Gastric Bypass and Depression

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

After my surgery, I was depressed. At the time, I can't say I was aware of my depression but soon after, I realized. Continual thoughts of having mutilated my body to lose weight and fears that the surgery had failed plagued me daily. I was sad about what I couldn't eat and mad that it FORCED me to make changes I was not ready to make.

Six months after my surgery, my beloved Father passed away. My sister, the therapist, suggested I "see someone." Well, she is a doctor, so I agreed. I was very close to my Dad and his passing was difficult. Even so, I was at peace with it because I did right by him. However, being at peace did not alleviate the pain of losing both my Dad AND my former lover, food. I missed them both. According to the checklist, I was depressed.

I called my company's EAP and got a referral to see a therapist. This benefit offered by most companies allowed me six free sessions. I met this wonderful Jewish woman who astounded me with her guidance. My first instinct was to find an African American, but death and fat have no color. As different as she and I were, her counsel came with no color. I found that these sessions were more about my weight loss than the loss of my Father. He had cancer, so in some way I was prepared. As for the weight loss, I was not prepared.

Taking the step to see a therapist was huge for me. All I could think was that it showed weakness to need help. Actually, to admit it was a sign of strength. I come from a line of strong black women with "girl, you betta suck it up" blood in their veins. They lived by it. They died by it. My sister helped me see that I didn't have to suck it up but that I could spit it out and into the ears of someone who could help me sort it all out.

My first session with my therapist was a circle of her asking me questions and me asking her if they were trick questions. Once I opened up, she became a great help. My first struggle was clothes. I continued buying the same size clothing even though it was five or six sizes too big. I figured I would grab cute clothes while I saw them in that size so when I gained the weight back, I'd have a wardrobe waiting. Ridiculous, right? She put a rule in place with me that I could not buy anything that I did not try on in the store. I had always been terrified of dressing rooms. Visions of my big old butt bumping a dressing room wall and knocking it down, leaving me standing exposed in my granny panties in front of the whole store, kept me far from them my entire life. Who needed a dressing room when you already knew the biggest size was yours? But, I took her advice. I gave away the big girl clothes I bought in angst and to this day, I refuse to buy anything that I don't try. My self talk became more positive with professional help.

Instead of preparing for the fat to return, I prepare for the next size down. On occasion, I buy a size smaller in anticipation. I know I am doing the work so I EXPECT results. Everything I've bought that way, I have worn.

Depression is common after most surgeries. Depending on the severity, it may require medication. I did not need meds but I did need the sounding board for feelings I had no place for. As hard as it may be to admit that you need help, what's even harder is denying the truth and facing the unknown, alone.