I’ve been having a lot more anxiety and panic lately. I think I’ve narrowed a part of it down the the upcoming appointment with the plastic surgeon. Am I excited? Fuck yes, I am! However, I’m freaking out about my weight gain.
Since mom died. I gained some weight. That threw off my thyroid and made me super hypothyroid. Depression combined with hypothyroidism gang banged each other into over 30lbs. I’m already afraid the doctor won’t accept doing elective surgery on someone of my size (which I would like to get down to 220lbs even though I had been lower — also remember, friend – Mrs C used to be pushing 400lbs so this is a great weight).
I wasn’t extremely worried about the weight gain. I haven’t changed clothes sizes. My doctor caught the thyroid labs being off and we fixed them. I’ve dropped about 7lbs since then. I’ve remained keto throughout. So I know that, eventually, I’ll drop the excess and get back to where I want to be. I wasn’t worried about it. Now, with what feels like a deadline, I’m worried about it.
It’s also “that time of the month.” That combined with seeing a bad photo of myself has my self esteem in the negative numbers. We’re talking shit hole here. Bad. Hence the panic attacks.
I think identifying the root cause has helped a small amount. I talked to Mr C about it. And it’s just a consultation. Maybe he says he’ll do it when I drop the 17lbs to get back to 220. I’m still really excited about boobs and tattoos! Boobs and tattoos! A 3/4 sleeve, a portrait of my beloved Jack, and now I want a little goomba on my foot/ankle. I’m already getting more tattoos and I haven’t even started. YAY!