I feel seasonal depression sinking in, with the darker evenings and the dramatic change in temperature, and it feels like on one hand, I've never been better equipped to handle it, and on the other, completely overwhelmed and intimidated by my usual lack of vices to cope - no more pills, no more poison, no more reckless escapades with men - and by the uncertainty ahead, even though the uncertainty is the GOOD type of uncertainty. It also feels extremely weird to be posting here. Like I've gone back in time. These moments can be big triggers for my bipolar. Friday night I shook in the rain with nervous excitement as T, the first guy I ever kissed, ever loved (as much as a thirteen-year-old really can be in love) came to meet me at a Soho pub to recount life, love, loss. I wept with euphoric joy on the way home, because it was like an old wound opened, then closed again all at once. These things, I feel them down to the ground. Down to the very bottom of my soul. Sometimes I forget I have this emotional capacity at all and it scares me, and exhilarates me, in equal measure.
In some ways, returning to the blog seems to have been getting into my substrate in a good way, as far as weight loss motivation goes. I don't know if I can really call it "good", but it is different. The shift, the internal switch, which occurs when you change gears like that. It happens on a deeply unconscious level. I don't hate myself anymore. But I'm waking up to the fact that I'm not supposed to be overweight. It's not my fault, but it's happened and I have to deal with it now in the most practical way I know how: by dramatically culling my caloric intake, moving more, and becoming hooked on the feeling of hunger. I've been bingeing and overeating at night time for years. It's a habit that can only be broken by going cold turkey and realising that I desire something else more than I desire late-night comfort. What I desire is to get my old body back. And I know it won't be like before. I know it will be different this time. I feel it.
Case in point, I stepped on the scales this morning and they read 197.8. I've lost 4 lbs in one day. This doesn't mean much, but it's a promising start. I feel like if I kept going in this manner it would be no trouble at all to hit 170s by January, which is really bizarre, because the last time I was below 180 was 2022, when I was doing a shit load of stimulants and eating keto. That wasn't sustainable. My body didn't like it. It tried to wriggle out of that mold and very quickly I returned to my higher set-point, 185-195. I've bounced around there ever since, and then I hit 200, and things really went downhill. I dissociated.
I walked for hours today on the King's Road after tutoring, got some winter sun on my face. Then I went out again for a brisk evening walk with Cara, and it was bloody freezing, but I felt good that I was hungry and burning calories. I've already gone down a belthole. I bought size 18 trousers from M&S last week, and they're already loose around my waist. It's really odd but I feel myself getting sucked back in. I like it. I like the vanishing feeling.
I'm not meant to be overweight. I won't be overweight in a few months from now. Not ever again. There's no need. The extra layer of fat won't protect me anymore. It's done its job up to a point, but I can take it from here.
Intake:
-- 2 pieces of toast with butter and marmite (200)
-- Pumpkin spice latte (190)
-- Veg stirfry w/ quorn pieces (150)
-- Watercress and mozarella salad (140)
-- Homemade mushroom soup, parmesan cheese (180)
-- Bailey's (60)
Total: 920
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