I am NOT an addict.

On June 28, 2012 I celebrated my one-year surgiversary.  Stunning really that a whole year has passed since this event which has been so life-altering.  It seems like only yesterday that I sat in the waiting room, my friend Sylvie holding my hand while I tiptoed the line of acceptance of the decision and visions of bolting screaming from the room, my considerable bum exposed as I ran as far from the hospital as I could.  But maybe it was the fact that I wouldn't have made it halfway down the hallway without having to stop and catch my breath or it was because I was just tired of running that I stayed put and made the best decision of my life.  So you'd think it would just stop there, right?  I'd have this miraculous surgery, my tiny new stomach would only be able to hold less than a cup full of food at a time, I'd be gorgeous and skinny and all my problems would melt away with the pounds and I'd emerge this beautiful, pristine butterfly with a slammin' new bod, right?

Yeah, no, not even fucking close.

Well the first part was true, I did have a tiny new stomach, I could only eat a cup at a time - hell, I lost close to 30 pounds before I even went under the knife...and slowly the weight did melt off.  85 pounds of it to be exact.  So here's the part where I'm supposed to be all normal and shit and not fucked up anymore, because you know only fat people have problems.  It quickly became evident that while yes, less food + more exercise (or ANY exercise) = weight loss.  Easy peasy.  My stomach wouldn't allow me to eat much food, I was petrified of eating sugar, fried food, etc. for the fear of vomiting or other dire consequences (ie: dumping) so my portions were cut and for once, I was putting good food in my body.

I screwed up the courage and asked Barry if he would train me and it was a huge victory for me to be scared shitless and embarassed as hell to go to the gym and expose the depths of how out of shape I was.  Despite sometimes not saying very nice things to him when I'm on the verge of vomiting I will be forever grateful for what the support he has shown me, believing in me when I didn't believe in myself.  For almost a full year at 5:30 am three days a week I ran those fucking stairs, turned my "there's no way I can do that's" to "let's do this!" (and sometimes a - "there's no way this is a real exercise, you're making shit up" thrown in for good measure)and my body started to get shape.  I could run up stairs and not run out of breath.  I had muscles.  I had energy that was almost limitless.  My clothes fit better.  My mind became clearer, stress was reduced.  It was wonderful. I was on track, right?

Nope.

Because from the beginning of it all was this person who sabotaged me at every turn, who whispered taunts in my ear of what a failure I was, how fat, stupid and ugly I was always going to be - that I couldn't do this and that I shouldn't even try.  I have lived with this person my whole life, I don't ever remember not hearing their scathing comments.  And that person, she's me.  (Yeah, didn't see that one coming, did ya?).  Some people talk about this fat version of themselves as someone separate from who they are now.  I don't buy it.  Fat, skinny, it's just me.  And my shit.  The more I tried to distance myself from this "other" Wendy the worst it became, ignoring her made her more loud, more obnoxious, more out of control.  I reached a point where "I" felt out of control and life became too overwhelming - I had a new job working with people who were dying, work that has always been a part of my heart and it was in jeopardy, all my hard work too.    I was in such a dark place that I decided I had to seek professional help and that I couldn't do this alone anymore.  I went "shopping" for a therapist online and knew that I was looking for something around addictions (thinking food at the time), now you're probably thinking I was doing research, looking for who was the best, most recommended, etc. but to be truthful I stumbled upon this website after typing in addictions and Ontario and this website was about sexual addiction.  My immediate reaction was to dismiss this - I wasn't a sexual addict.  Hell, I'm the most stubborn, proud person ever, admitting I had a problem to begin with kinda bit my ass - but an addict????  Hell, even with the food addiction, I was more thinking food "problem"... I don't know why I had such difficulty with the word addiction.  I think in my mind it meant that I was weak, flawed... everything my Dad, the alcoholic is and everything I didn't ever want to be.  Anyway, there was a self-quiz on the site about determining whether a person has a sexual addiction so I took it.
1. Do you frequently fantasize or think about sex?
Not frequently, no.... sure when I'm driving in the car, but that's boring right?  I'm just killing time.  And I'm sure everyone who sees a good-looking man and/or woman thinks about them naked.  Well and when I can't sleep sometimes my mind just drifts there.  But everyone does this, sex is natural, fantasies are natural.  I don't have a problem.

2. Have you made promises to yourself or others to change or stop some of your sexual behaviour, and then broken these promises?
Well yeah, but I mean it wasn't a promise written in stone and it was only to myself, that surely doesn't count.

3. Does your sexual desire cause you to associate with people you wouldn't normally be with or do things you wouldn't normally do?
Hey, I was experimenting in my 20's, sure there may have been some people that I did things with sexually that I may not have done if I wasn't just so damned horny.  Again, I'm sure that everyone has had sex with someone they wouldn't necessarily have done it with when they were desperate.  And really, we were consenting adults there's nothing wrong with my behaviours...sure there were a few times I nearly got caught having sex in public places, but that's part of the thrill, right?

4. Has frequenting sex sites on the internet for sexual stimulation become a habit for you?
Habit?  No.  I mean sometimes when my imagination isn't doing the trick, sure but it's not a habit.

5. Is masturbation a frequent activity for you?
Oh come on now, everyone masturbates!  And what is deemed as frequent?  What kind of question is this?

6. Do you frequent, or have you frequented X-rated movie theaters?
Once.  Fuck, I mean what the hell?  It was a dare, it was just something that was a thrill at the time.  This fucking quiz is ridiculous.

