Bitch Sesh.

I am not going to be proud of the following post.  And I might take it down eventually.  But sometimes you just need to expunge.

One of my good friends has recently lost a serious amount of weight in a matter of a month or two on some gimmicky diet.  It sounds similiar to meal replacement (i.e. Slimfast).  Instead of being properly happy for her and supportive, a cruel, unfamiliar D surfaces to be spiteful.  Jealous.  Dismissive.

Somehow through everything, and I mean every FUCKING thing, I remain sunny.  Positive.  I approach each day like a new beginning.  And to see myself respond this way is saddening and oh so desparate.

How large a role do my individual chemical nuances play/prey upon me?  I've watched certain medications outright up my ante.  But I take it now to be certain and true that they affect my ability to lose weight.

{Source unknown.}

I haven't had the best habits.  Thus, after 10 years of medication, I'm now 60 pounds from where I should probably be. I'm legitimately trying, and properly this time.  I'm being mindful of intake as well as integrating exercise.  It's benefitting but nothing's really changing.

{Source Unknown.}

And I'm frightened.  I'm frightened too.  To try harder.  To completely alter my habits.  I always have been.  Because then what?  I know what.  Mania.  Making better decisions for myself leads to a tip of the scale in a happier direction.  A too happy direction.  A euphoric direction.  A hallucinogenic direction.  An inpatient direction.

But guess what?  I LOSE WEIGHT THEN.