I'm pretty sure his name is Pizza.
The great thing is, is that I don't even like the stuff. Once I get in on my plate though I'm a maniac. I try so hard to avoid it but then I can't. Self-control in theory is so much easier than the actual practice.
So updates on treatment...
When I went to the endo last week I saw my weight. I had gained nine pounds. I didn't mean to but I cried in the doctor's office. I was so frustrated and angry with myself. I'm doing it "their" way and gaining weight. I feel so defeated. Sometimes, I truly believe that being skinny trumps everything else in life.
Still going to therapy. I wish I could afford to go twice a week but I can't. The therapy part is the easy part of this whole thing. What's hard is the nutrition. What's hard is wrapping my head around the eating in "moderation." That, and checking my blood sugar. The blood sugar thing should be so simple, but I guess after not doing it for so long it's more complicated than I thought it'd be.
I feel like such a bad mother. I worry all the time that I will die early and Isaac will wonder why his mother didn't love him enough to stick around. I would never want to do that to him. I feel so guilty that I couldn't cure myself of this after he was born. I think about all the people who care about me, and all the people that have had to put a wall up just do deal with me. It makes me so sad and ashamed. I think my family has a hard time ingesting what it is I go through. In their minds I am just killing myself and making stupid decisions. So many family members and friends have put blinders up when it comes to this and I understand why. Who wants to deal with it? I don't. But I have no choice. I am lucky to have people in my life who are sticking around and who are being truly supportive of it all.