It should come as no surprize that someone who weighs in excess of three humdred pounds, and is a candidate for weight loss surgery, has issues with food. Seriously, if I could do this on my own, I would have by now. I'd weigh one sixty and be bragging about my superpowers over all things sweet and salty. Instead, I come to you with my tail between my legs, admitting I haven't been able to make it work. My problem: I've never met a cookie that wasn't my best friend and I'm destined to remain that way without serious and permanent intervention.
It's not that I can't lose weight. I've lost more weight than a room full of Jenny Craig's the week before their High School reunion. My problem isn't losing weight. My problem is gaining it back, plus more, every time. Hence, I am weak. I haven't wanted to admit this before, but it seems key to my success moving forward. I need to face my failings. I need to ask for help. For the sake of my health and my family, I'm going to suck-up my pride and get the help I need.
This is me sucking up my pride.
That's right, I'm weak.
No comments:
Post a Comment