I hate my body.  I know hate is a strong word, but I really do loathe it.  I look like a beached whale, so muh so that I actively avoid beach situations just incase any passing environmentalists try to have me dragged into deeper water.  I was never like this, (apart from during pregnancy, and at least then people were polite enough to tell me that it was OK because I was eating for two….).  Now I’m fatter than I was at 9+ months pregnant; I’m heavier than my other half and both kids put together, and that can’t be good.  I walk upstairs (my bosses gave me an office upstairs, should I take the hint??) and I literally cannot speak for a minute or so whilst I catch my breath.  After a single flight of stairs. 

I’m 31!!!!

So, as I’ve said roughly every week since I had my eldest child (nine years ago): “diet starts again tomorrow”.

What worries me is that I hate myself, am scared for my health, have no clothes that fit and am embarrassed by my size, and yet I just can’t do it.  I mean, I can stick to it for a few days, maybe a week at most, then I fall off the wagon and gain another half stone.  It’s pathetic.

I quit drugs, and I quit smoking. Without a problem, overnight, cold turkey.  So why can’t I quit the hogging??

Be warned, photos will end up on here (after I can be bothered to go find the camera which, at the moment, is far too much of an effort!).  I’m meant to be “back on it” tomorrow.  Again…..