Lost .8 of an lb between yesterday and this morning. Thank god...
Today’s eats:
B: banana, coffee
L: salmon salad
D: pork and slaw
S: apple and 2 squares chocolate
It was a good day. I’ve been super careful about my calories, but not starving persay. I’m too scared to wreck my metabolism again, to be honest. I can’t go lower than 1,000 calories on a regular basis, because I know what that will do to me.
I have to work out to compensate instead of starving. I worked out this rorning and it was so difficult. I wanted to quit at 2 miles but I forced myself to get to 3.3. Tomorrow’s goal is a repeat of 3.3 on a different machine and then some tanning.
Thursday’s goal is an ab workout. They still freak me out since my c section. It makes me fucking cringe when anything pulls on that area of my body because it feels so goddam uncomfortable. I hate it. I’m trying to get more ok with touching it and looking at it and embracing it in some way but it freaks me out so badly still... 9 months later. I wish that I never had to experience that.
I was looking back at photos today, and I can’t figure out when I got this fat. It seems like when my son was about three months old, and I stopped breast-feeding, I ballooned. I was looking bloated by pretty thin prior to that. Then I slowly blew up and put in like 20lbs in about 5 months. It crept on me.
I can’t let it stay.
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Monday, June 24, 2019
Plateau
I’m struggling to lose.
My body is gripping to my weight like a steel vice, and I don’t know why. I’ve done all the necessary things, and still it’s being stubborn.
This morning the scale said no difference. And the day before. And the day before. I haven’t shown a loss in 4 days.
I feel deflated but clearly am not.
I didn’t have a bm this morning and have struggled to get myself back on track, but wtf... My scale tells me all my numbers - BMI, muscle mass, etc. Not a damn thing has changed. I feel Ike it’s too soon for a plateau, and I’m utterly baffled. I upped my water and fiber today to see. I’m at a complete fucking loss.
I went to the gym this morning. Finally. I’m finally back to it. It wasn’t the hardest workout I’ve ever had. My lungs are ok since I’m not smoking. I left sore but happy. I worked out a full hour.
I hope tomorrow morning I can step off the scale and not want to kill myself. My mood had been decent with the thought of my trip and the fact that I haven’t broken any of my diet rules in like a week. But this plateau bullshit threatens to bring all that crashing down.
Please let me be ok tomorrow.
My body is gripping to my weight like a steel vice, and I don’t know why. I’ve done all the necessary things, and still it’s being stubborn.
This morning the scale said no difference. And the day before. And the day before. I haven’t shown a loss in 4 days.
I feel deflated but clearly am not.
I didn’t have a bm this morning and have struggled to get myself back on track, but wtf... My scale tells me all my numbers - BMI, muscle mass, etc. Not a damn thing has changed. I feel Ike it’s too soon for a plateau, and I’m utterly baffled. I upped my water and fiber today to see. I’m at a complete fucking loss.
I went to the gym this morning. Finally. I’m finally back to it. It wasn’t the hardest workout I’ve ever had. My lungs are ok since I’m not smoking. I left sore but happy. I worked out a full hour.
I hope tomorrow morning I can step off the scale and not want to kill myself. My mood had been decent with the thought of my trip and the fact that I haven’t broken any of my diet rules in like a week. But this plateau bullshit threatens to bring all that crashing down.
Please let me be ok tomorrow.
Friday, June 21, 2019
Kill it.
Thanks to the 4 of you that consistently read this garbage. Your views make my heart feel less heavy, even though our connection might be the most insignificant of my whole life... I still need it.
I did well today. The scale was kind to me last night after the peanutbutter sandwich and potato chips I ate that I didn’t deserve and couldn’t really afford. I absolutely cannot smoke weed right now... I luckily still had lost.
My intake today was:
B: banana and coffee - 115 cals
L: salad - 100 cals
D: little beef, little chicken, and roasted veg - 200 cals
Total: 415
I could still afford another item, but I feel content at this moment, and it’s 9p, so I am going to call it a day and drink some water. I really want to get a workout in tomorrow and need to clean my house very very badly... and complete a lot of paperwork for work...
Tomorrow’s planned eats:
B: yogurt and berries - 150 cals
L: ?? 200 cals max
D: chicken and carrots - 200 cals
Goals: grocery shop, at least 3 loads laundry, clean bathrooms and kitchen, sweep, wash bedding.
