Shame Shame Shame

Gaining 40 pounds back after losing 100 is more embarrassing than the fact that I've seen Meryl Streep's "Mamma Mia" at least ten times.  (And I own it.  On Blu Ray).

Anyway, I can't shake the feeling that I've let people down.  I can't even tell you how many people were rooting for me two years ago when it looked like I had conquered this weight problem thing.  Friends and family members, even strangers who I barely know who live in my building came out of the woodwork to tell me I looked great.  My gym even did a story about me in their newsletter, which goes out to hundreds and hundreds of people in Chicago.  I had more support than I ever thought possible.  And I feel like I crapped all over their good wishes.

The thing about losing weight is that any other problem can be hidden from the world around you, for better or for worse.  When you're fat and unhappy about it, you wear your problem on the outside and it's impossible to hide.

I've been skipping parties and social occasions because I don't want to see the looks on peoples' faces when they see I'm not a size 12 anymore.  I'm back in 16, which is better than 28, which was what I was when I started, but at times I feel like Fiona from "Shrek," lumbering and gigantic.

I know my family and friends love me regardless of what I look like, but still, I'm ashamed that I've backtracked as much as I have.  That's probably one of the reasons why it's so much harder to retrace steps on this weight loss path than it was to forge ahead on it blindly.