The title of this blog post is how I felt after celebrating our oldest son’s 11th birthday. I was stuffed to the point of exploding. I was miserable. I still am embarrassed that other people saw me that way. You see, despite all the goals and resolutions and pep talks I’ve given myself via this blog, none of them have meant one darn thing, evidently.
I’ve reached a dead end. I now weight more than I’ve ever weighed before – 355 pounds, and I feel every pound of it in my back, knees, legs, etc. my clothes are too small. My gut has stopped growing outward and now just droops and inches it’s way downward. My upper legs and thighs are disgusting. I see people like this on television and movies and I either laugh or shake my head in disgust. The same reaction I now give myself before a shower each night when I see myself in the mirror.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had small successes, tiny wins over the last year and a half. But then I always come up with an excuse or something always deters me from continuing. In the blink of an eye I’m right back to square one. What to do from here?
What to do.
Well. Let’s think about it over the weekend, gather what troops we can muster, and we will meet back here Monday morning to discuss a battle plan.
I’ll see you then.