Get. Your. Life. In. Order.
I did well today. The scale was kind to me last night after the peanutbutter sandwich and potato chips I ate that I didn’t deserve and couldn’t really afford. I absolutely cannot smoke weed right now... I luckily still had lost.
My intake today was:
B: banana and coffee - 115 cals
L: salad - 100 cals
D: little beef, little chicken, and roasted veg - 200 cals
Total: 415
I could still afford another item, but I feel content at this moment, and it’s 9p, so I am going to call it a day and drink some water. I really want to get a workout in tomorrow and need to clean my house very very badly... and complete a lot of paperwork for work...
Tomorrow’s planned eats:
B: yogurt and berries - 150 cals
L: ?? 200 cals max
D: chicken and carrots - 200 cals
Goals: grocery shop, at least 3 loads laundry, clean bathrooms and kitchen, sweep, wash bedding.
Get. Your. Life. In. Order.
Wednesday, June 19, 2019
Impending trip
Breakfast: banana and coffee - 150
Lunch: apple chips and protein bar - 300
Snack: turkey slices - 150
Dinner: Mia.
What would my diagnosis be? Not binge eating. Not bulimia. Not anorexia. Just fucking eating disordered. A grab-bag if you will. I try to restrict, but I am by no means underweight. I throw up, but not after a binge-usually just after I eat a regular dinner. And I binge sometimes, but not very frequently. I have weird cycles and yo-yo weight.
The thought of going home is terrifying me right now. It’s driving me to lose more. Next week I’m going back to the gym. This week I have been really controlling my eating, and the thought of seeing my old friends is making me restrict a lot more easily than usual. Every time my body wants to argue with my mind about food, my mind simply says “but you’re going home” and my body stops whining. They are in agreement that it would be devastating to be seen like this. Especially when I’m the one who moved away to be successful. I have to look successful.
I have to look successful to be successful, and lately I feel like a complete and utter failure. I haven’t even let anyone see a photo of me that isn’t completely edited lately and doesn’t show my body.
I know losing weight, blowing off steam with my friends in a new body, and getting my mind exercised a little in my old world of academia will be all I need to lift this depression I’ve been under for about two years.
I know that sounds insane, but I know it will help.
I’ve tried so hard to find comprable things to all that here, but there just isn’t. I hate it here. I feel stifled and bored. We moved for my husband to do educational things, and I’m thrilled it’s all working out, but I would die if there wasn’t an end in sight in this godforsaken town. When coworkers or people I know discuss buying a house here, I always think, “What the fuck... WHY?”
That seems very permanent, and I would kill myself if I was permanently stuck here.
I have friends here, but I can’t cut lose with them like my old friends. I don’t have chances, and they don’t have the ability. I love them, but they’re boring. So. Fucking. Boring. Even the one I love the best is boring. She tries, but we come from different planets. They can’t see me for who I was before, and they’re so goddam conservative I could puke.
And I can’t go back to grad school, but educational things make me feel alive. And it’s been a long time since I had any academia coursing through my veins. I’m excited for a chance.
So, I’ll get a few days away from my husband’s sobriety that has been forced upon me, the baby that I birthed, and all the responsibility of work to just relax, see my old friends, exercise my mind, and get a little tipsy. I could scream with excitement. And I already decided that if this doesn’t work out for whatever reason, I’m still going. I’m still taking the time and trip because I need it.
Unless I’m still fat. Then I’m hiding away in a pocket and not seeing a soul.
As long as I get thin before this, I’ll have a wonderful time.
62 days and counting. Only 24lbs to go.
I can absolutely do that.
Lunch: apple chips and protein bar - 300
Snack: turkey slices - 150
Dinner: Mia.
What would my diagnosis be? Not binge eating. Not bulimia. Not anorexia. Just fucking eating disordered. A grab-bag if you will. I try to restrict, but I am by no means underweight. I throw up, but not after a binge-usually just after I eat a regular dinner. And I binge sometimes, but not very frequently. I have weird cycles and yo-yo weight.
The thought of going home is terrifying me right now. It’s driving me to lose more. Next week I’m going back to the gym. This week I have been really controlling my eating, and the thought of seeing my old friends is making me restrict a lot more easily than usual. Every time my body wants to argue with my mind about food, my mind simply says “but you’re going home” and my body stops whining. They are in agreement that it would be devastating to be seen like this. Especially when I’m the one who moved away to be successful. I have to look successful.
