I am fighting. I am doing most everything I can to get through this particular spot. I feel trapped, defeated, like a failure. I feel fat and ugly.
I've gained weight.
Not just a pound or two. Let's say 13 pounds.
I feel like everyone in the world can see what I've been feeling: tight clothes, squishy gut, flabby skin.
I feel even worse because that 13 pounds is from my baseline weight...not the low weight I was in very early June. Put it together and it's more than 20 pounds difference.
I see how it happened: my body starved; my appetite returned; my body held on to whatever it could get; I ate whatever I wanted because for those few weeks I could eat nothing.
I am miserable. I am fighting the urge to restrict and binge at the same time: what does it matter, my brain asks.
I wanted to blow off my appointment with my nutritionist on Thursday, but didn't. I guess I knew I needed a reality check. Now I email her my meal plan for each day. And then I try my hardest to actually follow it. I try. I try. It's all I can do.
But the fact is, I still feel like a failure. I know I'm not. I never regained that 10-20% mostRNYpatients do. And I have every intention not to.
So there it is. I am standing on the edge, trying not to jump and trying to fight the torrential winds at my back. Shaky ground.
I've gained weight.
Not just a pound or two. Let's say 13 pounds.
I feel like everyone in the world can see what I've been feeling: tight clothes, squishy gut, flabby skin.
I feel even worse because that 13 pounds is from my baseline weight...not the low weight I was in very early June. Put it together and it's more than 20 pounds difference.
I see how it happened: my body starved; my appetite returned; my body held on to whatever it could get; I ate whatever I wanted because for those few weeks I could eat nothing.
I am miserable. I am fighting the urge to restrict and binge at the same time: what does it matter, my brain asks.
I wanted to blow off my appointment with my nutritionist on Thursday, but didn't. I guess I knew I needed a reality check. Now I email her my meal plan for each day. And then I try my hardest to actually follow it. I try. I try. It's all I can do.
But the fact is, I still feel like a failure. I know I'm not. I never regained that 10-20% mostRNYpatients do. And I have every intention not to.
So there it is. I am standing on the edge, trying not to jump and trying to fight the torrential winds at my back. Shaky ground.