Not Quite as Easy as 1-2-3

Since my last post I have managed to cut back on my caloric intake and have lost three pounds. I am now 328. Three pounds I swear to NEVER see again.

My sister-in-law posted pictures of me from Christmas on her Facebook site. WTF? That stands for Why The F**k did I allow myself to become that effin' big.

I wish that someone would apply so I could be on Intervention and be sent away to a fat farm at no cost to me so that I could go away and learn how to take care of myself. I know I'm an emotional eater and if left up to me, I won't seek the emotional supports necessary to learn to deal with my discontent.

I've found myself being consumed with panic and anxiety the past couple of days. My mood is depressed and I have profound anhedonia. I feel like my brain should be on an episode of Hoarders. It's just full of the empty promises I've made myself. Full of the self-hatred that runs through my body along with the blood in my veins.

People don't become morbidly obese because it's fun. No one wakes up one day and says "well, I wanted to be a lawyer, but I think I'll work on becoming the fattest version of me possible." It just doesn't happen.

If you or someone in your family is in my shoes, morbidly obese, unable to complete the most basic of tasks on a daily basis, depressed and full of self hatred, then please understand it wasn't a conscious decision. We didn't do this to ourselves to make you angry or to make our lives any better. We did this to ourselves for reasons largely unknown.

I've been told not to focus on how I got here but rather how to get from here. I guess at first I'm going to have to do that to keep myself on track. However, ultimately, I will have to figure out just what has been eating me.

Since I've limited my food intake, I've noticed that I savor my food a lot more than I used to. I used to eat because it tasted good, I wanted it, I needed it, and a host of other reasons. But now, I seem to eat with my eyes closed as if in some sick way I'm savoring the very essence of each bite. Angel food cake has never tasted so heavenly. Simple Cheerios are the greatest little o's of my day.

The fact that I think about food that way, that I constantly think about what I can eat next is proof that I have more than just an emotional attachment to food. I have an addiction. I need treatment.

I really need to find some place where I can go, where I feel safe, where I am away from all that hurts me, reminds me of pains I've carried for most of my life, and focus on me. On saving me. Does such a place exist?

I'm serious. I might just apply for intervention. I'd apply for the Biggest Loser but I'd need to get in shape before that or else it would totally kick my ass. And besides, I can't swim.

But I'm three pounds down and I can either take it or leave it. I'll leave it. I'm leaving those three pounds wherever the hell they went. I don't ever want to take them or see them again.

Adios, bitches.