Fear and hopelessness go hand in hand. Like siblings, egging each other on, they creep and join together.
I try to stay positive. I know that even though I am not losing weight like I wish, I am healthier. Here, lately, I've mostly written of triumphs and motivation. But the truth?
THIS. IS. HARD.
When I don't go over my points and I get a whole bunch of exercise and I go to a meeting and see a +, I want to quit.
When I am so sure I can drop the fucking 0.2 pounds to get my 5% and go in the opposite direction? It really, really hurts.
I feel like my body is betraying me.
Logically, I know that the average of losing 12 pounds over 13 weeks is good. A pound a week is nothing to turn my nose up at.
But it's just so damn hard. No matter what I do each week, I never know if my weight is going to go up or down. I can't find logic behind it.
I work out like a maniac some weeks, and other weeks don't, and it doesn't seem to be the deciding factor.
I try to stay positive. For the most part, I am proud of myself. But it doesn't prevent these moments of doubt.
I know that I'm getting better. I know that at some point, even if it takes 2 years, I'll be there.
Sometimes, it just seems a long way off.