Okay, so even though I fell off the proverbial wagon for a bit, I can still fit into my new size. Mother and I went to look at clothes while we waited on the comforter at the laundromat and I tried on a most god-awful pair of striped pants. I picked up my new size to try on, but there was this voice in the back of my head, whispering despairing things: "That's not the right size! You're just trying to be someone you're not ...." "You know you're fatter than that, pick up the right size!" I shook my head, and the voices subsided a bit but not until I was out of the dressing room.
I have this little problem: dressing rooms make me sweaty. Always have, I dunno - I think I'm scared of them or something. They're so little, and I hate how they all have a mirror. I know, I know - requirement, but it doesn't make me feel any better. The voices start again before I even put my feet in the legs: "You know they won't fit." "Even if they fit up your thighs, they won't button around your waist."
Will it ever get any better?
I'm determined to keep plodding along, though. No more eating out in the morning (sometimes I was getting "breakfast" on the way to work because it was convenient), no more eating out of the "treat box" at work, either. No more milkshakes, or mindless movie eating. My boyfriend has lost almost 20 pounds since June - what's my issue then? Answer: mind over matter. Too much matter around, delicious yummy matter, and I get distracted.
But I am determined, absolutely determined, to slowly get this weight off. Sigh. I just wish there were an easier way ....
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