I'm totally addicted to Dunkin Donuts which would be cheaper than Starbucks, but not with the donuts!!

Ryan is joining NYSC with me and we're going to work out with Jax sometime this week (who seems like she actually wants to hang out with us now that she's on the outs with yelpers).

It's bizarre, I'm so ready to lose weight, but I'm completely addicted to crap food. I love healthfood... I love soy protein shakes and irish oatmeal and fruits and veggies and grilled chicken and fish... it's like an alcoholic who hates the hangovers, but can't stop drinking. Dunkin Donuts' iced caramel lattes have become the only thing to get me out of the house when no one else is involved. Hence, the excitement of having Ryan work out with me because I absolutely will not go by myself... I've had a membership for like a year. I suck. I practically have fantasies of what my body will look like when I start to get back into shape... I can't wait until I don't look pregnant when I put on a pair of pants. I can't wait until I can feel my hip bone again. I can't wait until I look at my shoulders and upper arms and back and like the way I look. I can't wait to put on a bathing suit and not feel disgusting/ashamed... I can't wait to put on ANYTHING and not feel disgusting/ashamed. I don't even care anymore. I know a lot of this is depression, but I keep feeling like I'm coming out of it and then, I don't know, the world is too scary? I recede back into the "comfort" of not leaving the house, etc. The only things I can do are satisfy my vices: ie eat crap and spend money. Then I wonder, is this all because I just tell myself I can't? And then I wonder, 'Well, why am I telling myself I can't? Because I've been told I CAN'T my entire freaking life?' It's this horrible cycle... my dad would tell me I sucked and then I would and then my mom would give me an easy way out. I wonder how different I would be if my dad was actually encouraging. I wonder how different I would be if my mom didn't always bail me out.

For some reason it didn't occur to me that I was gaining massive amounts of weight... I shoved myself into the size 14 lucky jeans (the year before I had worn 12 and the year before that I probably would have fit in sz 10's). By shove, I mean full on laying on the bed, jumping up and down, calloused and sore fingers from the zipper. I guess I'm the queen of denial because holy cow was I depressed/angry when I stepped on the scale and saw something around 197. Two years prior I had been a nominally overweight 150. How did I let myself gain so much weight??? After seeing that horrifying number on the scale, why wasn't I motivated to lose the weight? How come 3 years later I'm still fighting this? In fact, the most recent number staring me in the face when I stepped on the scale was 217. That means I weigh around 100 lbs more than my best friend. That means you could cut me in half and still have a full sized person. I'm still totally in denial about the whole thing. I don't feel like I weigh so much. It's weird.. I'm the same size I was when I was around 16-170. That's 50 lbs I can't really account for. I mean, I know I'm overweight, but I don't feel like I take up too much space. I've never been tiny, but 70 lbs is a lot of weight.

Anyway, I'm trying to get motivated. This is where I'm going to hold myself accountable. For 3+ years I've been eating whatever I want, whenever I want. It's hard because in the past I would eat next to nothing and be set. I didn't get too hungry. Now I get RAVENOUS. Starving doesn't fly when you're 217, apparently. That number... it's unreal. I'm going to remind myself as many times as possible. I told my mom yesterday that I hope I have a benign tumor somewhere. I mean, seriously, last year I went to the Gap and a lady who worked there wanted to hand me a pair of size 10 pants. "You're not 14." "Yeah... unfortunately, I am." I cling to those things to keep myself a horrid fatass, I guess... I'm not happy. 

Ryan and I just have not been getting along lately. For a while I was making notes of when he was a jerk to try to keep myself realistic about things. I never wanted to be in an unhappy relationship. The majority of my relationships have been unhappy. I end up with guys who are sweet talkers, they know what to say and do to get themselves out of the doghouse, but are generally too selfish/self centered to factor my needs into the equation of our relationship. As an addict, Ryan was *completely* self centered. I'm not entirely sure he knows how to put someone else's needs before his own because he has never once had to. He's fully aware that he was a crappy boyfriend in the past and he's eventually going to have to make amends to those women. He doesn't totally get it when it comes to me, though. He knows the words, but the sentiment is entirely meaningless when a half an hour later I'm getting yelled at because the apartment is a mess when we're currently in the process of moving and I sold our bookcase and we now have nowhere to put a lot of our stuff so it's all over the place.