Just ten pounds

I keep telling myself, just ten pounds. I will be happier if I lose ten pounds. I will look better if I lose just ten pounds. How hard can that be? At 2 pounds/week, it should only take 5 weeks. Why is it so difficult for me?

I am fat. I feel huge. My stomach is disgusting. I am embarrassed to call myself a runner. I do not look anything like a runner. Completely disgraceful.

I absolutely have to lose ten pounds by the time TJ comes back. I am so fearful of gaining weight and looking different than I did when he left. Fuck it, you know I am really stressed. I am living in a fucking foreign country by myself. With a puppy. Who needs a lot of attention and keeps getting into trouble (think: Marley and Me). I am getting my master’s degree and working and constantly converting miles to kilometers in my head. I lifted a fucking dining room table down into the basement almost entirely by myself, until my landlord saw me and helped with the last bit. I just want my best friend to talk to. In person. I want active listening. I want to hold my husbands hand. I want my husband to hug me. And kiss me. And fall asleep with me.

It’s such a game to keep telling people how great I am doing and oh yes, I am getting A’s on my papers. Work? Oh it’s lovely! It has it’s perks. Yes, the puppy is wonderful! The house is great! Germany is awesome! Blah. It’s not that those things are lies, but it’s not what it seems.

It’s fucking hard and I just want to lose ten pounds. Why can’t I do that? Why? Why am I so weak? How hard is it to eat salad for dinner every night? It’s really not difficult. Yet, I cannot seem to gather enough willpower to avoid bad foods and spend hours working out. Things have got to change.