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The Band & Neil Young – Helpless

I went to the informational lecture for Bariatric Surgery. It was a big step for me. I hate myself and have since I was 3 and molested by the babysitter’s husband. Ugh, reading that is ugly. Makes me think I want your pity and I don’t. It happened and I couldn’t stop it. Whatever.

So they tell you about 3 ways of dealing with obesity through surgery. Tell you about the support that they’ll give you when you go to get it. A counselor, support groups, nutritionist all these people there to help you through making your stomach about the size of your fist from one that’s the size of I don’t know, the head of an elephant? At the end they pin this little gem on: “If you go and tell other people about what you’re planning you won’t get the surgery.” Charming, isn’t that? Guess what I did, thinking; “Okay this is the one time I’ll reach out and get help.” Yes I did.

So I decided that I would wait a while and let people ask me if I started it and tell everyone I decided not to do it. I have this little memo pad I’ve been recording my food intake since Easter. I have the elliptical that I STILL can’t get my fat @ss on. BUT I have gotten out of the recliner and gotten out to do more physical things around and outside of the house. The apple tree has been dropping pips and apples as has the pear tree. I spend every afternoon (well almost every afternoon,) picking them up with one of those old lady claws. I try to get out of the house and ino town to do something at least 5 times a week. I know it’s not enough but I’m building up enough strength so my body stops hurting.

When my Mother made it clear in her passive aggressive way that she really wasn’t going to put my father into a nursing home and I was stuck dealing with him and his dementia I gave up. I stopped going out and doing things with my friends. I stopped looking for things to occupy my time and I started sleeping more. I decided that I should probably die. I couldn’t just out right kill myself though. Everybody would say it was because I wanted attention because that’s the kind of low down pathetic type of denial that my family lives in. Don’t get me wrong. In the “real” world they’re wonderful people. They just couldn’t give a rat’s @ss to take time out of their lives and read up on mental illness never mind actually asking me personally why I acted the way I did and how I am dealing with it. I mean they might learn something like more than one person in our family has mental illness. And god forbid anyone actually talk about what happened at the babysitter’s house. Personally I don’t think about it all that much or any of the other times I was molested by neighbors or people I knew. Still pretending it never happened has NEVER EVER healed the foundation of my tattered soul. I know that sounds dramatic but I am seriously f^cked up and would rather not be. I’ve worked hard alone to undo the years of twisted sh!t that have shaped me into a fearful, obese, closeted person when I could be out feeling free from these brain shackles. I really could use some help from someone that won’t drop small bombs and gaslight me or patronize me or sneer at me for the heavy load I bear. It seems every person I have met so far has to contribute something ignorant or f^cked up that helps set me back a step or two. I mean it’s not just people there are other things that set me back too.

It brings me down. Some days I feel like I’m 5. Nowhere to go. No one to ask for help from. Really nothing has ever really changed. People I seek help from give me the old party lines. The same crap my parents, all adults dropped on me to shut me up and doubt my own eyes. It took me many decades to realize that I can disregard most of the cr@p that falls from people’s lips like dung from a cow’s @ss. If only all that cr@p gave someone sustenance like manure actually does. Most of the poisonous ether that emits from people’s mouths shrinks brains. I was helpless against the family chorus, the world cast that chants bullsh!t that only comforts themselves so they don’t have to answer the questions they don’t want to think about, that would have saved me years and my self identity.

It took me this long to find that the magic word is “Whatever”.

On the good side. K and I are now talking. How long will this last? Whatever.

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