Today, I’ve lost 100 pounds.
And it feels…weird.
It feels good - that I’ve stuck with it this time and didn’t give up. That I don’t really need some of the crutches I relied on at first, eating less and getting more exercise has just become a habit. I went on vacation and lost 4 pounds because I ordered whatever I wanted but stopped as soon as I felt the slightest bit full - and it was easy. I didn’t feel deprived or guilty or sad that I couldn’t eat more (well, only on the day we went to Son of a Gun…that chicken sandwich was AMAZING!).
But at the same time, it feels…not bad. I wouldn’t say bad. Just…strange. It hasn’t changed much, really. I still feel lonely and deeply, miserably ugly. I want people to notice but when they do I want to curl up in a ball and hide, because how can they not see all the things still wrong with me? It’s also a little embarrassing to admit, tbh…that I’ve been fat enough I could lose 100 pounds and still not be at my goal. I’m just…not in a very good place, mentally. I guess I thought losing weight would fix that but I need to work on both apparently.
Anyway…100 pounds. Wow. I really never thought I’d get here.