As Told by Brandt

Grief has an amazing way of sparking thought.  My modus operandi has always been a reality escape. Sports were an early coping partner.  My mother loves to talk about how I’d head to the backyard in my football outfit and play a full game ALONE.  After the “game” was over, I’d grab my baseball uniform and play another full game with crowd noise.  We grew up with a pond nearly in our backyard.  The “Pond” intersected two streets and was a quick jaunt across the street.  I’d skate for hours before school then be there as soon as it was over.  Having people with whom to play, meant nothing to me.  I lived in my own world, oblivious, at times to people. 

Life was ironically hard as a teen.  I was competent athlete.  My features were bland enough to make me a solid 6.7 in looks.  My grades were terrible although I did very well on exams.  Homework, which accounts for 99.9% in our grading system was ignored in my world.  For context, “my world” refers to my cloudy brain.  I had friends. Really.  Good.  Friends.  My life should have been good.  It wasn’t.  I lived in a constant state of fear. Quiet tears were produced faster than fake N-95 masks. 

Trauma is real.  It’s something I experienced in two forms.  There may be a day I discuss, but not Today.  It took years for me to understand the depth of my pain.  In some ways, the surface is only beginning to get scratched.  As I got older, escaping to sport wasn’t enough.  I started to drink daily.  I hid it well, early.  Over time, I couldn’t hide it.  Hurricane Brandt was in full effect.  Eventually, I got sober.  This is where the real story begins.  I was chubby in my 20’s but manageable.  At 31, I was a married father of two without alcohol as my crutch.  Immediately, food took its place. 

Ice cream has always been a friend.  A good friend with no side effects.  My metabolism was high.  Exercise was still a thing.  I got sober and sedentary.  Remember, I cope by escaping.  I ran to church basements for sobriety and parlors for ice cream.  After 2 months of sobriety, I was up 15 pounds but SOBER!  That weight never left.  It snowballed.

People have talked about life changing moments.  Fascinating tales when they were hanging off a cliff, survived it, and changed.  I don’t know my tipping point.  It happened.  At some point, I stopped moving altogether.  Travel plans centered around my lack of mobility.  How close is the beach?  Does that restaurant have chairs without arms?  Is there close parking?  Even Covid became a crutch.  Instacart stopped grocery visits.  Mobile pickup became an evil friend.  Even Mitchel’s brings ice cream to my car.  WT actual F?  Obesity is a malevolent enemy.

The decision to pursue surgery doesn’t come lightly.  There are so many thoughts and feelings.  I’ve wrestled with the thought that this is another escape.  Am I putting a bandage over a gun wound?  I learned when I got sober, however, that I must surrender to win.  There will be a time for a goodbye letter to gluttony.  Today, I am focusing on good health and moving my frame. 

To anyone suffering from excess weight.  I feel your pain.  I live your reality.  Many of us do.  Just keep trying and be gentle.  Never Ever Give up!