Basically every day over the about two and a half years it took for my weight to reach bottom, almost every day, I said to myself, "It's going to suck putting this weight back on and eating healthily again. It's going to suck royally."
And it does. It does, in fact, suck royally. Imperially, even.
I haven't actually begun to even gain weight yet, but rather have just been getting more nutrients and calories into my body.
And yet. It sucks. Royally. Imperially.
I'm distracting myself a lot with work, or sudoku, or rereading The Lord of the Rings.
I'm thinking happily about all the summer clothes I have, and love, that are too big right now. I'm taking deliberate time to appreciate the physical energy I have.
I'm breathing through anxiety. I'm going through nutritionist litanies in my head, about how feelings are like waves, they have peaks and they never last forever.
I'm surviving, so far, but it sucks. It sucks royally.
You guys, it hasn't even been one. week.