I mentioned in my last post that it has been six months since I last lost weight. On July 16, 2007 I hit 257.2 pounds. My lowest weight to date.
This little anniversary is incredibly depressing. I’ll get over it, I guess. Sometimes I just feel so hopeless. My life has been consumed with the thought of getting back to that damn number and finally surpassing it. Whenever I feel like I’ve got this whole weight loss thing figured out I get days like the past few I’ve had.
I wonder how much longer I can go on living this way. I wonder if it’s all worth it. Why am I coming home from the gym spent every night when I don’t get any progress. Why am I spending all this time worrying about the calorie intake of everything I put in my mouth when it really doesn’t seem to matter?
If I stop all this I have no doubt that I will gain weight rapidly. I feel like I’m on some damn eternal treadmill just waiting to crash back to 300+pounds. I’m treading water right now. Delaying the inevitable. That’s all I’m doing.
If I could just see 256 on my scale. Just 256 pounds! Is that asking too much? That would be enough to make me feel better. Enough to convince me that I’m on the right track. How much longer can I bust my ass all the while still weighing in the 260’s? Nine months? A year? Something’s gotta change.
Oh well. Gotta suck it up. Tomorrow’s a new day. Blah, blah, blah. There are billions of people in this world who have much more difficult problems then this. I’ll be OK. No matter what happens.