I was banded in alma, Michigan, on November 16 of 2004. I weighed 366 pounds at my heaviest, when I started the pre-surgery diet required by Dr. Cudjoe.

Today, as I sit here before this bright window on the world, I weigh 266 pounds.

One hundred pounds. Exactly.

Part of me sings, part of my spirit soars on wings of joy at this loss. My step is lighter, my rest more peaceful, my diabetes is, for now anyway, in hiding. I can wear a 44 men's pant, as opposed to a tight 54 a year ago.

I can hug my wife (well, I could hug her if RSD would let me. Horrible disease.) I can buy my clothes at the normal racks. I can take advantage of sales.

Still, I was down a hundred pounds a month ago. And this summer was a blur of grey shadows for I had slipped into a deep and dangerous depression.

I thought it was my challenging life. And it is challenging. But it wasn't that. I thought it was the stress of my job. But it wasn't that either. I thought I was grieving my lost freedom as a caregiver to a chronically ill person. But, of course, it wasn't really that either.

Day slipped into day, and it all felt like night. The only thing that changed was the calendar.

There's a machine inside each of us. A robot, if you will, who is very good at pretending to be you while the real you is adrift, becalmed on a sea of despair.

I showered each morning, I drove to work. I returned. I did the laundry, kept the house, cooked the meals, and kept all my wife's doctor's appointments. Even now, as the light begins to shine once again in my little spiritual prison, I can't remember any one day. Maybe, for me, it was all one day.

And I knew something was wrong. I knew I was in trouble. And I blamed it all on my life, my wife, the weather, finances. I blamed everything but the truth.

I would endure fits of anger at myself for not being happier about what I had. A good job, a wonderful spouse, and a one hundred pound weight loss when I thought I had been fat's prisoner for life.

I really don't know what did it. I really don't know what opened my eyes. But I came to realize what was really happening.

I was grieveing a loss.

You see, I am a murderer. Just about a year ago I killed the only friend who could comfort me through times of strife. Days of sorrow. But he wasn't really a friend, for while I was being comforted I was also being murdered. Slowly, coldly. My friend was smothering me in warm cozy layers of fat.

I miss my drug. I miss eating half a pie, and washing it down with a quart of ice cream. Then repeating the procedure. I'm not just addicted to food, you see. I'm addicted to the act of eating. And, through constant toil and practice I made my stomach just like my heart. Something that could never be filled. An emptiness like the black core of interstellar space.

He cries out in me still. His ghost lingers on. I see him. I hear him. I hear that siren call "Eat....Eat.....Eat.....Eat". He sings his destructive song in my ear still. Even now he calls to me.

Thank God I know his face now. Thank God I know his name. The Enemy is no longer invisible. But he is strong. And.....I am weak. Thank God I have a band. It lends me the strength of science. When I weaken, when I succumb to the hypnotic cry of the gourmand, it lends me it's strength. It's wisdom.

Yes, science treats my symptom. I alone must face the disease. But, a hundred pounds down, and sixty odd to go, I can fight longer. I have longer to heal. And I got that hundred pounds back from my addiction. That victory will always be mine.

If you've read this far, you have my admiration and condolences. Thank you. I wanted to share that haveing the band doesn't solve your problems, it gives you a breather to work on them yourself. It's a tool. And any tool that lies unused is worthless. Use it. Fight. I'll fight beside you. We all will fight together.

It's never to late to become what you might have been.

Ryan.

As I've been under an incredible amount of stress lately, I can totally relate to wanting to shovel the food in. It was actually only 2 days ago when it dawned on me what I was doing.

It had been a horrible day and I was told we wouldn't be getting our house, and the landlord stopped by, wanting me to sign a new lease. A lease requiring $5/day charge for everyday we're late paying our rent. (which hubby gets paid on Fridays, so we're not always exactly on "the day" it's due.

I was so upset over the 2 month battle I've fought, all I had endured, only to end up like this, at this exact spot. A bad spot.

So I found myself wanting to pile in a sandwich. I felt tight though upon that first bite. I tried harder with the second, then realized it just wasn't going to happen. I had to slow down, let the band do its thing.

One year out (almost) and still I try to pile it in, knowing that it won't work - That my great protector won't let it happen.

Thank God for my band!!!

Whip. Thanks. Glad you are back. You say the things we feel but don't know, giving words where there are none. Thanks.

