Up and down, and up and up, and up and down, and up and up.
Countless attempts, declarations, promises, contracts, announcements, covenants, proclamations, deals with God and the devil and any pill, book, tape, water, plan, or potion that came along have resulted in... nothing.
If insanity is defined as attempting the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different outcome, then I am certainly certifiable.
I'm going through the 5 stages of grief today after going through a mental inventory of my failed attempts at losing weight.
Denial- This blew past me in my teens. With my weight as the subject of every "just kidding" there was no denying the fact, even when I tried to make "dorky" outshine "chubby".
Anger- This was (and is) so easily stifled with food, it's not even funny. Salty chips and frozen beverages will squelch an embittered tirade of emotions any day.
Bargaining- "Dear God, please help me to get in control. Please help me get healthy. Don't let me go through my whole life like this... I promise, I'll never eat a candy bar or a nacho ever again." This was often instigated by my parents who, at different times in my life, promised a sound system for my car, $1,000 cash, or a brand new wardrobe from any store I chose...
Depression- I won't go into details... I hate remembering the things I said to myself looking in the mirror with tears streaming down my face. So, yeah, this step has been tread upon before.
Acceptance- Today, again, I admit I have failed at properly caring for my body. I have chosen poisons over nutrients, sloth over action.
I have been at odds with a very strong willed, id-esque, sub-personality who craves the "food high" and I will not let this go on any longer. I will not buy a larger pair of underpants! I will not require stretch in my jeans any longer! Eff you Lane Bryant!!!
Let's DO THIS!!!
