When I unpacked this morning, I pulled my favorite pair of jeans out of my closet. I'd stuck them there because they'd been too small when I went back to Europe this fall. But after 4 months of working out really hard, I was hoping I might be able to put them on again.
Not a chance - in fact, they were tighter than ever. So my day began with me bursting into tears, wishing with all my heart that I had the will power to stop eating completely. Sick sick sick thoughts.
The truth is, I shouldn't be going to the gym to lose weight. I don't need to lost weight. And if I'm not slimming down, it's because I completely relapsed with the b/p this fall and...Well, honestly, I think my metabolism is seriously screwed. If I weren't taking birth control, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get my period. I've dropped a bra size. My body is not content with all this abuse, and it's telling me so. Time to kick this thing once and for all.
I threw the pants in the trash can, took a deep breath and ate breakfast. One day at a time.
I'm really scared.
No Eye for Design
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