Now I know why they call it falling off the wagon. Looking back over the last few weeks I feel as if I had no control, like I lost my footing and fell out of a nice comfy wagon. The road was hard and I bounced once or twice then found myself sitting alone on the dirt with no one or nothing to help me with this journey. I was alone, again.
I wish I could remember what compelled me to look over the edge of the wagon to see what was else was out there. I think I took a taste of something and patted myself on the back for only taking a taste. Then the taste became a small serving and the small serving became a plateful and then I didn’t care. I stopped even looking at my blog and stopped looking online for support from other ww members. I stopped writing things down because I either 1. Knew I was within my points or 2. Knew I had completely failed for the day and who wants a record of that?
The past three weigh-ins I’ve gained. Not a lot by any means but enough to get my attention. I’m reaching out my hand to the people sitting in the wagon passing by. They ignore me knowing that this is my journey and I have to make the effort, I have to do it myself. So now I have to crawl up on my own. And I will.
The gains have been tiny compared to how they affected me. In three weeks I’ve gained less than one pound, but it feels like 20. It feels like I’ve lost control and I’m back where I started. Lucky for me the clothes are still very loose and I still feel like I’ve accomplished something. I remember being in a similar situation after only losing five pounds; I ended up back where I started with an extra five for good measure. I don’t want to go there again.
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