I’d normally write this kind of post on my ‘private’ journal, but I don’t use that much any more and I’ve discovered that some people who read my public blog (though they don’t comment much) take some kind of comfort from it.  It’s no secret that I’ve had a weight problem since I was 11 years old, nor that I’ve been trying to get pregnant for a while now, I guess this is one of those moments where I’m being ‘frank’. For great training classes to aid weight loss, you can check out here!

I’m trying so hard not to fall into the depths of self pity, I’m not seeking pity, or being in any way over-dramatic.  It just so happens I find writing cathartic, cleansing and today, right now, it’s all I have to keep me from retail therapy, food therapy, sitting in a dark room crying and any other unhealthy therapy for my not-shrinking waistline or hubby’s credit card!

You never think you’re going to have a tough time getting pregnant.  No one ever tells you that it’s not easy, no one tells you that it takes more than coming off birth control coupled with a well timed romp in the sheets to achieve the finished product.

So, after my first trip to an American ‘ER’ (post Here) and being on the chopping blog (post here), I came off my weight loss medication in a bid to get pregnant.  I’d made a huge step in the right direction weight wise, I was feeling good about myself, fitting in to clothes I forgot I’d even bought, it was time to start trying for a baby.

Twelve months later, I’m clearly not pregnant, nor am I in any way the same size I was last year.  In fact, I’ve gained back every single ounce of the 2+ stone I lost last year for our wedding.  I’m bitter as hell, I’m disgusted at myself and I’m drained of all energy, I honestly don’t know how much fight I have left in me any more.  I’ve been fighting this battle for 15 years now and I’m genuinely very close to just admitting defeat and letting ‘it’ win.

The only thing that could possibly shake me the hell out of this, is the fact that I can’t stand the sight of myself and the utter misery that comes with being so unhappy with myself…that, and the look on my husbands face last night when he said, ‘I miss you’.  I’ve been very absent this month, removed and just not myself.

I’m back to baggy T-shirts, big hoodies, the only two pairs of trousers that fit from my selection (and it’s not a particularly big selection to begin with) not getting changed in front of him, hell I barely let him hug me at the moment.  Yes, it’s that bad.

Before November, I’d been doing pretty well with ‘doing all the right things’, my five a day, 3+ litres of water, 3-4 hours of exercise a week, tracking everything I ate, I’d stopped obsessively weighing myself twice-weekly and I started November with the 5 mile Houston Heart Walk (post here) and committing to a November challenge (post here).

It was all going very well, I was feeling good, positive, I was active and though I wasn’t doing as well as I *could* or *should* have done, I was doing better than I’d *ever* done (in spite of the weight not coming off)  until I made a fatal error.

After my challenge post, I hopped on the scales, for an updated ‘starting weight’ and whatever good intentions, ‘life changes’ or good faith efforts I’d made, came stalling to a halt in an instant.  All my hard work hadn’t made a fidge of difference and, infact, the number had increased.

I’ve been battling with self hate, self pity and an overwhelming sense of failure ever since, especially since I’m surrounded by people who are doing so well, 2 stone lost here, 5 stone lost there, baby weight lost, heavily pregnant and haven’t gained much weight at all, I’m surrounded by success and I feel nothing but a failure.  Especially since the methods they’re using to succeed, are methods I’ve used in the path, religiously and failed with.

It’s so demoralising.

I normally hold on to some glimmer of hope, but these last 24 hours, I’ve felt completely hopeless!

My goal of a 5 hour exercise week in November went to hell the day after I posted that blog, I doubt I’ve hit 1 hour a week in each week of November, shame on me! My tracking of foods is also down the shitter, I’ve barely drank 3 litres of water this week, let alone all in one day and I imagine I’ve gained about a stone in the last 4 weeks alone, from doing absolutely nothing to stop it.

I’ve not been particularly naughty with regards to what I’m eating, but my routine was broken – and yes, my spirit was broken also, I’ve not been tracking my foods and 4 weeks later, I’m huge, my clothes aren’t fitting and I’m feeling lethargic, tired and just down-right lazy.

My spirit is well and truly broken.

I don’t remember the last time I felt this absolutely appalled by myself.  For the first time in a long, long time, I’m losing this battle and am dangerously close to giving up.  Diets don’t work (I’ve done Atkins, Weight Watchers and Slimming World), I’m not allowed back on weight loss medication (by order of hubby, friend and everyone in the hospital who treated me when I had surgery), I’m not allowed weight loss surgery (by order of aforementioned hubby and friend) though I’m not sure I’d *really* sign up for that kind of thing if I could, it’s just something that I dream is the fix I’ve been searching for for over a decade.

People who don’t have a weight problem don’t ‘get’ it, they can’t understand why ‘stop eating’ doesn’t work, or how self image can have such a detrimental effect on every day life.

My hubby says to me, ‘I don’t see what you seem to see’, my answer is always the same, ‘it doesn’t matter what you see, it matters what I see’.  He tries, bless him, he really does, but regardless of what he tells me, I’m so deeply unhappy with myself at the moment and at my wits end how to make it work once and for all.

They say stupidity, or insanity I can’t remember which, is repeating the same pattern of behaviours and expecting different results.

Eight hours sleep, five portions of fruit and veg a day, high protein, low fat, low carbs, three litres of water a day, 1400 calories a day, track everything, combined with just over 30 minutes of exercise a day (3-4hours per week).

On paper, it’s a recipe for success.

In reality, it’s failed to produce results for me, more than once.

It is seriously chipping away at my soul, one tiny little piece at a time.  Why won’t this work for me? What in all that’s holy am I doing wrong? What’s it going to take to make this work? ‘They’ all say it’s a recipe for success, so it’s time to start over.

Rinse.

Repeat.

I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.

People say that all the time, I know, but last night, Col and I are in the bathroom getting ready to brush our teeth and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Whatever ‘brave face’ I was putting on, crumbled and I just burst into tears, I cried heaving sobs for close to an hour.  Col just let me cry it out and, between sobs, I tried to communicate what has been wrong with me lately, he didn’t realise it was such a deep issue.

This time last year, this exact week last year, I was happy, I was healthy, I was fitting in to my clothes, I was able to look at myself without feeling nauseous  or angry at myself.

I’d hoped I’d feel even a little better today, but I don’t.

The crying last night has left me exhausted and stuffy this morning.  What I DO know though, is that I’m going back to Body Attack first thing on Monday morning (I’m busy tonight, 9-3 tomorrow and I have a choir performance on Sunday afternoon so can’t go before then!)

I don’t know if you know, but my going to Body Attack is a pretty big commitment, it’s a 30-45 minute drive each way.  It takes a considerable amount of time out of my day, (2-3 hours, for a 1 hour work out).  I’ve done it in the past because I love it, because it’s worth it and because it helps me feel better about myself.  Lately, with choir commitments increasing, I’ve found it more and more difficult to find that 3 hour slot of time to get to the Y to work out.

Ultimately I wish my YMCA, it’s literally half a mile from the house, would host more of a variety of Les Mills classes, like the Trotter and Clay Rd YMCA’s that I go to.  Right now, they only have Step and Combat, I don’t think I have the coordination for Step and I didn’t enjoy Combat as much as I do Attack and Pump.  However, I wonder if they DID do the classes would I be inclined to get up off my self pitying ass and go to them? I guess I’d at least have one less excuse to make…

I’ll fight back eventually, I always do, but right now I’m wallowing, it’s a rare occasion and I can’t say I enjoy it in the least…maybe the positive energy on Monday from Attack will help pull me out of this dark place, but for now, I’ll just avoid our master bathroom and it’s judgmental wall of mirrors!