SparklingSarah

As most of say who struggle with weight, it started when I was young. My home life wasn't as terrible as some, but wasn't by far the best. So, I grew up turning to food for comfort many, many times. Even at times sneaking food. I was rewarded with food and when I felt the most love growing up, revolved around food. That's the beginning of my food addiction and eating disorder.

Food was always an issue between my mother and I. She was a prom queen, popular and a cheerleader growing up. I wasn't fat or even over weight while in school (in fact I am struggling to get BACK to that weight I once was), but I wasn't thin enough by her standards and therefore that reflected poorly on her, because I wasn't a cheerleader or prom queen. So started the daily weigh in's. It was a ping pong match of control between my mom and I.

Once I moved out of the house and graduated from HS, I went nuts. Soda, candy, fast food, ice cream, all of it in large amounts- whenever, however I wanted it. At first it was my way of getting back, eating everything I was denied. Then it became an addiction. Craving soda at 6am. I was to young to legally "party"- although I did at times. But my vice was food. I became I fast food junkie.

All of it, I thought then, made me feel good. It filled whatever I needed at that time in my life. I felt happy- let's go eat. I felt sad- let's go eat. It's my birthday- let's go eat. I would drag whatever friend along with me or my boyfriend. I couldn't get my "fix" alone. All of it was one unhealthy relationship after another. Binge eating with others who (sometimes) do the same. Eat. Eat. Eat.

In a matter of a few months I packed on 40 pounds. I wasn't getting out and doing PE anymore. I didn't have anyone dishing up or portioning out my food, I shoveled and inhaled every morsel I could and without a care in the world. I was having "fun", living it up. Then I became pregnant.

So, now at 19 years old. I am pregnant. At first no one was happy, my mother even tried to talk me into an abortion. I decided to marry my boyfriend of 3 years, buy a house and get married. Stressful to say the least. Once everyone settled into the fact that I indeed am keeping the baby and marrying J, even more drama started to unfold. And I was taking "eating for two" to the extreme. Between the hot mess at home, the hot mess with my mother and me not standing up for myself or taking any responsibility for anything- I hid and ate. (I am in no means proud of what I did then, but it's the truth, and I hope someone will learn from my mistakes.) I gained 100 pounds with my son. I ballooned in 9 months from a size 16 to a size 22.

Postpartum depression hit me like a ton of bricks. Not only was I a new 19 year old mom, but I was overweight and miserable in my own skin. I hated myself. I took care of my new sweet baby boy, but not myself. I stopped bathing, stopped cooking, stopped seeing people, going anywhere and doing anything. I didn't stop eating. This time the eating made me feel numb or even nothing. And that's what I wanted- to feel nothing. My husband would go and buy fast food for dinner and I would eat all of my huge super sized order, but some of his as well. My appetite grew to an enormous amount. The more and more I ate, the less and less I felt- anything.

I finally got help for what was "wrong" with me. This is only after I did a huge amount of damage to my relationship with my husband and gaining more weight. I was put on many different types of antidepressants. Trying them out like a new pair of shoes. Up and up went my weight. Finally, after some time I found the right medication and was on the upswing. I was starting to get back on track and felt better. I was then "better" and taken off the meds and became pregnant again.

This go round was much better. I stayed at the same weight my whole pregnancy and even lost weight after my daughter was born. I was 21 years old. Close to 300 pounds. I had a toddler and an infant. Boy those years were hard at the time. My son wanted to go out and play, be a normal toddler. The last thing I wanted to do was to go out into public. I did it, but not to say there wasn't the looks, snide comments and not being able to fit at many places. So, I ate. I finished what the kids didn't eat too. Again, the eating. I found myself falling into the same habits with my kids. It's your birthday- let's eat cake, ice cream, candy. You fell down? Here is a lollipop. Your sad? Here is a hug and chocolate milk. Rewarding with food. Teaching them food is a comfort.

I become pregnant again. 300 pounds starting weight. I was tested over and over for gestational diabetes, and by the grace of god I didn't get it. My depression showed it's ugly self midway through my pregnancy and I was once again a hot mess. I had a 6 year old and a 4 year old. I had to hold it together, at least till their father got home. I relied on my mother for support and help, which ended up doing more harm than good. I sank deeper and deeper into a hole. So, I ate. I would get my fix by taking the kids to fast food and let them play. Buy them fast food and take them to the park. Food. Food. Food. Then I started hiding food. Sneaking food. Leave the kids with my husband after I fed them, bathed them and put them to bed and I would get a second dinner and eat it in the car. Sometimes I would drive through a second place and eat a third time.

My second daughter was born. Adjustment was much easier, and she was an easy baby. However, my husband and I grew farther and farther apart. I put my eating first, kids second and him last. My marriage started to suffer. Again I turned to the food for comfort, and sinking into the hole. And I started packing on the pounds, which didn't help. Now I am up to 330. I started the process of having the RNY done through kaiser. After I did all I needed to do with my appointments, evals, support meetings- I wasn't in the mind set and didn't loose the weight. I let myself down and my family.

I got back on the medication for depression and what a difference. I was a better mom because of it. But my appetite was already huge and I just kept on shoveling in the food. Sometime not even chewing. More. I wanted, needed, had to have MORE. I was at least present in the kids' lives finally and not a shell of a human. However the binge eating continued.

