I am depressed. I have been since I returned from San Francisco in January, and I’m trying like hell to get over/past/through it. I know what many of the contributing factors to my depression are, and oddly enough my weight isn’t one of them. In fact, I’m feeling pretty good about my progress, although I have to admit I would like it to move faster. I just keep reminding myself I didn’t put the weight on over night, so I can’t expect it to come off that way either. You know the whole thing about eating that elephant right?
The biggest issue with my depression is that it’s starting to take a toll on my menu choices. I find comfort in food. There, I said it. Admitted out loud what I have known inside for ages. Sweet, chewy, gooey, sticky stuff makes me think that it makes me feel better. In all actuality, it makes me feel worse.
Not only is there the guilt of going off plan, but there are the actually physical side effects of the junk too. I get bloated and nauseas, my head starts to ache and I feel shaky, then there is the fatigue, that horrible sugar crash where all you want to do is put on your fat pants and go to bed.
All of this adds up to unwanted, unneeded calories and a lack of exercise. I feel as if I have fallen into a deep, dark cavern with only the tiniest amount of light showing way up at the top. I’m all alone, and beating the crap out of myself as I try to find an escape. I know I can do it, I can see the light, but I’m so afraid and confused I wonder if I’ll ever make it.
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