I am disgusted by myself on a daily basis.
I am a “secret eater”.
I am a fast food addict, if such a thing exists.
I am 31 and feel 51.
I am five feet tall and scared to weigh myself. My best guess is 220 lbs.
I’m one of those hilarious, sarcastic, self-deprecating fat people.
I didn’t realize I was this far gone until I suddenly looked at myself and saw and felt like Jabba the Hutt. I knew I was heavy, I knew I was a “big girl”, I knew I was fat. You guys, I’m beyond fat.
I eat fast food at least two meals a day on average. My husband has no idea.
That fact brings me more shame and self loathing and fear than anything else.
My son is not quite two and while I know I want to be here for him and I want to be a healthy, active mom, and I know this could kill me… I’m so tired and so out of control that
it feels I feel like a lost cause most days.
This is me.
I’m going to try to change. Theoretically I know how.
Stop hitting the drive thru.
Make healthy choices.
Get off your ass.
Gravy isn’t for everything.
Neither is ranch.
You guys, I don’t know if I can do it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can’t.
But at least tomorrow, I’m setting one small goal. No fast food tomorrow. That’s my goal. I don’t know what I’m going to eat, because I don’t know what food we have in the house (I don’t think there’s much) and I don’t get paid until Tuesday, but I know that I absolutely would find the money to pay for a quarter pounder so that can’t be my excuse.
So, yeah. Maybe I finally hit rock bottom. The turning point. Maybe.