Plastic Surgery. Negative shit comes to mind first doesn’t it?
Maybe that show Nip/Tuck?
We think of plastic surgeons as evil mad scientists, the lawyers of the medical world. Hacking up women for profit?
No?
Excellent. Because that’s all wrong.
Plastic surgery also aided in my recovery. It put my body in proportion.
My whole life I was annoyed by being a tall, skinny, boob-less wonder. Sure I looked like Kate Moss in the early years, but as I got older, that took work. To look like a mannequin.
Having an hourglass figure would be easier to keep and maintain. I should buy one… but first!
I went to the gym, ran, did yoga; and like any good addict, got obsessed.
I was down to only eating protein shakes and protein bars. Obsessing about everything I put in my body. Life was miserable. I was amping up how long I stayed at the gym and what I did at home. I dropped to almost zero percent body fat. Keeping only about 1000 calories a day.
Instead of looking like a stick I was all muscle. A rectangle. And I was tired. And my boobs were gone. I was healing my tattoos like shit.
At the peak of this, I realized I had a problem. The shit just didn’t stop. I was still punishing myself, hurting myself, still.
Luckily, this realization came about a week before my surgery. I bought an eating disorder book and it advised I stop working out immediately. Nothing involving calorie counting. I didn’t want another heart attack did I?
*It’s here I guess I need to state that I’m not advocating for anyone to NOT work out. It works for most, and most don’t get nuts over it like I did. Exercise is good for you!
I read the fucking book. Had a good cry and got generally annoyed with myself. This self defeating shit had to stop.
I had to quit the gym anyway. For at least 6 weeks after my surgery. (Which as we know was troublesome, probably due to my poor nutrition?) And after that there was no more gym. Ever. Having that time off gave me the time to get all of that silly shit out of my head.
Skip 8 weeks ahead. I had no desire to burn calories, get thinner, and I felt like I looked small, (because I was). I had gotten my curves and didn’t need to look like a plank anymore.
If I hadn’t had the option of plastic surgery, who knows where my stupid obsession would have gone? If I couldn’t have put myself into curvy proportions, would I have ran myself to death? Knowing my fucked up head, probably.
Now am I advocating every person who thinks they need to look like a heroin chic Kate Moss go out and get a boob job?
No. Therapy should probably be first.
I also am not saying that body alteration should be taken lightly or used to fix one’s head. I didn’t realize what I was doing. 6 months prior I put down a deposit and scheduled a surgery date. Before the crazy working out. I just wanted boobs. I didn’t realize it would save my ass from starving myself.
I’m also not saying that plastic surgery fixes everything. I just know it made me happy. I feel like I look like I should and I could give a shit about burning off half my calorie intake every day.
This shit just worked for me. By accident.
So if it weren’t for that, for me; I may be dead. Or severely fucked up.
So to me, plastic surgeons, (not all; there’s rotten apples in every lot), are the good guys.
But again, this is just my story and in no way, shape or form a how to. Just a recent revelation.
Since then, I’ve kept my punishing behaviors in check. I seem to have gotten over the final hump of my detox and recovery. I had my last obsession/addiction hopefully. But that may be an all too perfect fantasy.
Maybe next time, if there is one, I could get obsessed with hunting down unicorn relics or dinosaur bones. That seems a little more harmless…
The human brain, what a cluster fuck.
Buy Hi, Have You Met Me? on Amazon today! http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B009W1M
Check out the blog on it's home site @
www.hihaveyoumetme.com for previous writings and more.
Don’t forget to stalk me further at https://twitter.com/#!/hihaveyoumetme orhttp://www.facebook.com/authorkatemonahan
Maybe that show Nip/Tuck?
We think of plastic surgeons as evil mad scientists, the lawyers of the medical world. Hacking up women for profit?
No?
Excellent. Because that’s all wrong.
Plastic surgery also aided in my recovery. It put my body in proportion.
My whole life I was annoyed by being a tall, skinny, boob-less wonder. Sure I looked like Kate Moss in the early years, but as I got older, that took work. To look like a mannequin.
Having an hourglass figure would be easier to keep and maintain. I should buy one… but first!
I went to the gym, ran, did yoga; and like any good addict, got obsessed.
I was down to only eating protein shakes and protein bars. Obsessing about everything I put in my body. Life was miserable. I was amping up how long I stayed at the gym and what I did at home. I dropped to almost zero percent body fat. Keeping only about 1000 calories a day.
Instead of looking like a stick I was all muscle. A rectangle. And I was tired. And my boobs were gone. I was healing my tattoos like shit.
At the peak of this, I realized I had a problem. The shit just didn’t stop. I was still punishing myself, hurting myself, still.
Luckily, this realization came about a week before my surgery. I bought an eating disorder book and it advised I stop working out immediately. Nothing involving calorie counting. I didn’t want another heart attack did I?
*It’s here I guess I need to state that I’m not advocating for anyone to NOT work out. It works for most, and most don’t get nuts over it like I did. Exercise is good for you!
I read the fucking book. Had a good cry and got generally annoyed with myself. This self defeating shit had to stop.
I had to quit the gym anyway. For at least 6 weeks after my surgery. (Which as we know was troublesome, probably due to my poor nutrition?) And after that there was no more gym. Ever. Having that time off gave me the time to get all of that silly shit out of my head.
Skip 8 weeks ahead. I had no desire to burn calories, get thinner, and I felt like I looked small, (because I was). I had gotten my curves and didn’t need to look like a plank anymore.
If I hadn’t had the option of plastic surgery, who knows where my stupid obsession would have gone? If I couldn’t have put myself into curvy proportions, would I have ran myself to death? Knowing my fucked up head, probably.
Now am I advocating every person who thinks they need to look like a heroin chic Kate Moss go out and get a boob job?
No. Therapy should probably be first.
I also am not saying that body alteration should be taken lightly or used to fix one’s head. I didn’t realize what I was doing. 6 months prior I put down a deposit and scheduled a surgery date. Before the crazy working out. I just wanted boobs. I didn’t realize it would save my ass from starving myself.
I’m also not saying that plastic surgery fixes everything. I just know it made me happy. I feel like I look like I should and I could give a shit about burning off half my calorie intake every day.
This shit just worked for me. By accident.
So if it weren’t for that, for me; I may be dead. Or severely fucked up.
So to me, plastic surgeons, (not all; there’s rotten apples in every lot), are the good guys.
But again, this is just my story and in no way, shape or form a how to. Just a recent revelation.
Since then, I’ve kept my punishing behaviors in check. I seem to have gotten over the final hump of my detox and recovery. I had my last obsession/addiction hopefully. But that may be an all too perfect fantasy.
Maybe next time, if there is one, I could get obsessed with hunting down unicorn relics or dinosaur bones. That seems a little more harmless…
The human brain, what a cluster fuck.
Buy Hi, Have You Met Me? on Amazon today! http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B009W1M
Check out the blog on it's home site @
www.hihaveyoumetme.com for previous writings and more.
Don’t forget to stalk me further at https://twitter.com/#!/hihaveyoumetme orhttp://www.facebook.com/authorkatemonahan