The Fear Factor

You know how some people, when they know they don't have enough money, refuse to look at their bank balance, for fear of the truth it will tell them?

That's the relationship I'm having with the Nazi Scales at the moment.

It's been almost a week since I wrote. The weigh-in this week was weird - for slightly convoluted reasons, it didn't take place on Tuesday, but Wednesday saw me up and looking at a 17. 17 stone...again.

Thursday, however, was kinder, and put me back at 16 stone 11. Since then, I've taken this only partially catastrophic news and run with it, but haven't carved out the time to exercise, and haven't eaten within any kind of logical moderation. And so I cower somewhat from the weigh-in this coming Tuesday, knowing it will probably see me 17 and then some, a deeply unaccetable turn of events for which, if blame were remotely useful, I would have no-one to attach it to but myself.

There are whispers of perspex again in my brain - go back behind my walls of absolutism again, regain control of my life, my weight, my metabolism and my energy levels. To some extent, the deadlines and demands of the day-to-day are rather drowning them out, those helpful, healthy whispers right now and I am in a degree of turmoil. A year ago now, things were coming to some sort of head with my dad, though there was hope, still, so much hope of him coming through and coming home to us.

I was out of control then too, and have only been inconsistently in control since - as d has put it - "you'll be losing this same stone time and time and time again..."

I know what I need to do.

Doing it is entirely another thing...