I have to look successful to be successful, and lately I feel like a complete and utter failure. I haven’t even let anyone see a photo of me that isn’t completely edited lately and doesn’t show my body.
I know losing weight, blowing off steam with my friends in a new body, and getting my mind exercised a little in my old world of academia will be all I need to lift this depression I’ve been under for about two years.
I know that sounds insane, but I know it will help.
I’ve tried so hard to find comprable things to all that here, but there just isn’t. I hate it here. I feel stifled and bored. We moved for my husband to do educational things, and I’m thrilled it’s all working out, but I would die if there wasn’t an end in sight in this godforsaken town. When coworkers or people I know discuss buying a house here, I always think, “What the fuck... WHY?”
That seems very permanent, and I would kill myself if I was permanently stuck here.
I have friends here, but I can’t cut lose with them like my old friends. I don’t have chances, and they don’t have the ability. I love them, but they’re boring. So. Fucking. Boring. Even the one I love the best is boring. She tries, but we come from different planets. They can’t see me for who I was before, and they’re so goddam conservative I could puke.
And I can’t go back to grad school, but educational things make me feel alive. And it’s been a long time since I had any academia coursing through my veins. I’m excited for a chance.
So, I’ll get a few days away from my husband’s sobriety that has been forced upon me, the baby that I birthed, and all the responsibility of work to just relax, see my old friends, exercise my mind, and get a little tipsy. I could scream with excitement. And I already decided that if this doesn’t work out for whatever reason, I’m still going. I’m still taking the time and trip because I need it.
Unless I’m still fat. Then I’m hiding away in a pocket and not seeing a soul.
As long as I get thin before this, I’ll have a wonderful time.
62 days and counting. Only 24lbs to go.
I can absolutely do that.
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Fuck up
Maybe I was just fooling myself for a couple years. Maybe I was just pausing. Is it possible to get back to that place? When I had drive and energy and motivation and commitment? Where I was healthy? What do I need to regain that?
I can’t shut up. I can’t stop being too much. All I’ve ever wanted is to disappear, and I can’t seem to do it. I call too much attention to myself and always feel like a freak. I hate myself and feel like everyone else must also. They have to. I’m a huge and complete fuck up. Only now I’m a pretender and a fake person. I expose too much of myself and can’t stop talking about how great I am when, in reality, I’m a piece of shit.
I shouldn’t tell anyone anything because I’m such a goddam fuck up.
My depression is like lead blanket. And when it’s pulled away, it peels off my flesh leaving exposed raw nerves. Nothing calms me. Nothing makes me feel better. Nothing ever feels like enough.
They come to me with isssues. I share the same ones. I have no answers. I only know what you’re suppose to do, but I can’t do it. I talk and talk and hope something makes a difference. But I don’t think it does.
Tears of joy come to my eyes when I have the chance to purge in peace. Later, whatever was bothering me enough to get me to that point circles back through my head, and I feel like the wind is sucked out of me.
You’re a fuck up. A fat ass and a fuck up.
You had so much shining potential, and you became a total fucking loser. You were the envy of your academic world somehow, you had so much wisdom, and now you can’t even do this right. You should have listened more instead of being such a goddam know it all. Now you can’t remember what you were supposed to do.
I need something to heal me. To self-care better. I need a better routine and more coping. I need to take time off to get my life together.
I don’t know what the fuck I need. I just know I’m needy and not doing well.
I can’t shut up. I can’t stop being too much. All I’ve ever wanted is to disappear, and I can’t seem to do it. I call too much attention to myself and always feel like a freak. I hate myself and feel like everyone else must also. They have to. I’m a huge and complete fuck up. Only now I’m a pretender and a fake person. I expose too much of myself and can’t stop talking about how great I am when, in reality, I’m a piece of shit.
I shouldn’t tell anyone anything because I’m such a goddam fuck up.
My depression is like lead blanket. And when it’s pulled away, it peels off my flesh leaving exposed raw nerves. Nothing calms me. Nothing makes me feel better. Nothing ever feels like enough.
They come to me with isssues. I share the same ones. I have no answers. I only know what you’re suppose to do, but I can’t do it. I talk and talk and hope something makes a difference. But I don’t think it does.
Tears of joy come to my eyes when I have the chance to purge in peace. Later, whatever was bothering me enough to get me to that point circles back through my head, and I feel like the wind is sucked out of me.
