...you're depressed. You don't want to go anywhere because that would mean putting on clothes that you look like shit in...to go embarrass your family with your fatness. I got on the scale this morning and it said 225.6 lbs. I almost cried.
I am trying to work out of this funk enough to do something about this. But it's hard to do on your own. Hard with no medicine, hard when you have a skinny husband, hard when you don't have any self esteem, hard when you feel like an embarrassment, hard when you have no support.
I wake up on some days with that go-getter attitude. It used to happen a lot more. I was working out several times a week and watching every morsel that I put in my mouth. But wow, it's so hard to keep that up when you're depressed most of the time.
I don't want to do the gimmicks. I want real, slow weight loss. I've done it before. I was down to 165 before my second child, and I was happy there. I was weight lifting, I was strong, I was even running. I think back to those days and try to use those past feelings to fuel me now.
I'm just going to have to ignore the depression and just make myself exercise every fucking day. I will have to force myself. It won't be easy and it won't be fun. But I am sick of worrying about the way I look. I'm sick of worrying about what I'm going to wear to my son's soccer game...trying to find something that I don't look so fat in and realizing it's a lost cause. There's nothing that makes me look less fat.
So...if the family goes to the beach today, I'll go as well. And while I'm there I'll walk. Not much of a start but I've got to start somewhere.
