Three

Three months… doc said that he tells everyone to give it three months. Now those three months are up and I am still ye mostly blind in my right eye. I had hoped to be one of the lucky ones. The retinal specialist straight up told me, when pressed at my last visit, that most people don’t get it back.

I might just have to adapt… I get frustrated when I cannot do what I want to do, having a hard go working with little pliers, accidentally reaching next to the object I’m trying to hold, and such. I can no longer read a fast paced book cover to cover in one sitting, and some people like to take advantage of my lack of peripheral vision on that side to sneak by me (mischievous grandchildren) or up on me (playful vet) for their own personal amusements.

I tried to tell the vet what the doc said and got chewed out for thinking negatively. I should put it out of my mind, never speak the words out loud, have faith and flat out refuse to believe the vision loss may be permanent. Why, docs don’t know everything… just look at him. If he listened to VA docs, he’d still be unable to walk. Determination and sheer will… as if I can will my eyesight back.

Speaking of will, that man has decided to police the brownies.

OH. MY. GAWD.

I have binge eating disorder… the last thing I need is someone trying to “help” me lose the few pounds I gained over the holidays. HIS doc wants HIM to drop 15 by June… so when he says, “babe, June is coming… what are you doing with that brownie?” after HE just ate one, I’m like flabbergasted.

He doesn’t know what restricting my diet can do. Deprivation is an on ramp to the binge highway of hell. My goal has always been to eat like a normal person. People do eat brownies. They eat one… one now and maybe one later. It’s okay. They don’t wait and sneak a brownie when their man is gone, then freak out, eat the rest and bake another pan, then eat it down to exactly where it was before they removed the first brownie just so it looks untouched when he comes home. I am so NOT going to go there, so this policing the brownie shit has to stop.

Yes, I did ask him to be okay with me saying no to food now and then… like if he’s hungry and I’m not, don’t be upset with me if I opt not to eat. Or, when he fries four pieces of chicken for two people, be okay if I only want one… it doesn’t mean I don’t like it, just means I only want one. That’s what I meant by asking him to help me… I don’t want nor need anyone policing my food.

This may sound goofy, but it is a serious problem.

Since the brownie incident, I catch myself wanting to buy things that I can hide and eat in secret so he won’t know about it. Not necessarily bad things… raisins and nuts, like a frikkin squirrel. That’s really stupid. I can’t do this. I have to be free to eat like normal people.

I tried to talk to him about binge eating disorder but he related what I was saying to his own “sweet tooth” and it was obvious that he doesn’t get it, has no clue on how insane the behavior can get. It’s like trying to explain depression to someone who will tell you to just shake off the blues.

Thanks for reading!

Confession

I did not write about last week’s Reality Check weigh-in because I got scared and did something on my no-no list.

No, I did not gain weight. I lost just enough to land on a “new” low number, which pretty much explained why an oh too familiar, deep throbbing ache had settled into my spine.

Some numbers are just bad. I assume it is a distribution thing, how the body carries itself as a weight loss or gain can change the stress factors on the spine. All I know is I hurt and it was not the “normal” bull from doing too much. I push my limits to the edge of pain all the time, back off, pay for it with “hobble days” and do it again. That’s how I have improved bodily function, increased mobility, etc. Oh geez… I am already saying too much.

Perhaps I should explain?

SHORT VERSION: I live with disability. In the best of times, it is no big deal. The worst? Pure unadulturous torture. I will do anything to avoid “killer” spasms as I am a big ol’ chicken-wuss, a little-wittle baby when it comes to pain that rocks right off the frikkin charts. No joke. Killer spasms make me scream involuntarily.

So you see? I can deal with the normal bull, but the kind of ache that pre-curses horrid spasms scares the hell out of me.

Desperate times call for drastic action. After weighing myself for the Reality Check last weekend, I made the harsh decision to put myself on a diet even though dieting is my number one binge trigger.

So far, so good… that bad ache is starting to fade. It is no longer constant throbbing, just comes and goes, so maybe diet one more week? I just want to get as far below that bad number as possible ASAP, then I can go back to doing the intuitive eating thing.

:

LATER: I saved this as a draft, walked away debating between posting or deleting. I must be wacked in the head as it is so bizarre to be willing to talk about the messed up secret world of binge eating disorder but unwilling to talk about disability. I think it is the pity factor. It pisses me off when people look at me with sad eyes. I don’t have time for other people’s self pity directed at me because that is precisely what it is: people saddened because I can’t do whatever it is that they like to do, going weird on me imagining how they would feel if they couldn’t do it anymore, and most of the time it is something I would never have taken a notion of doing anyway. So what if it takes me longer to do some things, if I stand crooked, or come off looking like a frikken cartoon now and then? Life is what it is, roll with what comes, play the hand as dealt. What’s my choice here? Wallow in misery or find the humor? I prefer to laugh.

Tell you a twist on something my grandma Goldie used to say: “all you get out of this world is what you eat, drink, or smoke…” and if you are really lucky, you might just get to love someone along the way.

See, that’s it. Simplistic view of life, what really matters. Love, peace, art, laughter… I feel blessed.