Today’s post will not be about glitter, room makeovers or any of that kind of stuff. Instead it will be about how I completely and utterly failed this year at the one thing I wanted most.
To be skinny/thin/healthy/
Jessica Alba’s Twin
As of this morning I am actually 2 pounds heavier than I was a year ago. This means in the span of one year, I lost 30 pounds and gained 32 back. Yes. That’s awful. Yes. I feel horrible.
I want to cry.
Because of my recent weight gain this past month (where I’ve put on about 10 pounds…TEN!) even my fat pants don’t fit. This means I need fat-ter pants. I went in search of fatter pants, and nothing fit right. Nothing looked right. I was even willing to go up a size and not give a rat’s ass about the number on the tag.
AND NOTHING FIT.
I wanted to die. Right there in that dressing room. But how sad would it be to read about a woman dying in the Cato dressing room? Very sad. I don’t truly want to die, of course not, that’s insane, but I am so tired of battling my weight. I’ve been battling this all my life. And I don’t think I’m ever going to win.
Y’all. I don’t know. I simply don’t know. What is wrong with me? Why am I at my all time highest weight EVER? How? Why? WHY DID I LET THIS HAPPEN? Again. AGAIN!
I honestly don’t even know how to put my sadness, shame and hatred of my body into words. I look at myself in the mirror and I think to myself, “You let yourself go, Monica.” And women who do that sorta thing usually at least have an excuse. They just had kids, they are having a rough patch in life, they just experienced loss. And me? Well, life is fan-freakin-tastic to be honest with you. I have really nothing majorly wrong except that I am pretty sure my mother-in-law hates my guts.
So why I am fatter?
Is it all the eating out? Probably. Is it all the drinking? Possibly. Is it all the lack of exercise? Definitely. Do I know what I need to do? Not really. What I’ve done is gone balls to the wall for the first 3 months of the year and then give up the Nazi regime I’ve created for myself because I can’t do it anymore.
I am lazy. Like just pure lazy. I don’t want to workout, I want to do nothing that requires effort. Am I depressed? Perhaps. About what? No clue. I have a wonderful husband, beautiful home and lovely friends. And a gorgeous, adoring dog. This would be enough to motivate anyone to get into shape and live life a little fuller and longer.
And here I sit with a diet coke and pan de polvo cookies. Which are made with Crisco. Which is getting me further and further from my goal of feeling like a beautiful, confident and healthy 20-something woman.
I don’t know. I simply don’t know.