymore. I mean, I felt out of place the last few times, because most of the people there are pre-ops, and it’s been about a year since I’ve seen anyone close to my age there. Not that I’m saying I’m against being in a room full of old pre-ops, but, this is rush hour,  people. The time of day that I stay put, in my house, and stay the hell away from the 2-3 hours of madness on the highway close to my house.

But, okay, I got an e-mail saying that the guest speaker today was going to be a plastic surgeon. Hallelujah!  I knew this  meeting was geared towards post-ops, for once (last month I was sorely disappointed when the psychologist that came to speak to the group mainly focused on pre-op/new-op issues). So I braved the traffic, sat my squishy ass down, and listened. And learned.

The surgeon had a nice little powerpoint presentation, mostly pictures of nekked, squishy post-ops such as myself in need of a little, uh, lift and tuck and erase.  I was relieved to see pictures of people who were young, like me, who didn’t have a terribly large amount of skin to remove, but was still enough to be bothersome. I mean, I see myself in the mirror. It’s gross. This validated me in that, no, I’m not in a terrible situation, but yes, it’s not just vanity. I’m just a deflated version of my 300+lb self. Shit needs to go.

Plastic surgery. They do payment plans, right? Let’s hope.

Other news: Since the snow post? It’s been steadily becoming hot as hell. Today it was 80+ degrees out. I painted my toenails red and dug out my gladiator sandals. (<~that link is the exact pair/style I have. But those are not my feet.)  I love those stupid things. I may need a lower body lift, but at least my feet are good to go.

The shrinking of my head.

So, I went to the psychologist today. Apparently, I have some issues. Heh. What a surprise! No, but really…I’m looking forward to learning new ways of “coping”. I’ve got to figure out why I deal with things the way I do. Turns out, my RNY didn’t turn off my autonomous coping mechanism via food. And there’s some reason that I’m having panic attacks and acting like a total crazypants lately (example: the other day I freaked out, went into the bathroom, and chopped off my hair. It’s chin-length now. Regret, yes.) Huh.

And? I met with the pill-pusher and I’m starting on some serious brain-fixin’ dope tomorrow. Is it dope if it’s a prescription? I mean, I’m curious. I know a lot of people call marijuana “dope” but also any other form of naughty drug. But what if you have a prescription? Like, “hey man, I’ve gotta go pick up my dope.” It just sounds more fun than, “hey, I’ve got to go pick up my prescribed mood stabilizer.”

I don’t know. I’ve been in my head a lot  today, obviously. I need a rest. I need to reward myself for not chickening out of therapy with, I don’t know, a new app for my iPod or something. I keep downloading free ones and they suck. I’m learning that, with Apple, “free” usually means “shitty demo of the real version that’s at least 3 bucks”. But I dunno. I really want Tetris.

Snow & self-diagnosis.

I’m actually kind of surprised that I haven’t stepped on the scale in…probably a month. Which is bad. And good? I know I shouldn’t obsess, but I should remain at least somewhat  accountable. But lately I haven’t been eating my planned meals–because I start to feel like a dog eating the same things at the same time of day. So now? I’m testing the waters of “normal”.

Note that I don’t think “normal” is chocolate and chips. Do I eat those things sometimes? Well, yeah. I’m human. As long as I can still comfortably wear my jeans, right now I have other fish to fry.

Like my brain. My brain is fried. Or, rather, it feels like someone has taken a big swirly stick, stuck it in my head, and swirled it around like they’re stirring cake batter. I’m having fits of, well, less-than-sanity, we’ll say. I’m just really thinking that my psychologist appointment is coming at a good time.

I know, know, know I’m not supposed to “self-diagnose”, but the more I read up on BPD, the more it sounds like me, exactly. I could be way off, but the DSM-IV criteria seems to hit the nail on the head. Hmmm.

Oh, and I don’t think it’s snowed here in…years? long enough to actually “stick”. Today I woke up and there was snow! A rare find. I’m sure the bread and the milk are all nowhere to be found on the local grocery shelves (a mystery I will never solve).

A chance to wear my favorite scarf. It’s all warm and stuff. But not to fear. The snow was gone, without a trace, a couple of hours after this. And later this week, I’ll get to wear my slouchy t-shirts again. Hooray. Winter in Alabama is fucking weird.