Never have been so guttered, so embarrassed so full of hatred and self-loathing for myself.
There's not a word in my vocabulary that can appropriately convey how utterly wretched I feel right now.
Fairly sure my depression has resurfaced in a big way, which helps nothing.
Truth. It hurts.
The weigh-in. Since moving to Melbourne, I've gained another three kilos. Twenty-seven in total since I hurt my back in April 2010. I have gained 42 kilos since I hit my lowest ever adult weight in November 2006. I'm 48 above what is considered the maximum healthy weight for my height.
The 'before' photo. I have a photo of me, in my underwear from this morning and it is just awful. I'm so humiliated.
My measurements are just as revolting
Bust: 127 cms (that's 50 inches, people. fucking ridiculous)
Waist: 116
Hips: 126.
I saw this quote a few days ago, and I'm desperately clinging to it. It's my life raft in the sea of despair that's threatening to drown me. The only way I can change my body is if I change my lifestyle.
Even though the only thing I want to do is hide in bed and smother my sorrows in a doona and Tim Tams, I'm not.
I have a bag packed so that I can go straight to the gym after my phone interview this afternoon. I've already perused the menu for tonight's Stitch n Bitch session and committed to having the one salad on the menu (although I *really* want the duck).
I've had the healthy breakfast offering from the menu plan. I want to skip lunch, but know if I do, I won't get to the gym.
To quote the first line from one of my favourite songs, I feel 'reluctantly crouched at the starting line'.
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