By the time my youngest was 2, I weighted 385 pounds. I remember watching Super Bowl with my husband and listening to the commentators chat about how HUGE this line backer was and I weighed more than him! I out weighted a 6 foot 6 line backer for an NFL team! I was in a size 30/32. A size even hard to find at Avenue and Lane Bryant.

My health started to take a turn for the worst. Sleep apena, blood pressure going up and up, pre- diabetes, my knees and hips hurting so much i could barely get off the ground, out of breath waking around the block ( if I even got that far); even breaking the arm rest in my car from having to hoist myself into my minivan. I barely even fit behind my steering wheel- due to my short legs and large belly. By this time we have switched health insurance companies. I was told I had to start the process for the RNY all over again, at least a year or two out. This time I was was ready for a change, and my body was slowing giving out. But I started the process and started losing weight. Very slowly- but the numbers were going down.

It wasn't until J and I went to a marriage counseling did I hear about, or even know food addiction existed. At first I denied it. But once I read about it and went to a few meetings, I knew I had a problem. I needed to fix my addiction. I understood that no surgery is a 100% guarantee that I will live the rest of my days healthy and happy at a normal weight. I needed to fix and understand why I got to 385 pounds in the first place. I HAD to fix my relationship with food, with people and myself. A painful process that I am still struggling with to this day.

My parents came to me with a brochure about a surgery called a vertical sleeve. They offered to pay for it. Rarely have they ever done anything this nice just for me. I was always the constant embarrassment at family functions and my mother was always mortified to be out in public with me. So, for this to be put in my lap I was thrilled and also apprehensive. I was happy to finally have a light at the end of the tunnel, but I knew there were strings (as there always was with anything of this magnitude of money) attached- and my father said to me "All I want is for you to get the most out of this surgery and do your best." This was the nicest thing my father has ever said to me.

Within two weeks I had met with my surgeon, and had a surgery date set. I had to loose 30 pounds and I worked my tail end off to drop that weight- but I did it. Not an easy task over the holidays.

J and I had the 3 kids go and visit his parents while I went in for surgery and came home. I didn't want them to have to sit there and I also didn't want the kids to worry to much or see me in pain.

So 12/28/10 my surgery date. 2 years to the day my beloved Gramma passed away. I took this as a good omen, because my angel was with me. J is with me. I am scared and ready for a change in my life for the better.

I am dressed, ready to go, put into this room and then I have to wait. I wait and wait. Alone. I am getting more and more nervous at this point. An hour goes by. Two hours. I am dressed in my gown, hair net, IV's- and no doctor. The surgery before mine is running behind. It took all I could not to cry. I start to shiver and shake uncontrollably at this point. The wait is killing me. I have them call J just to let him know that I am 2 hours behind and waiting. I almost start to cry hearing his shaky voice, but he tells me he loves me and everything will be alright. Then it's time to rock and roll.

After chatting with all the pre-op people, and repeat my name over and over again. They walk me to the surgical room. I see everyone and all the tools. I freeze. My feet can't move, my eyes well up with tears and I am just so scared. Everyone around me starts to comfort me, rub my back and tell me that's this is going to be the beginning of a new life for me! I climb up onto the table.

Surgery goes well. I have some pain. I get home. More pain, but I am able to get comfortable and sleep. Then I throw up for the first time. Oh lord. I thought I was gonna die. Ouch. I have to give myself blood thinner shots for times a day in the stomach. That hurts worse. I am black and blue. I then get an infection under my stomach flap. It's a horrible yeast infection that leaves a scar.

I am able to walk around the block a few time a day and it feels good. The eating has been hard and my husband is either eating out in another room or eating in the car. I am a total grump and going through crazy mood swings, and my hormones are in full force. He's getting fed up with me and I am getting fed up with myself and him.

By month 2 I have lost 50 pounds and I m getting a hang of things. Seeing the weight fall off is such a rush and being under 300 pounds was my first goal and I met it! I haven't been under 300 in I don't know how long, and I haven't met a goal in year either.

When it's all said in done by the end of my first year I have lost 180 pounds. Half of myself. Now the real work has begun.

I had thought things were gonna be different. I had hoped my relationships would improve and some of them have- like my marriage. After a lot of hard work. But a lot of the relationships I had with family and friends fell apart. I was either "changed", a threat or we just stopped having things in common- like eating.

I have changed. I feel better about myself. I didn't want anymore co-dependent, one sided relationships anymore. I want people in my life who are true friends and true family (blood related or not) and not people who couldn't or wouldn't do that. I have decided to take pride in myself. Stand up. I had have chosen myself, my children and my marriage over eating and bad relationships. Some may not agree, but I am not here to please anyone but myself and my children.

I am not saying that I don't struggle everyday. I have good and bad days. I still have to work hard every single day. No smooth sailing. But it's been worth it. To do the things I haven't been able to do in years, like: to go to Disneyland and my kids can sit next to me on a ride, to fit through a turnstyle, fit into a chair with arms, cross my legs, tie my shoes, buy clothes at regular stores in the mall- all of that, that so many people take for granted. I gained freedom. And a smile on my face.

Now, feeling comfortable in my own skin and having the excess skin removed is my next chapter.

One of the best moments of this whole journey was when I had lost 75+ pounds. And for the first time in my youngest daughters life, I had a lap. A lap for my 6 year old to sit on. And she said so happy and bright eyed "Mommy you have a lap! Can we keep it?"

I replied "Yes, my sweet girl. Mommy will work everyday so we can keep my lap".