"but I get up again. You're never gonna keep me down!"
I have gained back twenty of the nearly sixty pounds lost. I have no one to blame but myself. I hate myself.
I'm not angry about putting on the weight. I'm upset with all of the negative talk in my head. It's so hard to look in the mirror and not hate what I see staring back. There's a lot of difficulty in looking at my closet and seeing the clothes I had just purchased, which no longer fit. Glimpses of my double chin coming back. Noticing and cringing when I see my arms aren't as lean and defined as they were. I was just starting to truly feel good in my own skin. I felt pride. Now, the opposite.
With these thoughts comes another fear: slipping into a dark place I haven't been in for a while. You can go here to read more. Anyone who has battled with eating disorders knows there is often a very fine line of watching what you eat and going to the extreme. I feel like I am teetering on that edge. Afraid to move. Paralyzed. If I eat that bite, will it be the one that sends me over the edge? Better not eat breakfast so I can have more calories later in the day.
The difference between now and then? I am self aware. I correct myself. Skipping breakfast is flat out dumb. It is the most important meal of the day. Eat the damn cookie. If I feel guilty, I get my butt up and walk on the treadmill for a bit. Goodness knows I have a lot of time to do that. I'm working on getting the negative thoughts out. I know the only way to avoid falling into old habits is to kick the evil to the curb.
My worth isn't determined by the size of my frame or clothes in my closet. I am beautiful no matter my size. My health (physical and mental) is most important. The only size that matters in this life is the size of our hearts.