I’ve learned in the past

To get attention fast

You need to tell the truth.

Be 100% real,

Just say how you feel,

Make sure to start in your youth.

Pay attention to your body,

Don’t let your checks be shoddy,

In fact, be a downright sleuth!


As oldest of five,

It wasn’t great to be alive,

I simply had too much fire.

I craved much attention,

But I must not have mentioned,

I’m not trying to raise your ire.

Feeling frequently dismissed,

I began putting up my fists,

And caused things to become dire!


Seeking note of any kind,

Bad seemed all I could find,

The very notion of good an aberration.

Diagnosed at eighteen,

(After causing quite the scene)

And landing a legal situation,

I did plenty of research,

I even looked into church,

But worse, now I get accusations!


Explaining what’s wrong,

Not singing any songs,

Medication becomes an issue.

Appear calm and collected,

Lies immediately suspected,

Doctors won’t let you continue.

Pain CAN’T be an eight.

Your face – WAY too straight –

We’re not doing anything for you!


Eyes harden, face red,

“To the ER!” my doc had said,

Just, damnit, give me my scans.

I’m not looking for meds,

Please, just check my head,

It wasn’t like this was a plan:

I took prescribed pills,

Then whacked my head in a spill,

Just check – I know you can!


“CT came back clear,

Now, get out of here!”

Didn’t know what it meant, but I left.

Broke down and cried,

My brain still feels fried,

I’m never believed; always bereft.

Because I am crazy,

The doctors get lazy,

And between body and mind see a cleft.

The population of the world is approximately 7.13 billion people. If the whole world got together and made a list of the top 2,376,666,666 (1/3) people who have no positive influence or contributions to society, are generally awful people, murderers, etc. (basically a waste of air/space/resources) I probably wouldn’t even make the list. 

So why is it that my entire being, down to the very fibres that make each cell (or whatever), are convinced I have no right to be here, and that barely anyone would even blink if I were to disappear? That the world would be better off without me. That I AM the biggest waste of everything. 

I’m not even like some – knew what I wanted only to have had it taken away. No, I’ve never known what I want, never gotten what I think I want, I’m never truly happy… but I try to be nice, I try to be helpful, “Christian”, “good”… I try to look on the bright side. I don’t always try to take the easy way out. I’m willing and able to work for things. I try to be happy. I try to like what I do get, work with what I have, make the best of anything that comes my way. But NOTHING satisfies.

I have this big, gaping, churning chasm deep inside me full of fire and acid and everything painful that slowly eats away at who you think you are, who you think you want to be and it just feeds and eats and churns up more and keeps on going and never lets me have a break. 

The voice in my head tells me how awful and stupid and pointless and weak and wasteful and hurtful I am. It tells me how being here does more harm than good. It tells me to shut up – you have nothing to say and no one wants to hear it anyway. It tells me to listen to the people who say they’re here for me and to talk out my problems, but also whispers in my ear as I’m doing it that they think I’m overreacting, or lying (because that Facebook picture you posted was upbeat and you smiled so life can’t be that bad!) or that my problems are so insignificant in the grand scheme of things and on a lesser extent in comparison to other people’s problems that my reaction to them is wrong and I’m just a big crying baby who won’t listen to logic or reason. It tells me to scream, though no one will hear and on the off chance they do they’ll tell you you’re wrong or stupid or not listen. It tells me that no amount of blood work or counselling can 100% say what is wrong therefore I will never be “fixed”. I will never be ok. I will never be happy. I will never feel well. I will always have headaches and stomach aches and body aches and extreme fatigue. I’ve tried for YEARS to “pull up my socks”, “suck it up”, to understand that everyone goes through rough patches but they don’t all miss work, that there’s no reason to be this way. 

I will always idealize suicide and pray to die multiple times per day. To pray to whatever god there is to just end my torture and take me away. I don’t even want an afterlife. I want no life. I want silence. I want nothing. 

What every girl wants to hear…

So I found out last night that the man I love and have been in a relationship with for less than a month away from three years has only been with me because he couldn’t find anyone else. He actually wrote in his blog that he takes “what he can get” and lamented the standards he lowered in order to be with me. 

Needless to say, we are now exes. I am not a consolation prize. 

5 weeks post-op

So today I am officially 5 weeks post-op from having a full abdominoplasty (tummy tuck) and I’m super happy with the results.  My surgery date got moved from December 21, 2016 up to November 30, 2016 due to the surgeon not being available through Christmas.

The first few days were very rough.  All my core muscles were screaming so any movement I made was just awful.  Then the gas hit.  About the second or third day I ended up with gas pains, and eventually being constipated.  It was excruciating until I had an enema and things got back to working again.  I also ended up with a yeast infection from the antibiotics I was on.  I ended up being on antibiotics for 2 weeks, as at my 1 week follow-up my incision was still quite red.

