Four months into my weight loss regime, I figured it might be good to say a word or two about my adventures in shedding pounds.
After C* moved out of the house and I started having serious money issues that could have resulted in me having to pull Elliot out of daycare and quit my job, I went through a period of nightly crying that seemed more important than eating at the time. During this time, I lost quite a bit of weight, but it didn't stay off for long.
After my financial situation improved, I started eating again. And eating, and eating and eating. Mountains of fish and chips every night, mass quantities of jellybeans and cakes. Chinese, burgers. Any food that was as bad for my heart as it was for my waistline and you can bet I was eating it - and not in moderation.
It didn't help that I got two care packages of junk food from the United States that I ate as if it were some kind of eating competition and Big Al was hot on my tail to finish the last Cheez It in record time. Those care packages didn't even last a month, but, even after they were well and truly gone, I was still eating.
I look back and see that this eating was some kind of medication for my loneliness. On most days, the only adult contact I had was with my bosses and coworkers. The few friends I have are married with families and always so busy, busy, busy. I rarely see them, so, night after night, it's just me and the TV after Elliot goes to bed. It was comfort for me, I suppose, to at least have that food there with me. And it tasted damn good, too.
But I couldn't let it go on forever.
When I couldn't squeeze into my size 16 work trousers anymore (American 12), I decided to change my lifestyle and my habits and stop feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in my misery by wallowing in lard. After all, I'm much happier out of my marriage than I was in it, and I have a beautiful daughter of whom I am really proud. The rest can be worked on, right?
TO BE CONTINUED