Holding at 7lbs down. Regained 2lbs from my losses last month. I'm not even at the half-way mark. I'm not really even at the quarter-way mark anymore.
I have excuses. blame. sadness.
I have hope without merit, which really is just hopelessness in a pretty mask.
Worst of all, I have tools. Tools utterly unused. Rewards prematurely bestowed. Challenges gratuitously unheeded. Restrictions wantonly ignored. All sorts of ideas and ideals and plans and things to measure and opportunities to do right.
And nothing to back it up. Not willpower, determination, courage. Just the humility to admit failure to you.
I'm ready to give up. Not necessarily quit all my good efforts: my eating habits, my cycling. But quit checking my weight, caring about how I look or feel. Because I don't feel bad, and I don't think I look any worse, and yet it feels like I have nothing to show for it.
Is it insane to keep going, even though I can't see the point, the benefit, the gain? Even though I haven't shown myself one bit of true grit, always taking the easy way?
In my head I hear all the cheerleading and encouragement, or the sympathy and understanding, or the blaming and self-righteousness. I hear all those voices calling and none sound like what I need to hear. I spin around and around, from one voice to another, looking for a gap in the sounds, a perspective I've missed, a new direction to take.
I think I'll just sit a spell.