It has been some time since I've written a blog to update the status of my physical being-ness. Perhaps some of the reason for the digital silence has been shame. Maybe some laziness as well. Maybe I don't want to document the ups and downs of the state of my physical body and the metaphor for life that a diagnosis of chronic illness is. Maybe this whole journey feels like it has been a waste of time since of the 95 pounds I lost in total from the beginning of the photo journal in 2005 to 2010, I have gained 60 of it back. All of the fasting, training, turbo, walking, shoe inserts, green juices, and food journaling have ended up with me becoming a statistic with the diagnosis of diabetes and a heap of pills and doctor appointments to ensure that I get to keep the use of all of limbs.
Now I contemplate a decision that I have previously entertained but rejected multiple times throughout my journey. Bariatric surgery. I always felt like taking the route of surgery was "the easy way out." Like, somehow, it was a weak thing to do. I don't need to justify my decisions to this blog, or the one or two people who have ever read it- or to myself. But here I am, justifying. Apologizing. And contemplating the barbaric actions I am about to authorize on my organs in order to have the best chance possible at keeping my blood glucose levels under good control for the long term.
And with all of these weighty topics of contemplation, I find myself wondering if surgery will leave me feeling less sexy. Maybe this sounds a little crazy, since society has declared that the smaller one is, the sexier. I know this intellectually and experientially not to be true. Sexy can't be defined by a number on a scale or any other measure of a body part. I know that to me sexy is 90% in the intellectual stimulation that I feel with my beloved- and 10% in the flow of our being-ness together. I could list some of the intellectual things I find to be quite sexy, but I don't want to get too turned on right now... I have a blog to write.
This right here is the golden ticket. I know this is how I create a lot of suffering for myself. I make assumptions about what others *might* think. I hardly need another person to step in with judgment about me, because I have that base covered with an outpouring of self-judgment and criticism. Imagining that a potential partner has a "standard" idea of what is sexy has kept me from being in any kind of relationship for quite sometime now. (As well as other more painful emotional relationship and trust matters that might fit in better on my other blog or in some poem.) So, do I imagine that I will be any less alluring because of a number and physical state of being that I hardly take into account when I'm daydreaming about whoever Mr. Sexy du jour is? Yeah. Like I said, crazy.
So, since sexy can't be measured solely by outward appearance or quantified in numbers, I guess you'll just have to follow me and find our for yourself.
