I went into hibernation mode and proposed a moratorium on restricting for a few days. My metabolism sped up and I dipped back down to a steady 165.

I've been reading about intuitive eating. It all seems... too good to be true, for want of a better phrase. I always fantasise about my future self, who eats only when she is hungry and doesn't stuff her face uncontrollably when things go to shit. And it's true that the majority of "naturally thin" people I know do eat when they're hungry and stop when they're full. But I don't know if I can do the same. I feel like my body has become way too comfortable up here. But before I hit 21 I never averaged over 148 lbs unless I was bingeing quite considerably, and so it's deeply unnatural for me to be here. At least I hope 160+ hasn't become my new adult norm. That would be depressing not to mention fucking terrifying.

My target of 150 still hasn't left my head. And Easter isn't getting any further away.

I went to the gym today for an hour, although it was an incredibly unproductive session. I did about ten minutes stretching, fifteen minutes rowing and ten minutes jumping rope and the rest was just fucking around. I absolutely hate the gym. It's full of meat heads and rugby players and people who appear to have nothing better to do than obsess over how big their biceps look. And then there are the weedy guys trying to put on some muscle, and the Japanese exchange students who just seem to delicately bounce up and down on the cross-trainers and not perspire at all. It's just depressing. I feel like I lose brain cells whenever I go there. And it feels highly voyeuristic, as gyms go. Probably because there are mirrors everywhere and it's all open. But I pay £20 a month for it, so I forced myself to go because otherwise it's just a waste of money. Ugh. I wish I could learn to love it, but I know I never will. Exercise always feels pointless, and ironically whenever it's over my endorphin count seems to massively decrease. I wish I could get addicted to it, like other people seem to. But it's an unappealing addiction compared to, say, smoking or drinking, both of which seem to chime in just a little too well with my personality.

I feel lost. Part of my head is saying, you've had your break. Now it's time to get back to it. The voice is snarling, You can't honestly be serious. That was it? Two measly weeks and you just gave up? Well yeah, I gave up, but it's because four pounds weight loss in two weeks just isn't enough to encourage me. I feel like I can lose that amount overnight with a bunch of laxatives and a two-litre bottle of Diet Coke. I'm so desperate to get past 160. It can't be that bloody hard. I was 145 until I came to university. In fact, I was 145 for round about five years. Which all leads me to believe that this horrible, six-month interlude spent in the 160s is just a blip, in the grand scheme of things, and my weight will fall back down in due course. I guess I keep confusing my body, with all of these different things. If I just stuck to "healthy eating" (whatever that means) and exercise, and not eating after dinner, it would probably all fall off.

That sounds like something my mother would say, and my mum being my mum, she's generally right.