It seems that you and I have parted company once again. Here's how I see it:
We were pretty tight about a year and 30 lbs ago. I was comfortable with you, you seemed content with me. We made a pretty good team. Life was good. I was on track to becoming who I wanted to be. I had a trainer at the gym, I was going to Weight Watchers, I was on board. I was down to about 166 lbs. I felt great, and I felt like I was starting to look pretty good too.
Then the training sessions were over (too expensive to continue), and I gained some weight back. The holidays came and I gained some more weight back. I got frustrated with paying for WW for about 2 years to have lost (overall) so little, so I stopped going, and I gained some more weight back. Then I gained some more weight back. Then for the last 6 months, I have gone back and forth from 186 to 194. I feel uncomfortable in my skin. I look... not great. I feel overwhelmed with how much I have to lose now just to get back to where I was, let alone to my actual goal weight. And my dear Wagon, I blame you.
Exercise is never really too big of a problem, especially since I am training for a half marathon. Yeah sure, I have good spells and not so good spells. The not so good ones usually coincide with the times when I can't even see your wheels off in the distance, the good stretches I can at least usually see you bumping around the road ahead of me, just a few feet away.
But we really haven't been that great of friends this year, at any point. And I just wish I could figure out how to gain your trust again. I miss that comfortable seat, I miss your safe embrace. I miss the good feelings I get when we are working well together. And I hate that the devil on my shoulder is winning out over our relationship right now. But I don't know how to get rid of that evil voice.
You see, that voice tells me I can't do this. It reminds me constantly that I have failed so many times (which is true), and that logic dictates that I will continue to fail. The voice tells me things like "Well, you ate 100 calories more than you planned, so what difference does it make if you eat the entire carton of ice cream?" and "There's no point working out today; the 200 calories you burn won't put a dent in the pizza and garlic bread you had last night." And even with those non-logical points, the voice wins out. I have no real evidence indicating that I can actually do this for the long haul. Short successful bursts, yes; long term, obviously not (yet).
I hate that I still have hope that I can succeed. It really just torments me every single day. I hate always thinking about food, and I feel like if I didn't have that little inkling of hope, I could just stop caring either way about my weight, no matter what the number on the scale or clothes tags. But apparently my dear Wagon, you tied a tether to my ankle and no matter how far ahead of me you may get, I can't give up on the notion of climbing back aboard.
So are we really at an impasse? Surely we can be on good terms once again. I would really like that. But I think it means we need to be on the same page, and the devil that kept knocking me off your back needs to be in a different book, a different library, than you and I.
It seems, dear Wagon, that you have continued to believe in me all this time: why else would you stay with me, even if you were beyond my sight? So for us to be together, I need to believe in me too. I don't necessarily know how to do that, but I'm going to try.
I know people say you shouldn't expect weight loss to change your life; just because you are smaller doesn't really change your world. But I think for me it just might, because
My dear Wagon, thank you for never letting me go. Please accept my apologies for thinking you had abandoned me. I hope to see more of you in the near future, as we become close friends yet again.
Sincerely Yours,
The Poster Girl
