The other day, I hit 300 lbs. When I was 210, said I would never get to 220, when I was 240, I said I would never get to 250 and when I was 285, I said I'd never get to 300. Well, here the fuck I am. I can't even look at myself in pictures without feeling sick. This isn't my body, this isn't who I am. My friends that met meet within the past 3 years say that I'm beautiful and I wear it so well and all I can think is, you didn't see me before. I was happy at 210, I wore THAT well. I had big boobs, a nice butt and thunder thighs. I felt beautiful. Now, I can't even take pictures with my baby cousins. Recently, my anxiety from a mix of life, Covid and my weight has given me breathing problems. Every night I pray because I think I'm going to die in my sleep and I want to at least get into Heaven. Every day I say will be the first day of my weight loss journey and everything will be better in a year, but I always end up on my video games or on my phone, snacking all day. I got the MyFitnessPal and the BetterMe apps, I love fruits and vegetables and I love walking. But I can never keep track of my calorie count for more than a week, I love chips and soda and chocolate, and I don't have the motivation to get up and get dressed and do my hair so I can go for a walk. I know what I have to do, but I am so fucking lazy and I really don't know how to change. I guess I'm waiting for that light bulb moment that I had when I went from a 2.01 gpa high school student to graduate college Magna Cum Laude. ....I don't know....but I don't want diabetes, or high cholesterol or breathing trouble. I mean, I'm only 22 years old for fuck sakes, I don't want to die yet and I feel like this 300 lbs is weighing me further and further into the ground. I can't promise myself that after this post I'll get my shit together, but it feels good to get it off my chest before I go to sleep. Hopefully, I'll be able to breathe tonight. Thanks for listening.
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