A Bad Day

I’m hardly the only person I know fighting what feels like a never ending battle against their own body. In my office alone there are probably between seven and ten past and current Weight Watchers members.

So when I hear one of the naturally slim slamming one of us as weak willed, laughing at us for saying we want to eat healthy when we never seem to get anywhere, it’s really difficult not to rage or cry.

They do this right in front of me while I blink in shock – wondering if they really think I don’t know that they’re talking about me in addition to whoever is in their targeting sights at present. That those fat slobs over there also refers to this fat slob right here.

Mid September will be a year since I started this blog and this quest and I am currently at almost the exact same place as where I started.

Does that make me want to scream, kick, cry, hate myself? Yes, of course it does. Some days, many days, I do all of those things. I could have nearly been done by now. Except I failed, like always.

Sometimes I feel this incredible self righteous anger – how dare they judge me? Some days I think they’re right, I’m simply too weak and too much of a glutton to ever succeed. I’m as beneath them as they believe me to be.

Then there’s the fear; what if the day comes like so many days before when my will simply fails me and I don’t care anymore. When I can’t get up anymore and plan, parcel, evaluate, weigh and measure every morsel of food I consume that day. When I can’t any longer deal with the nearly constant hunger.

This will never be over, I won’t reach my goal weight and go: WHEW! Thank heck that’s done! This is going to be with me every meal, every day, for the rest of my life.

What if… what if… what if…