Oh Whip, I'm soooo glad you are back, our poet laurate of LBT. Your words are ever graceful, with a simple phrase, a well placed pause, saying what I cannot, finding the words.

I'm so glad you are back! Your words are a song in my heart, even when those words are sad and full of pain, they are still a song.

I too am really happy you're back, Whippledaddy!! :mad:

Of all the profound things in your post, and there were many, this is what I like the best:

I wanted to share that having the band doesn't solve your problems, it gives you a breather to work on them yourself.

Yep.

Beautiful Post !!!!

Whipple - great stuff. I understand completely. Beautiful way to put it out on the table.

Thanks for the insight.

nancy

Whipple you have an amazing way with words!!! I'm so glad your back!!!!! Your writting always brings tears to my eyes or a smile to my face. Thank you for sharing your wonderful inspiring self with us once again!!!

AFter reading "winterizing" I had to dig around and find some other posts! This one did not disappoint; in fact, it inspired. It explained. I miss food. I can't believe it is that simple! Thanks for the insight! Cindy

Hi Ryan. I was touched by your post. You have caused me to come out of hiding. Do you remember me? I have been lurking when I can . I have wondered where you have been and where Teresa and Darcy aer. I still see that Michele and Delara and Alex are all still around. And others I wonder about also. I have been banded for over a year and lost over 50lbs and got doen to 198lbs. But three weeks ago I started eating like pre band days. I am back on track now but am afraid to get on the scales to see the damage, I feel the damag of a 3 week pig out. Anyway I loved your post. Great to hear from you, Thanks Janie :mad:

Yes, Mouse it does sound simple. But when the house is quiet, and the family is walking the fields of dreamland, and there is no one but yourself to see the sin, then it seems so very complicated.

And that voice inside is like a persistant salesman, deflecting all resistance and making it feel like a midnight snack is the most important thing in the world. Some cocoa, or some toast, or both. chips. Cookies.

If I can remember that this is the insidious voice of my addiction, and not the soothing voice of reason I seem to hear, then I can fight.

Thanks for looking up my posts. That is a very flattering thing.

Janie!!!!!!!! Janie's here!!!!!!! I missed you kid!!!!

Don't worry about slipping. A three week binge beats the life long binge you were on before you got banded, eh?

We all slip. We are all human. We admitted we were powerless and got some help. Only the very strong can admit their weaknesses.

Congrats on coming out of hiding.

Wow. Not only wise, but poetic in the mix. Great post. Thanks so much for coming back to share. Your weight loss is inspiring and your delivery is beautiful.

Irene

Ryan! How did you know I (used to?) to get up and eat when everyone else is asleep? It is amazing that we all share such similar circumstances, and it is comforting, too. The whole subject of addiction is interesting, and relevant. Thanks goodness you popped back in! Cindy

I can't really add to what anyone else has said. It's just really wonderful the words you find to express this stuff that is so common to all of us.

I know about the night time eating because I used to do it, too. I still would if I could. Sometimes I get up and end up drinking Water because I just can't eat.

I have walked a mile in your moccasins, and you in mine.

It started when I was a child. I'd read the Lord of the Rings and would prepare this large plate of food and sneak it into my bedroom and eat it while sitting Indian fashion on the bed. I'd pretend I was Frodo and Sam having a picnic on their adventure.

I used a lot of fantasy to block out the real world then as well.

I also developed the dangerous habit of eating leftovers if there just weren't enough to save. It started with my parents. "Oh, come on, honey, it's only a couple of bites. There are children starving in Europe." I ate. The children starved and I was 225lbs before I was thirteen.

As an adult I ate leftovers rather than putting them away. Sigh. The bright side is that I've saved a fortune on plastic wrap. In fact until the Band I really didn't need a frig at all. Just a cold place to store milk. I've always had a case of eat it all. We could analyze this all day. My parents would punish me if I didn't clean my plate. And my babysitter would do "other" things to me if I didn't finish all my food, and more if it were given to me. Eating everything was a matter of survival then. I'm a survivor.

Yes, we know each other's story before we hear it. Yet it is new and bright and shiny and terribly sad at the same time.

We have all carried this connection, formed years before we ever met, that allows us to get into each other's heads a bit. But, mostly, it allows us to understand. Too bad it is so much easier to understand others, and so hard to understand ourselves.