2004-11-15 - 4:39 p.m.
I can't count every morsel that goes into my mouth.
I can't fight being hungry for hours every afternoon because I only have "x" points left and have to save them for dinner, which I won't get until 7:30, because that's when Husband will finally be home.
I can't become completely obsessed with what I'm eating and when and how much and OMIGOD what can I eat tomorrow, and if I eat this now, I can't have something tomorrow, and spin class means I can have a taco, and oh look, the scale didn't move again!
I can't do this. And I feel like a horrible failure. It really is so simple. Eat less. Move more. Take in less than you put out. I'm not stupid. I KNOW this stuff.
It's not so simple. I can't do this, and I wonder if I am going to become one of those women I see around town, breathing heavily and rocking from side to side as I walk. Or will I be one who needs the little scooter to get around because I'm just so damn fat my knees won't take it any more?
I can't. I should. But I can't. I look at a weight loss journey and want to die. It all seems to hopeless and pointless.
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