I haven't been weighing myself daily. Truth is that I've been afraid to step on the scale.
This morning I knew that I had to do it. I needed the accountability of the number.
No way to sugar coat that is there? I worked so flipping hard to get out of the 200's and into onederland. I vowed never to return to the 2s. But, here I am.
Partially I think that I'm experiencing a bit of situational depression. I spend all flipping day with myself. I've stopped reading and I mostly watch reality TV. I haven't been walking and my attempt at the gym hurt. I eat things like: Pizza Ranch pizza, chocolate chip cookie dough, chocolate Chex Mix, smoked mozzarella pasta, Nutter Butters, grilled cheese sandwiches, ice cream sandwiches... Essentially crap food.
Truth is that the food is filling the void of work, human interaction and something to do. Truth is that I'm eating when I'm bored. Truth is that I'm sitting in my chair instead of getting outside and working off the crappy food that I eat. Truth is that I can't do the fun things that I want to, so I eat.
Truth is that I'm a bit depressed about it all.
Truth is that the person that I would usually tell all this to is Pete and I don't want to burden him with it. He already feels guilty for leaving the house and doing things, I can't make him feel more guilty, I just can't.
Truth is that I keep walking up everyday hoping that there is some spark that turns this lonely car of one back around and in the right direction.