I've been having a rough week, obviously.

I'm at a point where I don't have much more "work" to do in terms of losing weight, but I am just at the beginning of the hardest part--appreciating my hard work.

It doesn't feel like hard work, to be honest. I guess that's a good thing--if it wasn't too hard to lose the weight, then it won't be too hard to keep it up. If I was crying and dragging my feet the whole way, I would just gain it all back, right? But since I've been reasonable, I'll be able to maintain what I've done.

Of course, losing weight was plenty difficult, and I earned my success, and I deserve to be proud. I'm just remembering all the times I tried to lose weight before. Why didn't it work? I'm just going to chalk it up towards my attitude. This time around, if I messed up and ate 5 cookies, I just let myself forget about it the next day. Didn't beat myself up and started fresh. Which was important, because I have a way of beating myself up (see previous entry if you don't believe that.)

The physical aspect of losing weight is mostly done, but I just don't "see" it. I wonder when it will finally click.

Yesterday was a year.

To be honest, I didn't write an entry because I am disappointed in myself, which is about as twisted as I can get. I didn't lose all the weight that I wanted in a year, so I failed. It hurts me to realize that's what I really believe. If losing 56 pounds in a year isn't enough, what will losing another 10 pounds do? That's right. Nothing. I won't ever be satisfied. Because I still think I'm fat. FAT IN A SIZE 6. What a ridiculous brain I have.