Not beating around the bush, I’ve had another gain of half a pound this week, and I am feeling rather dejected.
In myself I have felt OK, though I’ve been tired, my knee has been playing up but I have still walked the dog, and my sugar levels have been spiking (sugar puff wee as most diabetics will be familiar with).
To be honest, I could cry.
I have not been that naughty this week, though confess to a few extra syns, but I have been eating the veg and fruit as normal and trying to keep to plan with a more or less empty wallet and lacking in inspiration or enthusiasm in the kitchen.
Hubby has been supportive as usual but in my frustration and despair I have shouted at him.
I have been here before, that stage when doing everything right (almost) and showing no positive reward for it. Depression creeps in, as does the temptation to snack, then the guilt for eating what I shouldn’t, which leads to more depression.
Downward spiral I’m afraid, but I am not going to let it beat me.
I am remembering what my GP said years ago when I was at my heaviest of eighteen and a half stone about forgetting dieting and letting my body find its natural weight first.
Ten years ago, I had lost almost four stone but could not lose that final seven pounds to achieve the target I had set myself.
The weight started to creep back on, but here I am now in the same predicament of not being able to shift that all important (to me) seven pounds.
I am almost two stone lighter than that of a decade ago, so maybe my body is just telling me to relax and rest at thirteen, a weight I haven’t been at since my late twenties.
But I’m still disappointed. And angry at myself.
Class had a total loss of 78lbs this week, and N achieved her target. I am absolutely thrilled for her, and she has promised to continue to come and support me, even though she doesn’t have to. I am so glad we met and to have her as a friend.