The latest bee in my proverbial bonnet is prompted by someone I love. I am currently on a diet or altered eating lifestyle. I’m looking to lose enough weight to have my knee replacement surgery. I refuse to have barbaric bypass surgery or try some fad diet plan.
Basically, I’m counting calories and eliminating junk food. My new fixation is my weigh-in every Saturday. Sometimes it drops less than a pound, but it has yet to increase.
When it drops less than a pound, I feel like I gained fifty pounds. So naturally, I have a Facebook pity party. I get lots of encouragement and praise. I also get advice.
Keep in mind that I am bipolar and can barely walk. The advice I got was to find an activity that keeps me active mentally and physically. This statement made me feel like a loser. I know she loves me and means well, but she doesn’t really know me.
I honestly thought she did knew me. Perhaps it’s my fault that she didn’t. I thought everyone knew. My real fear, at this point, is talking about it to her. I have been bombarded with alleged ‘ready-made’ problem solvers all my life. Some things are just not that easy.
Those that truly get it are found in group therapy sessions. Basically, we’re all trying to avoid a trip to the ER, racing thoughts, crippling panic attacks, going off the meds and suicide. Stability is the goal, not a cure.
I am afraid of sharing all of this with my friends and family. Most know my condition, but perhaps passively. I have been living with this demon all my life. It has aided and injured me. Now my knee wants to join the disabled list. I’m hanging on as best I can!
