Thursday, May 28, 2015

On not giving up, no matter how frustrating and pointless it seems

Fat.
Ugly.
Worthless.

All this, and more, are what I catch myself either saying out loud or internally to myself, especially while looking at my reflection in a mirror.

I don't think I've ever liked what I've seen when faced with a reflective surface, aside from that stint in 2012/2013 where I was at my lowest weight ever.

Call it vanity. Call it insecurity. Call it a disorder.

Whatever it is, I'm plagued with it and have been since probably the age of at least 9 or 10. Who can tell for sure, but it's far longer than I'd care to admit.

I've been frustratingly logging every single thing I eat and burn for 515 days (according to myfitnesspal), and it honestly hasn't done a damn thing.

I'm lifting weights with a personal trainer twice a week.

After this Saturday, I will have TWO FREE DAYS every single week without workouts to get much-needed rest, and most likely, get in a third weekly weights sesh.

I've counted macros and tortured myself for the few days, here and there, when I went a few over on calories, carbs, fat, or protein.

I've tried getting 8 hours of sleep every night, and successfully did it (and more) the last few weeks.

And after a full-on holiday weekend of depression and staying inside (aside from getting a much-needed pedicure, teaching a class, and taking a class), I hit 152.7 on the scale, the lowest I've been in probably six months. But really, I've only lost 6.1 lbs since 1/1. And that's fucking bullshit (pardon my language).

I'm going to try something groundbreaking: (gasp) EATING LESS.

I've tried this experiment for almost a week now, and there was one day where I ended with a bit of a binge. 80 calorie Weight Watchers ice cream bars are good if you can stick to one, but I'm pretty sure I went through 3 or 4, back-to-back, in a night.

I wish I didn't care so much.
I wish I didn't have to be such a slave to food diaries and scales and mirrors.
But it's the hand I was dealt, and I'm determined to drop 15-20 (or even more) lbs, at least by the time I'm 30. And perhaps I can be down 15 in 5 months from now.

And if not, I'm going to stick with it.
Because honestly, this (weight) is the one thing I have control over (or used to), and I just can't take another day in this body of mine, as it is.

Here's to moving out of soul-sucking depression and on to the old/new happier me. The fitter and skinnier me.

To better days,
Stel