This is me the day I had my drains removed, 1 week post-op.2017-01-04-11-01-32

I went in the day of surgery weighing 162 lbs and today I’m 155 – Dr. Bengezi removed 7 lbs of tumor and excess skin, sewed my abdominal muscles together and moved my belly button.

I started this weight loss journey when I was 320 lbs.  I was diagnosed with diabetes and was depressed and just generally unhealthy.


May 21, 2014 I went in for Gastric Bypass Surgery performed by Dr. Gmora in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada.  I had lost some weight and was 277 lbs.


2 years after my gastric bypass I went to a plastic surgeon to see about having what I thought was an unfortunate amount/placement of extra skin that had started growing when I was 15 years old.

Dr. Bengezi of Welland took a look at me and said it wasn’t all extra skin; what I always called my “bump” was actually a form of a tumor, called a lipoma.  He had never seen one so big before and he took a lot of pictures.  He then sent in a request to OHIP (our provincial health care plan) to see if they would cover the cost of a panniculectomy to remove the bump.  I got a call back about 5 months after they sent the request that I had been approved.

The morning of surgery I get to the hospital and the nursing staff is great.  They tell me how much they love and respect Dr. Bengezi and how nice he is and what great work he does so I was more than comfortable and not nervous at all.  When I finally get to the OR I’m chatting with the nurses and staff and they all love Dr. Bengezi too.  When he comes into the room he almost brags to the nurses how big my “bump” is that he’s going to remove and how I lost 160 lbs and basically my story.  But then he says something I didn’t know… OHIP only covered a panniculectomy, which is basically just removing the bump and nothing else but Dr. Bengezi didn’t want me to look bad so he upgraded me to a full tummy tuck with muscle repair at no cost to me!  I had no idea.

Post-op I had only one complication – a seroma, which is a fluid build up.  Dr. Bengezi got me in right away and drained 170 cc of fluid. I went back the following week and he took out 120 cc.  The next time I went I had 40 cc removed and this most recent time none at all.  There’s still a tiny bit of fluid left but nothing to worry about and he says my body will absorb it by itself as the lymphatic system repairs.

So, now, at 5 weeks out I am ready to show my “after” pictures.  I’m still swollen and numb, and there are still some spots on the incision that are scabbed, but otherwise everything is great.  I am super happy with the results and cannot wait to get this binder off (essentially a large elastic band that compresses my tummy) and wear real pants, like jeans.  Ooh.. and a bathing suit.  I haven’t worn one in years because none covered my belly properly.

Here are my stats, before I show the pictures:

Highest Weight – 320 lbs (April, 2013)

Highest Waist Measurement – 58 inches

Highest Hips Measurement – 59 inches

Bypass Surgery Weight – 277 lbs (May, 2014)

Current Weight – 155 lbs

Current Waist Measurement – 35 inches

Current Hips Measurement – 39 inches



I take my anti-depressants – 4 of them – each night before bed.  I rarely miss a dose.  I don’t know if they’re not working now or if they’ve ever really worked.  Maybe they just feel like they work because my mood sometimes goes up but it really has nothing to do with them.  Maybe my mood would be up if I take them or not because here’s the thing… I wish I was dead right now.  I’m depressed and in a bad way and have been for a while.  Nothing makes me happy or satisfied.  All I want to do is sleep.  Nothing has changed; I have not stopped taking my meds and in fact have had the dose increased recently.  Nothing has changed so why am I so bad?  I can’t tell my boyfriend because he thinks everything is about him.  If I tell him how bad I truly am he’ll think it’s his fault or I don’t love him enough.  It has nothing to do with him.  I started taking depression medications when I was 14 and have been playing with doses and different ones ever since.  I wish I had a support system but I don’t.  My dad doesn’t believe in depression.  I’m not close enough with my brothers or sisters and my daughter is too young.  I don’t have friends.  My depression likes to manifest itself as physical symptoms like I’ll get headaches and tummy aches.  Plus its easier to say I’m shutting the world out because I have a headache – people tend to understand and respect that better than I wish I was dead, smiling hurts and talking takes more energy than I have right now.  It’s funny how physical maladies are more respected than mental ones.  It’s just so damned hard right now.  How am I supposed to go out and be fine, act fine, when all I can think about is hurting myself?  When all my energy goes into being alive? How am I supposed to make him feel better about his life when mine feels like it is falling apart around me? I just want to isolate.  I want to be alone.  I feel alone so I should be alone. But I won’t be alone.  I’ll go to his house, I’ll smile and make small talk as much as I’m able.  Make jokes if I can and pretend everything is fine.  Because I can’t upset him – he has actual physical ailments so I have no right to be feeling like this. That’s the absolute worst part, I think – feeling like I have no rights.  Like since I don’t have physical problems, constant physical pain or disabilities… I’m all mental… so it can’t be real, right?  It’s all in my head.  I should just think it better.  Try harder.  Don’t complain because we don’t want to upset anyone.  Someone has it worse than you so keep smiling.  Stop crying.  Put the knife down.  I have no rights.