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.