Eight months ago, I had nine pairs of jeans to choose from. Today I have just one.
That's right - I've packed on so much weight that I only have one pathetic, ripped-up, busted-at-the-seams pair of jeans left that fit (and no, I wouldn't call them a very good fit).
This is no way to be fashion-forward.
Adding to this serving of Misery Stew are the results from yesterday's visit to the doctor: I have gained back 28 of the 40 pounds I lost.
So. I guess it's time to turn this shit around: Back to Weight Watchers, back to exercising, back to writing, back to some semblance of discipline.
As far as the rest of my life goes, I would say things are good with the potential for great ... assuming I can manage to get myself back on track.
Along those "back on track" lines, here's an entry I wrote on February 18th but never published:
I fear I will ultimately lose her because, while I understand why she would want to be with me, I don't truly get why she would be attracted to me.
That's right, the same old insecurity-abandonment-self-esteem crap I can never seem to ditch . Then comes the internalized domino effect: confusion leads to fear, fear to suspicion, suspicion to paranoia, paranoia to mistrust, mistrust back to a whole new level of fear, and finally ( this is my favorite part because it's so constructive!), New Fear feeds directly into my self-sabotage tendencies.
And yet, because it's so deceptively easy to push all that aside, I'm happy most of the time.
If this is why I've frittered away most of the progress I made last year as a writer and a healthier person, well, that's a pretty sorry statement, indeed.
Not to mention the part about being a paranoid idiot in the face of evidence and actions that consistently point to the contrary.
I don't want to blow this relationship, especially not from the inside out ...
And I'm not just talking about my relationship with Tea.
