The Ugly Truth

Ok, so today sucks. We finally got a scale last night. It was entirely my plan to wait until Monday to weigh so that I could do it up right. In the morning, after peeing, no clothes. Also, I was going to measure at the same time. But, well.......there it was and I couldn't resist. Well. I can't tell you the string of curse words that ran through my head. Actually, I could tell you but my mom would read it and be very offended, so I won't. Anyway, here's the long and short (and fat) of it. I weigh 12 pounds more than I did the last time I weighed 15 months ago. I was sure that I had gained weight since then. However, I was also sure that if I did the eating well thing for a month and then weighed, I'd be back at or below that weight by the time I weighed. But, no. Hell no. So, fine, I swallowed the shame and disappointment and I went on about my business, eating my healthy dinner of grilled mahi mahi, 4 grilled shrimp, and some grilled asparagus. I even went on my stupid walk and accomplished my goal of jogging for part of it. After that, I was sitting on our front porch, chugging some water and waiting till I cooled off somewhat. Mostly because every time I walk in the house after my walk, Dorian is like a magnet to my metal and has to get all up on me and not budge. Warm, cuddly baby is usually excellent, but not when I feel like I'm going to spontaneously combust. Anyway, there I was sitting outside and Justin came outside to smoke. He announces that he had just weighed himself and he gave me the number. HOLY SHIT. That's exactly what popped into my brain. I'm not going to give exact numbers because he might read this and then figure out what I weigh. In true female fashion, I have refused to tell him my weight or pants size. Anyhoo, let's just say that I weigh more than he does. Like, by a substantial amount. I cannot even describe the crushing discouragement that settled down on me at that moment. I held it in and went on inside. I held it together for a while and then I just went in our room and laid down and cried. Justin came in and asked what was wrong and I tried to explain it to him, but he just doesn't get it. He'll never get it. He's a guy, first of all. Secondly, he's never had a weight problem. Thirdly, even if he had a weight problem, there wouldn't be this shameful stigma attached to it like there is for women. Fourthly, he has no concept of how hard it is to try and lose weight because he doesn't have to try. Since we've been doing the healthy thing, I guarantee you that he's lost 10 lbs. And he doesn't exercise. He still eats tacos and hamburgers and whatnot for lunch sometimes. He still eats Mint Dibs at 11pm. He still has soda sometimes and eats white bread. And YET, he will lose weight at a rapid pace while I freaking struggle along, barely making a dent. He thinks I'm mad at him about that, but I'm not. It's just so unbelievably frustrating. See, here's the thing. I'm not sad because I'm not at my goal weight yet. My goal weight is quite a ways off. I think a healthy and acceptable weight for me is about 70 lbs away, so I know that it's gonna be a long hard trek. The thing is, I'm just anxious to get to a point where I even halfway like what I see in the mirror. And that seemed far enough off yesterday morning. But, after last night, it seems almost impossible. It just sucks SO MUCH to be doing all the right things and trying so hard, only to still be completely disgusted by yourself and the way you look. I'd love to be at a place where bathing doesn't make me want to vomit. Anyway. Sorry, but posting about anything crafty wasn't in me. I just don't have the heart today.