You’re a fuck up. A fat ass and a fuck up.
You had so much shining potential, and you became a total fucking loser. You were the envy of your academic world somehow, you had so much wisdom, and now you can’t even do this right. You should have listened more instead of being such a goddam know it all. Now you can’t remember what you were supposed to do.
I need something to heal me. To self-care better. I need a better routine and more coping. I need to take time off to get my life together.
I don’t know what the fuck I need. I just know I’m needy and not doing well.
Monday, June 17, 2019
Really hating me
Today’s intake was under 1,000 cals.
I did well, but the voice in my head telling me to eat is screaming at me lately. “Eat and don’t atop eating! Eating will make you feel bettter!” But it doesn’t. It never has.
I need to starve. For two good solid months. I need to stop binging. I need to stop allowing myself liberties. I need to just quit cold turkey and not do this binge and purge fuck-fuck game for the first couple weeks like I usually do. I need to go straight to Ana and cut Mia out completely.
I’m fat. So fucking fat. And yeah, I had a baby, but you can only ride that excuse for so long. I go back home in two months, and I swear to god if I look like this I will kill myself. I’ll hide in my hotel room and not see anyone and get drunk alone snd take benzos and cry.
I never make it to those type of goals. I never get in shape on a timeline like I know I can. I always fuck it up too hard. I have two solid months to lose about 25lbs. That is completely doable. I just need to fucking do it.
Today wasn’t terrible. I had a banana, grilled chicken, peaches, salad, beef, and corn. Could have been better but at least I didn’t lose it. I just miss the days when I could skip dinner happily and drink a hot tea. I struggle to actually starve these days. My body gets weak and sick feeling because it’s so goddam used to being a fat fucking pig who eats a ton of food each day.
I’m going to be one of those girls people are like “what happened to her? She got fat...” if I don’t catch myself. Like Megan. Or Jenna. I don’t want that at all. I ways Jay to see me in a couple months in my new skinny clothes with my phone full of baby photos and think “omg I missed out on this. I fucked up.”
I need to atop running my fucking mouth so hard. I need to stop trying so hard to fit in at my goddam job and just do the work. I need to get my lazy ass back to the gym. I need to clean my fucking house. I need to eat healthier and not be so fucking fat. I need to take my own goddam advice and stop giving advice to other people.
I hate myself. And the only cure is to get back to October 2017. I know I can get back there. I need to. I have to so I don’t have to hate myself so much.
I did well, but the voice in my head telling me to eat is screaming at me lately. “Eat and don’t atop eating! Eating will make you feel bettter!” But it doesn’t. It never has.
I need to starve. For two good solid months. I need to stop binging. I need to stop allowing myself liberties. I need to just quit cold turkey and not do this binge and purge fuck-fuck game for the first couple weeks like I usually do. I need to go straight to Ana and cut Mia out completely.
I’m fat. So fucking fat. And yeah, I had a baby, but you can only ride that excuse for so long. I go back home in two months, and I swear to god if I look like this I will kill myself. I’ll hide in my hotel room and not see anyone and get drunk alone snd take benzos and cry.
I never make it to those type of goals. I never get in shape on a timeline like I know I can. I always fuck it up too hard. I have two solid months to lose about 25lbs. That is completely doable. I just need to fucking do it.
Today wasn’t terrible. I had a banana, grilled chicken, peaches, salad, beef, and corn. Could have been better but at least I didn’t lose it. I just miss the days when I could skip dinner happily and drink a hot tea. I struggle to actually starve these days. My body gets weak and sick feeling because it’s so goddam used to being a fat fucking pig who eats a ton of food each day.
I’m going to be one of those girls people are like “what happened to her? She got fat...” if I don’t catch myself. Like Megan. Or Jenna. I don’t want that at all. I ways Jay to see me in a couple months in my new skinny clothes with my phone full of baby photos and think “omg I missed out on this. I fucked up.”
I need to atop running my fucking mouth so hard. I need to stop trying so hard to fit in at my goddam job and just do the work. I need to get my lazy ass back to the gym. I need to clean my fucking house. I need to eat healthier and not be so fucking fat. I need to take my own goddam advice and stop giving advice to other people.
I hate myself. And the only cure is to get back to October 2017. I know I can get back there. I need to. I have to so I don’t have to hate myself so much.
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