264. That’s what the scale told me this morning.
Yesterday it told me 263 but either way, new low (high). I should be excited, but mostly I just feel relieved. I had one of those nights where my brain did the douchebag thing brains always do, and it haunted me. Every single bad decision or regrettable action I’ve ever made loomed over me like a spectre.
I’m sure you guys know what I’m talking about.
That moment right before you fall asleep, when your eyes snap open, your stomach gets inexplicably cold, not the torso, but your actual organ, and you’re pretty sure that falling sensation you just experienced was your self-esteem taking a nosedive into your intestines. Maybe that’s just me, but let me tell you, this fucker was brutal. I say "this fucker" when I of course mean my brain, which I now remember is a completely self-destructive goblin living inside of my head. At one point I had myself convinced that the last 5 years of my life have been a complete waste, a bad joke. Normally, I’m of the mind that everything from 2007 onward has transformed me into a wholly different, better person. The rational side of me knows that this is the case, that the me of back then wouldn’t even recognize the me of today, and in fact, would be "hella jelly." However the emotional side feels like someone slipped past my guard, and that’s not a comforting feeling, at all. The old me, the fatter me, would usually just bury things like this in food, but I don’t really have that crutch anymore, so I had to ride it out. I even had myself convinced for about 15 minutes, and I was one bad day away from eating a cheeseburger that had large pizzas instead of buns, which is very much absurd and- oh god, it’s a thing.
I really need to stop looking for things on the internet that I hope don’t exist. I will always be disappointed.
When I first got myself into this weight-related mess, I always imagined my fat was like a big bucket of whatevers left at the bottom of a grease trap, tied to my body. I would lose a little weight, and pour some of the bucket out. I’d gain a little weight, and pour some back in. It was a pretty cut and dry concept. I knew there would be milestone weights that would be harder than others, so maybe I’d be pouring a little less out of the bucket sometimes, but I fully expected it to even out in the long run.
That is a goddamned lie, let me tell you. My fat is like taking an old machete to 15 miles of dense jungle underbrush. I’m pretty sure there’s a Mayan temple or gold or something hidden back there, but I’m gonna have to fight for every single inch. There are thorns and snakes, everywhere, and my local guide was eaten by an alligator a week ago.
I can’t stop looking at that pizza burger picture. It can’t be helped; it’s like rubbernecking at a car accident on the side of the highway, but instead of a corolla crumbled into a semi, it’s your colon.