It’s my own damn fault, I stepped on the scale. I knew I shouldn’t. The end result has been the almost predictable downward spiral, where 4 days later I’m back to normal. Normal meaning no sleep, more pain, and depressed with a capital D.
All because of weighing myself? You bet. Nothing is more depressing than dieting. For a chronically depressed person dieting is about the dumbest thing to attempt.
After whining about my weight to my pain physician, she laid out a challenge. A rather simple one. She was going to take the next 3 weeks off, throw in a cruise around Alaska with the kids, so why don’t I lose 10 pounds in that period. 10 pounds shouldn’t be too much, just watch what you eat, cut out the garbage, and get a little more exercise.
So I started a diet. I really need to get this weight off, for numerous reasons. Two weeks ago I started counting calories, following a program I had heard about and had used successfully in 2019 called Lose It (™). The program sets realistic goals, you just need to log everything you put in your mouth, and develop better eating habits.
The suggested calorie count for a person my age, current weight, and activity level was set at 1930 calories a day. Not a lot, but manageable with proper eating. Like no M&M’s or ice cream. More fruit, and veggies, green is good.
That would give me an estimated weight loss of 2 pounds per week, accomplishing my goal of losing 50 pounds in six months. Adding any more exercise would help or cutting back more calories if possible.
At the end of week one, I stepped on the scale in the guest bathroom and lo and behold I had lost 3 pounds! I was elated. So much so that on day 9 I packed up my fishing gear and headed to the lake, met with my fishing buddies, and had a genuinely nice time. Besides, fly fishing and casting 1000 times must burn off a bunch of calories.
Day 10 of starving myself, and with all that exercise I surely dropped another pound or two. Back to the scale, buck naked, and…drum roll please…
I was now two pounds heavier than when I started. True to my nature, I wasn’t just a little upset, I fell off the edge of the proverbial cliff. I wonder if I can do this again, the doubts came pouring in. It is such a struggle to lose weight anyway, why am I even trying?
I’ll tell you why. And why weight has always seemed to be an issue. Just bear with me, as with everything I do it’s a long story.
I have a mind-set that I still need to transition, that I’m not where I want to be. Not quite. I have an image in my mind of where I want to be, and know that it’s possible for me to achieve this. I have a picture of myself in the back of my mind, in my safe place, that I need to get to before I die. I have a very long way to go, and little time left to get there.
I’ve had this vision of myself after transitioning for quite some time, where I can close my eyes and see my true self. I first discovered this “image” when starting psychotherapy in 1991 . It may not be the right year, but close. I had gone to see a psychiatrist primarily concerning the gender dysphoria issue, a woman shrink of course. At the time in the States you had to pay for psychiatric care, then if you were fortunate your company insurance would cover a portion. You simply pick one, call, and book an appointment.
I got lucky with who I called as she turned out to be one of the doctors who helped me the most. In conjunction with her planned use of medications, she assigned me to one of her psychotherapists for weekly sessions of talk psychotherapy. I could at least try.
My psychotherapist was named Ann, a very lovely and gracious woman. A refined, elegant person. I saw her once a week for an hour, Thursdays from 4:00 to 5:00. Except the one session when I finally opened up to her about being sexually molested as a child. Ann was the first person I ever told that story to, down to the very last detail. After 27 years I let it all out in an avalanche of tears and pain and anger.
For 3 hours she listened, and at the end shed a tear along with me. She apologized for her lack of professionalism at the next session, but I had only taken it as the most outward sign of a person’s humanity and kindness. That entire experience desires a separate blog. Although I’ve had other therapists since then, we had bonded in our own special way. She kept me safe from my own thoughts of shame and guilt.
Through these sessions we developed an image in my mind of the person I really am, with her guidance but without anyone else’s influence but mine. One day I might tell you of this mental image, but this is the one thing that is uniquely my own. This is who I really am, without the burdens that life presents us, without the pull of other people. If I describe this person, then I lose ownership. It’s best if I simply become the person I know exists within me. The enlightened soul. Then you can get a glimpse for yourself.
I had thought I had been close before, had achieved this inner balance and understanding, but was just fooling myself. I have yet to find true happiness and acceptance, but have not given up the search. There was one brief time when I felt I was looking out at the world through my own eyes. That I was finally free and fulfilled. But it was quite fleeting and existed for just a brief instant.
So what does any of this have to do with dieting and disaster? It’s really quite simple. My current weight and physical health are not in sync with my mental image. Far from it. Unfortunately since the retinal surgery at the beginning of the year I have added an additional 20 pounds, which has increased my frustration with my weight even more. My only frustration? Nope, but a major one.
The issue with weight started when I was 7 years old and has been a burden on and off my whole life. Don’t get me wrong, there have been times when I was very happy with my body, but those times have been far and few between. Or is that few and far? You get what I’m saying.
There have been times when I was happy that I didn’t even think about my weight, it went on the back burner. During those times my weight was low enough and I was in such a good place that I paid it no mind.
Of course then I wasn’t trying to transition to the person that awaits me. I do regret waiting so long, wondering if I still have it in me. A matter of testosterone and the years of negative influence on my body.
From my own personal experience, being overweight goes hand in hand with my happiness. Apparently I am extremely unhappy at the present moment. I’ll be the first to agree with that. I am unhappy on a lot of counts, first and foremost fighting with myself as if I am the enemy. My own worst friend.
