Last week was complete shit. I binged hardcore for like three or four days in a row. I meant to restart SGD yesterday, but was feeling like a bitch so I went out for mimosas and had a couple of slices of cheese pizza with a friend. Then I came home and ate like two Luna bars ... then I purged. As hard as I could. I purged quite a few times over my bingey week. I never really considered myself a Mia, but sometimes I just get so fucking desperate and scared. Much more-so lately.
So before the shitty several days, I had weighed in, what, like 137-something? When I got back to work on Monday, it said 144. I wanted to fucking die. How was it possible to fucking gain 7 pounds in like five days? I attributed it to the fact that I was full when I weighed myself.
Last night, I weighed in at 142.5. More reasonable, but still way too fucking high up. Today I "restarted" SGD (how many times have I said that?), am at 360 calories right now before I go to work ... my stomach is grumbling and feels empty ... I better fucking be in the mid-141. I got way fucking out of control. And I almost thought, like, I couldn't get it back. I had one bad day, then I said, "I'll be better tomorrow." Then tomorrow came and I said fuck it again, then the next day, then the next day ... to the point where last night at work I was like, "I want chips and a candy bar ... it's fine. You'll start tomorrow. The scale already fucking hates you, so what difference does it make?" But I fought back and made it through the night without succumbing to those ridiculous desires. I ended up with a 24-hour fast, actually.
And then, today ... it's strange ... it's like, once I get ONE day of restricting under my belt, I suddenly feel like I've regained that control. My attitude suddenly changes, I feel the comfort in an empty stomach, I feel the pride that comes with controlling my body. If I start the day with the attitude that it will be a day of restricting, I can do it. If I start the day thinking about junk and trying to rationalize eating too much ... it's harder to fight back. I have to go to bed with the right attitude, and wake up with it.
So I ate a dinky little ham sandwich and 1 and 1/3 Luna bars and am heading to work soon. I ate before 5pm, and won't be eating at work, so I'm going to try to hit another 24 hours without eating. Tomorrow is my Saturday, and I've only got 300 calories, which is my own fault for restarting today ... I will more likely rearrange a couple of days to give myself the higher-calorie days on my days off. But still, I will wait to eat tomorrow until after I've hit 24 hours. Normally I go out on the first day of my weekend, but I already told my friend I don't want to ... I need to cut down on drinking, not just because they're empty calories, but because then I get home and I get high and do something stupid like order pizza or eat saltines and peanut butter in bed. If tomorrow's really a 300 day anyway, I don't have room for drinks. I can't swear on anyone's grave that I won't drink tomorrow but I'm going to probably put it off and just go out on Friday. One day at a time.
I swear I better see a lower number on that scale today ... I have to make up for what a fuckup I've been. And I've got less than six weeks to lose another 10 pounds. This is the final stretch toward the wedding (not the end of losing weight, but one goal at a time), and I cannot be slipping up anymore. I'm such a fucking idiot.