I’ve been hating on myself pretty hard lately. I can’t stand the way that I look. I can’t believe that I let myself gain back so much of what I lost. There’s so much good in my life, but sometimes (often times) it feels overshadowed by my obesity. I’m tired of it, frustrated by it and seemingly stuck in this rut in which I feel helpless to change it.
Yesterday I tracked my food intake. I wasn’t exactly shocked to learn that I’ve been eating garbage. I knew that already. We all knew that already, but I wrote it down.
Today I started my day on the treadmill. My heart rate was elevated for 30 minutes, followed by some stretching and selfies.
I didn’t exactly feel like smiling because as I sat there, sweaty, staring at myself in the floor to ceiling mirrors, I had to admit that I screwed up. I failed. I gained back a significant amount of weight. We’re talking 50 pounds here, and I don’t ever want to have to say that I gained back over 100.
The way I look pisses me off. I’m okay with the basic structure of my face, and I even like how it looks when I weigh 290 pounds. I’m fine with my imperfect smile, my lips, my hands and ankles; it’s everything in between that pisses me off.
I blame my excess weight for everything that I don’t have. I have friends and family who love me, many of whom would argue that I’m beautiful if they read this post, but I don’t believe it today.
I don’t need to be skinny to be happy. I know that from experience, all I need to be happy, is to feel like the best version of myself. I haven’t felt like that in a really, really long time. I’m trying to change that.