I hit the highest weight I've ever seen on a pair of scales on Saturday. 181 fucking pounds. Writing it makes me feel deeply ashamed, but there it is. Which actually constitutes as overweight, both in the emotional sense (feeling oneself to be far too large) and the literal sense (BMI teetering over the edge of 26). I've got a rotten relationship with food. I don't trust it; I don't trust that eating it or not eating it will make a difference, and I don't trust that it wants anything other than to work against me. It's weird to personify food in this way, as the devil or such, but the reality is that on the night prior to hitting 181, I ate only a grand total of 1400 calories - an amount that never before would have caused a five-pound weight gain in one sitting. I don't understand food, and it doesn't understand me. I can't eat normal quantities anymore. My metabolism is butchered from years of fucking around.
The plan (and there has to be a plan, otherwise it all really is shot to hell):
- 1 c. cereal (130)
- 1/2 c. fruit (60)
- Black coffee (15)
- 150-calorie dinner
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