It is possible - just possible - that April and May were total shit. I am admitting to nothing outright, but let's just say that it's possible and leave it at that.
Put another way, sometimes I feel like the only person on earth who can attend a wedding rehearsal dinner involving pizza and a birthday party involving cake, and come away losing weight both times.
Despite being in really excellent care right now, and despite really, honest-to-god trying, I have actually gotten to my lowest weight since at least June 2003. Lose. Lose, lose, lose. Loser. I feel like one literally and colloquially.
I've been keeping a food log with my therapist, and it does give me a fair amount of insight into, "Okay, that really is NOT enough food to maintain this weight," as well as, "Wow, I sure do eat a lot of apples and bananas."
I am just so angry with myself that I want to cry. I've always been an angry crier.
I can't blame myself totally (not in the sense that I blame other people for my own actions) because April and May were... Wow, you guys, they were epic, and their epic nature was not of my making or under my control.
The rest of June and July are going to be tough, but better. I hope. I pray. (I don't pray, literally. I... concentrate.)
It is my intent to blog more frequently, but the blog might turn into a spate of navel-gazing for a little while (ha, I mean, more than usual) in tandem with some "homework" for my treatment. You've been warned.
For now I'll leave you with a flower. It's blooming at my East River park right now, and it is a singularly comforting shade of yellow.