Being told I'm possibly facing open heart coronary artery bypass surgery has certainly made me reflect on what it is that's brought me to this point. It's been a long road for sure and there is plenty of blame to be placed squarely on my own shoulders. Though it would be nice to say that genetics played a role, and perhaps they did to a certain extent, I really can only take full and complete responsibility for ending up the way I have. Diet has definitely played a significant role and as I look back over the decades of horrible eating habits I see a path of destruction riddled with fast food, carbohydrate laden pasta and pizza binges, cholesterol heavy meats and other greasy fatty meals. I honestly think that there were years at a time where my body wasn't even so much as introduced to a green leafy vegetable. Portion control, or I should say the lack thereof, was another significant culprit. Eating an entire pizza has rarely been any trouble for me; a full slab of ribs with all the trimmings? You bet! An all you can eat buffet? I'm in! And we won't even get started on snack foods like chips and dips, cakes, pies, ice cream, and chocolate just to name a few. While I haven't done anything in particular about it, I've come to realize that I eat my feelings. Now for someone with lifelong major depression, anxiety and trauma that's a hell of a lot of eating! Food has become my go to comfort, my soothing friend that makes me feel loved and wanted, that crutch that I lean so heavily on to at least temporarily take away the sadness. It's a vicious circle though; the more I eat the more I feel bad about myself which leads to eating even more. A lifetime of this vain and unhealthy coping has now caused so much damage that I'm staring at out of control blood sugar readings and a scalpel coming right at my chest. You'd think I would have heeded the warnings decades ago, but no, I had to propel myself down that path of self destruction and have no one to blame but myself.
Dietary mayhem isn't fully to blame here. I have been and continue to be a lifelong heavy smoker. Though both my parents smoked when I was a youngster, my own introduction to smoking ironically took place while I was in the hospital the first time for depression. It was an awful place and my folks ended up taking me out of there against medical advice but the damage was already done. It started out innocently enough just by trying a few puffs from others' smokes but then I started to bum them from other patients. Nurses began buying me packs of cigarettes. Looking back on it I'm not entirely sure just how my parents found out, but they did. I guess in an effort to make me happy and to not add to my issues of depression and anxiety they reluctantly allowed me to continue smoking at home. I guess they felt they'd rather I did it openly than go sneaking around behind their backs. I recall smoking all through high school which was somewhat difficult since I had to transfer to a small Christian school where such behavior wasn't allowed. Upon admission I had to sign a pledge not to do things like smoke, drink, dance, and I'm sure a few other things I can't remember. I'm sure they knew I was doing it; I wasn't fooling anyone other than maybe myself. For a time it became a bonding experience between Dad and I. Mom had long since quit cold turkey years before and no longer allowed smoking in the house so Dad and I had to go either outside or in the garage where we had a little seating area set up. Maybe it was my way of wanting to be a little bit like him, I don't know. Over the years I've made numerous attempts to quit, all of which have been unsuccessful. After the last attempt I just decided to give up trying. My lungs are shot to hell and I cough up a lung just about every day, but still can't muster up the courage and desire to give it up. Smoking, like food, is a comfort to me, a friend that never lets me down and is always there for me day and night. It doesn't seem to matter that it's killing me in the process. Sometimes I think that food and cigarettes are my cowards way of slowly killing myself since I don't seem to have the nerve to do it any other way. Funny how things work out. Now that it seems to be finally working I'm scared to death!
So is a radical shift in lifestyle really possible? The answer is, of course, that it is but I'm finding that's really not the question. The more pertinent query is do I have what it takes to make the changes needed in order for me to go on living? That's a much more sticky and complicated conundrum. Right now the only answer I have is that I honestly don't know. The other night at dinner with Julie we were talking about my funeral and the possibility of not making it through this whole mess. She came right out and bluntly asked me if I really wanted to live. I told her the only thing I could at that moment; I'm working on it. Do I want to live? I think I do but again I'm discovering that this may not be the truly relevant question. I think it's more pertinent to ask how much I want to live. Do I want to live badly enough to be able to make the lifestyle changes I need to? Can I really make meaningful changes to my diet? Can I really quit smoking and remain smoke free? Here's where I find myself not knowing what the answers are. I can only say I'm working on it. I'm trying to muster up the will to fight and the desire to truly live. My history is such that I never learned to cook or prepare a balanced meal and I'm not sure I could do so to save my life. And it's come to that. I'm at a crossroad where whatever I choose will have a direct impact on whether I live or die. Do I want to leave this world and cause pain, sorrow and grief to my family and friends? Of course not. The last thing I'd ever want it to hurt anyone else. So why is it so difficult for me to not want to continue hurting myself? I suppose to any normal human being the answers would be so simple. Eat better, quit smoking, exercise, lose weight, love myself enough to make these necessary changes. Seems simple huh? So why is it so hard? I guess ultimately I have to continue working on my own sense of self worth. Nothing is going to change as long as I don't feel deep down inside that I'm worth it. I wish it were easier to change how I feel about myself, to feel worthy of living. Maybe this will be the wake up call that works. From all the instructional and testimonial videos I've been watching on Youtube it's become obvious that open heart bypass surgery is a life altering event. I guess only time and effort will tell if this will be the case for me.
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