When I was in college two years ago, I was a 180 pounds. I looked good and I felt good. Then a mental breakdown and a bipolar disorder diagnosis happened. When I started this journey in February, I was 267. Now, I am 222. Being where I was in February, it was so encouraging at the start to see the weight going down and it was so exciting. I had all these ideas and plans about what to wear, how things would go back to normal, how I would feel secure again and things I'm sure you all have thought about. But looking at myself in the mirror today morning, it was a sobering realization of how bad I still look. There is still a spare tire where abs used to be. My chest has fat at the bottom and it looks disgusting in t-shirts. My back has no definition. My ass is gross. My entire body looks like it's inflated with blubber. Seeing my reflection makes me want to puke.
And this is after spending all these months dieting, working out and losing a bunch of weight. Then the realization kicked in that I still have to lose about the same amount of weight as I've already lost before I actually look good. And this is going to take longer and be harder than losing the first part. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a post about how I'm giving up and not bothering. I'm still going to keep going. I'm still going to count my calories and keep working out. I still know I will get there and for the sake of my self esteem, I need to get there. But it sucks realizing how long it is going to take. My dad once told me, don't think about it as how long it takes from now to then. Think about how short of a stretch of time it is compared to the length of your life and how much better your life will be if you work now. He was talking about college, but it can be applied here too. I spend over two years putting on all this weight and thinking I can lose it in 5 months is foolhardy. But damn, sometimes it's just really disheartening when you're on the journey.
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