An Open Letter to My Now Ex Doctor

Subject: An Open Letter to My Now Ex Doctor
From: Anonymous
Date: 21 Jun 2016

TW: suicide, mental health issues, sexual assault

This will be loud. This will be raucous. This will be angry. And this will be vulgar. Because I don't know how else to convey this lava-hot fury.
And because my body is worth my anger.
All women's bodies are worth this anger.
Today I weighed in-at your office-- after lunch and lots of water, while bloated on my period-- at 154 lbs. I am 5'5" tall. Given those numbers, a simple BMI calculator spits out 25.6. This is .6 into the "overweight" category.
So when you sat down in the exam room, without wasting more than 45 seconds in small talk, you bestowed upon me the label of "overweight." It was a slap in the face, to be sure. Just the word made me feel dirty. Less than.
That was bad enough. But I was pretty prepared for it. Your ignorant, stupid, careless mouth has focused exclusively on my weight for the past 3 years.
What I wasn't prepared for was what you said next.
"You need to get this under control. I mean, you've gained about 25-30 pounds in the last 5 years."
This is where my eyes turn fiery red with rage.
Do you have any fucking idea where I was 5 years ago? Or is your head so far stuck up your ass that you don't even remember why I'm on the medication which you KNOW is causing my weight gain?
Allow me to explain.
30 pounds away from 154 is 124.
When I weighed 124 I was 18 and I wanted to kill myself. I was so skinny it was unhealthy. I was suffering from major depression, borderline personality disorder, emergent alcoholism, anorexia, and general anxiety disorder.
And you just set that filthy, disgusting, horrific, sick, ugly, malnourished number in front of me like a goal. Like something I had tragically lost.
How dare you.
How FUCKING dare you.
I hope you someday experience the pain that drove me to that number.
Moving on...
What you saw when you walked into the exam room was an overweight young woman. Because all your blind eyes choose to see is statistics. Body mass index. Which, by the way, is so goddamn outdated and so fucking irrelevant that I should sue you for using that in your medical evaluations. You're so ignorant you shouldn't have your medical license.
Here are some numbers you didn't see, and have never asked about:
My resting heart rate is between 58 and 62. Which is fantastic.
It doesn't take much to get my heart rate up, which is bad. But you wouldn't know that because you never did a stress test or recommend cardio exercise. You recommended a leisurely 20 minute walk every day. The fact that you don't know the latest research on cardiovascular exercise-- recommending short but very intense cardio workouts for weight loss-- scares me.
I have a muscle mass upwards of 63%, measured on one of the strictest (shows the most body fat) muscle mass measurement machines that exists. I saw a molecular biologist who thought you were insane for saying I'm even close to overweight.
I have excellent metabolism (I'm too angry to find the test results now) and I burn a high rate of calories at rest.
I also consistently weigh in at 2-4 lbs heavier than normal during my period. That's normal. Which you should know, because you're. Y'know. A fucking doctor.
The only things you recommend for my weight loss are 20 minute walks (again, ignorant) and 75 fewer calories a day. Something else you don't know is that I strictly (and sometimes generously) measured my calories for weeks without changing my diet. And what I discovered is that, most days, I struggle to hit 1100 calories. Other days, I go way over. But most of the time my body is starving itself.
You never discussed my diet habits in detail, you never asked about macro nutrient balances, you never took a family history, you never did blood work, you never evaluated my heart health in detail, you never recommended a sleep study (I've told you I have insomnia and you should know that contributes to weight gain. Again. You're a fucking DOCTOR), you never tried changing my meds (you know the one I'm on causes carb cravings), you never took a glucose to see if I'm borderline diabetic-- you didn't even know to look because you didn't take a family history.
Basically, you didn't do jack. Shit.
Every six months, you gave me 2-5 minutes (I've timed my appointments) to tell me I'm fat and getting fatter. You charged me $74 dollars every time. I should sue you for medical negligence and emotional distress, for that alone.
But you know what.
The medication you put me on has saved my life.
Over the past 6 months, I've been able to get my life in order because of my medication.
I've been able to start hiking and camping with my husband, even though it scares me to death.
I've been able to shift how I see my body, emphasizing heart health over weight loss.
I've overcome sexual trauma and my sex life with my husband is better than ever.
But that has only emerged from darkness you can't even imagine.
In addition to the emotional turmoil I mentioned having 5 years ago, I suffered from overwhelming panic attacks when I first got married.
I nearly left my husband because I was so deeply depressed that I was convinced I didn't deserve him.
There have been multiple times over the past 3 years when I've told my husband he needed to be on suicide watch, putting away meds and knives, etc.
After I got raped last fall, I almost certainly would've killed myself had it not been for my meds. In fact, I nearly did kill myself with alcohol poisoning.
And you know what. Fuck you. Yesterday was 15 weeks sober for me.
So go fuck yourself. Cause I'm busy getting on with my life.