So I’ve told my doctors recently that I am unhappy with my weight, and not surprisingly they’ve all agreed there would be numerous benefits in shedding a few pounds. Like 20 pounds is a few. The cardiologist especially agreed, and filled out a prescription for Mounjaro, one of the new “miracle” weight loss drugs that have become all the rage for fat people. I take it they got the name from Mount Kilimanjaro, implying if you used this drug it would shave pounds and letters of the alphabet off as an added bonus. Clever.
I happily agreed to take it, to be like all those smiling folks on TV that have lost weight without even trying. The drug suppresses your appetite and alters your metabolism, supposedly. I took the first dose, self-injecting as directed, and found it to be relatively easy. A tiny little needle into a belly full of fat, I felt no pain. This would be a piece of cake. A shot once a week and you’d lose 8-10 pounds every month. As long as you never ever stopped, the one major trade-off. Well, besides the price of $500 for one month, not covered by anything.
I thought, “man, this is going to be great”. Until the next morning rolled around. I woke up at about 5:00 am and immediately ran to the bathroom to lose whatever contents were in my stomach from the night before. Then proceeded to throw up for the next 3 days. What a diet this was turning into, all you have to do is get violently ill and not eat for the next couple of days and the pounds will melt away! A new form of bulimia. Not to make light of that disease.
“Ooh, that’s not good.” my cardio said when I called. “There is an estimated 5% risk that you can have a real bad reaction, so guess what…” Curses, once again I fall into that frigging 5%. (I always wanted to use the word “curses”).
4 months and another 15 pounds later it was time to take more drastic measures. But I needed a challenge, a goal, a target. A side bet would help. So the aforementioned challenge from Dr. S. came about.
I have gone through 3 periods in my life where I have lost a serious amount of weight. Only to put it all back on of course.
The first was when I moved away from home at 20 years old and went to work at a construction job. Somewhat poor, but extremely happy. Shedding 70 pounds and converting everything that remained to muscle. Everyone thought I was dying from cancer, but it was simply the “true” me coming out to the world. Over the next 20 years I put on a few extra pounds, really never even thinking about food or dieting.
My weight really started getting out of control in the late 90’s, as I faced one bad problem after another. Drinking became a major issue for one. Wanting to come out as queer, but too afraid and unsure, another. By 2008 I had added 100 pounds to what I had weighed in 1978. I had gone from slim to chubby to fat and finally to obese.
That was the year I made my first decision to quit fighting myself, and decided it was time to transition from male to female. I had to accept the fact that I have been and always will be queer. I knew the potential risks of Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), and my body was in no condition to start that treatment. I fully believed HRT to be the key component in making this transition. My major concern was my heart, as we just had discovered I suffered from atrial fibrillation.
So that one single purpose, to transition to that vision I carried in my mind, drove my whole being. I put down the bottle somehow (which you can read more about here), quit smoking and started an extreme weight loss program.
I stuck with it, with all my heart, because of my intense desire to finally become the person I had been burying for way too many years. I used the Atkin’s diet guide, which was cutting out everything except protein, and burning up all the stored fat by putting carbohydrates and sugars down to zero. No fruit and no vegetables for the first month, just meat, fish and eggs.
I managed to take off 75 pounds in the course of a year. I was pretty proud of myself, felt way better, and looked to the point where I might not be 100% passable, but I could at least look pretty good.
It wouldn’t last though, as I stopped HRT in 2011. My dreams faded. I stopped due to suffering a minor TIA or trans ischemic attack. A mini-stroke in layman’s terms. Not something to take lightly, but diagnosed as a side effect of a-fib. I was nervous and afraid, and damned if I didn’t start smoking again. Oh well, maybe another time.
I put my transitioning back in the closet. I simply gave up my dream.
My heart problems increased as it finally went into a-fib 100% of the time. A walking heart attack or stroke. By 2015 I didn’t have the energy or breath to move, it had gotten that severe. The weight started building back up.
I went through two grueling heart procedures in 2015 and 2017 and as of this writing have not had an episode of atrial fibrillation since. Touch wood. I was cured supposedly by modern laser surgery, but now left fat and unhappy.
By 2019 I had sunk to a new low with depression, unhappy with my life and my body. I’ve always said transition or die. My mantra. I had to have another go at transitioning, and HRT.
So the second attempt to finally come out of the closet coincided with the third attempt to lose weight. I found the diet program mentioned earlier, and throughout 2019 lost the weight I had put on. I started with a new family doctor and began HRT in earnest in January of 2020, leading up to gender affirmation surgery in 2023.
As you may or may not know, I was happy with transitioning, coming out, and finding myself. It was too good to be true. I felt comfortable with who I was, and could have cared less what other people thought.
Then my body started having one issue after another, and the evil trinity of pain, insomnia and depression started to take over. It’s been two years of hell. And with that came the weight. Especially after losing my eyesight in one eye. I’m surprised how much that can set you back.
Which brings us back to another diet, another bathroom scale.
My third and last time to transition and I am determined to make it somehow. The vision is there, I just need to believe I can grasp it. Believe in myself. It will take some help I think. Yeah, I need someone to help me. Believe in me.