Again and forever. Eat, you fat pig, eat! This seems to be my eternal struggle. I met a girlfriend for lunch today, I took her to a sushi train, thinking that if I talk as much as I normally do, I won't eat much, won't go over my 500 cal limit... Epic, epic fail! While I know that it probably won't do too much damage - I tried to keep to pieces of fish only, avoiding as many carbs as possible - my belly feels horribly full. Distended, uncomfortable, fat.
Why do I do this to myself? Why am I always and forever repeating this cycle? Why must I eat at all? Isn't there some sort of sign I can wear around my neck, or better yet, a tattoo I can get? Something like "I don't do food" or "Food? Get fucked!" Surely there must be... But only in a world without bleeding hearts and judgemental fuckwits.
Worse than that, when I got on my scales this morning a horrible new number flashed its glaring face at me. A number above what I was yesterday, 400g more. And now the failure of eating. Fuckity, fuckity, fuck. My albatross. My burden to bear. My weakness. My betrayal.
Never mind. Tomorrow means that I can fast to my heart's content. I'm going to be away from home, out of the office, away from all temptations with only my water bottle for company and my cross trainer waiting patiently at home. I shall maintain control, looking for that light-headed buzz of knowing that I've been able to smile sweetly and say 'No, thank you. I don't do food.' There is hope on the horizon, but dammit, I hate eating. I hate being fat. I want to be me again. I want the future to be here now.
Thin me up, Scotty.
Bless to all,