Okay, this post might make me sound sexist and crude but... I'd really like a hook-up or any kind of sex before I go for surgery.
I rather kind of like sex and would find it fun to engage in more of it. Sure, being Two and a Half Tasers (which is what I'm going to keep calling myself to motivate me to go to every Bariatric support group meeting and nutritionist appointment without even second guessing if I should) is not the ideal Taser for "teh sex." However, I learned that I kind of don't care about how I look during sex because I'm too busy, you know, with the sex.
I guess "Hey, guys, I have a sex drive now" is not that sexist a thing to say and everyone might want to fuck as much as possible (including me now) but this is still a new world for me. This is a world where I realize that I'm not going to have the worst panic attack of my life and PTSD flashbacks. This is a world where I realize that being assaulted by a doctor in that region didn't make me "damaged goods" that no one would ever want. This is a world where I realized I'm worthy of love and romance and passion and, yes, sex.
I shouldn't just think "Well, I'm a horrible person and I hate myself so everyone else will just do what I do."
Because... I don't hate myself. At least not as much as I did. I'm learning, albeit slowly, that I'm kind of cool. I'm learning that I'm funny, I'm caring, and I put a hell of a lot of work into recovery as if it was my full time job. Last year I would say "Yeah, because it IS your full time job because you are on disability you big societal leach" but fuck last year's Taser (please) I'm not thinking like that anymore. If I was a societal leach I wouldn't be pushing myself and opening old wounds that I stitched together with scotch tape in therapy so we can properly heal them. If I was a societal leach I would just say "Yeah, I'm happy being Two and a Half Tasers... I'll stay fat and keep chugging Mountain Dew, thanks."
No, I'm not that Taser anymore that thinks so little of himself that he is constantly berating himself for not already having a full time job, a house, a wife, a car, and 2.3 children. Fuck that noise.
Two and a Half Taser, if he continued the way he was going, could have and probably would have died in his sleep thanks to sleep apnea. I don't think I've ever mentioned this to anyone but I was so afraid of that situation last year that I set up contingencies with my best friend so he can access anything he needs to let anyone who needs to know that there is no more Taser.
That's fucking grim. That's how shitty I felt last year: I was actively planning for death just in case. Sure, some of the things I did were good like setting it so he can access my Facebook account if I'm not here anymore but, like everything, I obsessively took it too far until it caused me to become depressed and think death, while inevitable, is coming sooner than I think.
Is that what's motivating me to have surgery and to melt away at least 1 and a Half Tasers from my being? Yes, partially. I think fear of dying from fat is a reasonable reason to have gastric surgery. The other part of me just wants one less thing to worry about so I can get out there and meet people and maybe have things like one night stands or relationships or anything more than sleeping all day and being awake, alone, at night.
Two and a Half Taser's existence is lonely and boring. I will not miss that 1 and a Half Taser when he's gone.
