I don’t feel like writing.
I don’t feel like I have much to say. But I do.
I don’t feel like doing much of anything, I just want to hide under my snuggie and….sleep? Because I’m tired ALL the time. I’m still BFFs with my sleep machine so this really should NOT be the case.
Oh, and it’s time to pay the piper and admit to myself and the whole social-media world that I have gained seven pounds.
SEVEN (7) fucking pounds.
I hadn’t changed the number on myfitnesspal.com for three months because I wanted with all my heart and soul to believe that it was just water weight, bloating, swelling, a heavy meal that hadn’t cycled through, too much unattended body hair, human head weighs 8 lbs, my acne must add to that right? And then there's that thing I'm not being completely honest about. The major setback in diet and exercise routine for a good cause that I am just finally moving forward from.
It's there and it’s real. And it’s a goddamned setback making my goal of eight more to goal now fifteen more to goal. BACK-PEDDLING.
If you are thinking I need to get a life…that it’s JUST SEVEN pounds, I want to remind you that this is my life. That if I don’t panic over SEVEN it will become ten, which will become fifteen, which will become my worst nightmare. I know this much is true because I have been there many times. Not a day goes by that I don’t have a minor panic attack over this fear. It’s by far my greatest fear and it’s real.
I have my standard anxiety combined with body dismorphia and the unhealthiest relationship with food ever. But it is what it is. It’s my cross to bear each day.
My lap-band controls my ability to eat large hearty quantities, but it does not control what I put in my mouth, that’s all on me. And I’m slacking. Too many carbs, not enough protein. Gallons of coffee and sneaking cookies and crackers. Not enough exercise and too much couch potatoing.
I need to get my shit together and fast.
I made myself a binder because I am a binder person. New strategy, new binder.
So here goes...