I Am So Sick To Death Of This Crap, That I Won’t Take It From Myself For Another Second For Another Minute For Another Hour For Another Day

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I read a blog post recently from someone chronicling their weight loss, and in the post I remember this little line "I remember waking up everyday hoping it isn't wasn't my last." I hear, or read stories like these from the overweight a lot, and as someone who is overweight I've never shared that fear. I guess the honest truth is I've never really feared death, I mean sure we all did at some point as kids, but I cant recall a time since I've been aware that I'm overweight that I feared Id die over it, I acknowledged it, but didn't fear it. That's because Ive never lived a fulfilling life, Ive always looked around myself, or watched on TV, movies, the hallways of schools, my peers, and always said " Id rather have that, or that's what I want." I've never woken up one day worried if it would be my last, Ive woken up hoping my life would suddenly be different, I'd suddenly be someone else, that's what I wanted. The fear...
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I know everything I need to know, that there is to know about nutrition. Lack of knowledge isn't my problem, I know what and when I'm doing wrong and continue anyways. In 2017 in the first half of the year before summer I reached a peak low weight of 320 , actually, 318, but I round up in this case because I hit 318 once and 320 multiple times. That was likely the true low anyways. So yeah 320. My dwindling reader base may remember that every time I got this low I shot up 5-15lbs, then got back down and repeated. There was clearly something psychosomatic about my inability to go any lower. Something within did not want me to continue to get lower, but why? Was I afraid of the realities of things? Maybe I was right, maybe everything would change and my social bubble would explode and I'd be involved in more endeavors and doing more. Maybe that meant I was scared that I wouldn't know who I was going to become, that the person I knew would be erased and maybe peop...
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It's been a pretty rough week, I had a lot of emotional battles that I sometimes lost. I feel a way I can't describe. This whole week I've had fast food, Taco Bell twice, KFC, Canes, and Chipotle. I told myself the journey was over, but somehow I remained incredibly conscious and cautious of the places I chose to eat at. I wanted to be destructed, but ended  up being quite tame. The most I took in on a single day was 2,500 calories, and that was Monday, a day I had no fast food, every day since has been lower. I've been bothered by it. I wanted to revert back to the old me, and eat recklessly everyday, but that didn't happen. There is a part of me that wouldn't give up completely, it whispered in my ear like Jiminy Cricket, steering me clear if making the worst decisions possible. I could have had pizza everyday this week, Pizza Hut has a new dipper pizza, and Little Cesar's has a deep dish bacon wrapped  (literally whole bacon wrapped around the crust)...
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