7. Do you frequent other sexually oriented businesses?
Well do porn shops count?  I've been to them before, of course.  It's natural, right?   Right?!?!?!?

8. Are you especially excited by sexual behaviour that includes the risk of being caught?
Well not especially excited, but sure I mean it does up the thrill quite a bit and there was that time in the park... but surely I'm not the only person who is into that.

9.Is anonymous sex with others a frequent indulgence you seek, or one you periodically return to?
Look, I was lonely.  We  were consenting adults.  It wasn't an indulgence, it was a physical necessity.  Why am I even doing this stupid quiz?  I do NOT have a problem.  

10. Does some of your sexual activity cause you to have a secret life that is hidden from others?
Fuck.

And there it was.   That secret activity.  That secret life.  Like eating next to nothing when people were around and then gorging myself to the point of pain - that was my 20's... fucking recklessly, numbing out in every way possible.  Being so fucking sad and empty inside that I just wanted something to fill me (yes, that pun was intended), something to make the pain stop even for a little bit.  Someone called me "tough" today and when they said that I laughed because I feel like such a ball of insecurities and fear some days that thinking of myself as tough is just ridiculous.  But I see it now, how I try and come off as nothing bothers me. Really I don't know who I was trying to convince though...probably myself.  I didn't want to face my problems.  Admitting to my destructive behaviours meant taking responsibility for the consequences and as a recovering fat girl that is something I wanted to avoid at all costs.  When I was fat I could eat whatever I wanted, I didn't ever have to exercise, because I was already fat...why not just be fatter. But I'm off track... I was talking about sex.

Me and sex, well that's a fucked up thing, always has been.  Without going into detail I had some things happen to me when I was a kid and during those times I remember leaving my body.  I looked down on myself while those things were being done to her, "the other"....because it wasn't me.  All through high school I never dated, I purposely made fun of the guy who was going to ask me out to prom so that he wouldn't ask me out....and after growing out my hair after that disasterous head shaving incident in grade 9 I basically hid behind my hair as I walked through the hallways, just trying to disappear, to make myself as small as I possibly could.  I remember the first time I ever drank, it was probably in grade 10 and I blacked out... I hit on my brother's girlfriend's Dad apparently...and a few other people that thankfully I didn't remember.  Luckily my friends were so kind as to share the details of my shameful behaviour as I technicolor vomited up the Southern Comfort I'd drank.  I learned two things from that night: Alcohol was not my friend (specifically Southern Comfort) and the other was that me having those needs was shameful and led me to just pull even further inside myself.  I masturbated.  A lot.  I worked two jobs, went to school and had no social life, of course I masturbated.  It comforted me when I was upset, I could zone out...and it helped me chase away the demons that made sleep so elusive.  In college my first consensual sexual experience was with a man who was 35 years my senior.  He was sweet.  He told me I was beautiful and sent me roses.  I'm sure he was an adequate lover... looked that way anyway as I floated above my body.  When I was finished college I moved to Toronto and discovered a new "family" at my new job - a bunch of gay men who took me under their wing.  I guess this is where my addict's black and white thinking comes from because I saw these men go to bath houses and have what I thought were these glorious sex lives where there were no inhibitions and everyone just got laid lots and had fun.  Well I decided to do the same.  I hooked up with random men on chat lines... lots of men and a few women.  I had told myself that I was being uninhibited and sexually forward in my thinking... it was such a lie.  I could go weeks, months without a hook-up and then when the stress and the loneliness got too much I'd reel another one in (seriously, men are way too easy) and get my "fix."  Not once did I remain in my body during any of these encounters.  I never orgasmed.  I never felt a connection - hell it's hard to feel a connection with someone who you haven't given your real name to.  I believed in my heart that I was only good for sex, that no one would ever want to know me, to love me.

When I met Steve the sexual addiction became under control, but eating went completely out of control, spending money stupidly - it was just a never ending cycle of abuse.  I feel sad that I brought that fucked-up ness to my marriage but in my defense I can say I wasn't even aware of how fucked up I was, I was just in so much denial.  I forgive myself for that for truly I didn't know better.

Anyway, as the weight started to fall off a new horror started.  I started to "feel" my body.  My dear friend Ben hugged me a few months after my surgery, I had maybe lost about 50 pounds by then, it was a huge bear hug, the sweetest, most non-sexual hug ever and I freaked inside.  There wasn't a layer of protection against me and the world.  Parts of my body that had never touched another person's body became exposed and I wanted to cry... I still don't know if it was in fear or relief.....relief that for once I had an intimacy I had denied myself for so long.

Over the past few months I have been posting and sharing my innermost thoughts, sharing my homework that my fucking therapist has given me and it has been painful.  So fucking painful that sometimes I don't know what to do with the pain that I have inside but I ride the wave and hold on for dear life and it gets better, day by day it gets better.  That inner voice, that one that berated and defiled and belittled, its still there some days and I listen to it, I honor it because at one point it was true and I know that behind all the hate filled words is fear and shame and to ignore it means that I will never be set free.  So day-by-day and step-by-step that voice gets quieter and it is being replaced with something new - a feeling of peace, of purpose, of me.  I'm gonna fall down, I'm gonna mess up and I know that this is not something that is going to be fixed overnight but I'm committed to me.  I'm committed to being well and whole and happy and yeah, I'm still going to be sarcastic and quirky and sometimes inappropriate because that is part of my charm.  So every morning I will wake up and make a commitment to myself - to make good choices, to be gentle with myself, to take responsibility and to make this life the best I can make it.

<3 to you all.