New year . . . New Me?

I know I have posted all of these "this is it, I am going to do this and here's how" posts since I started this blog several months ago. I have also posted some pretty mind numbing excuse posts, some petty complaint posts, and generally just not posted at all. And here are the results: I now am at my highest weight ever. I have done nothing to lose weight. not. one. damn. thing.

It's depressing.

It's mortifying.

It's ugly. Very ugly.

It's jiggly and soft.

It's humiliating.

It's close your eyes and get undressed in the dark and pray your husband never sees you naked - ever - let alone want to touch you because you are so gross kind of embarrassing. Even when he tells you that you are beautiful and lovely and the woman he married is who you are inside and that is who he loves - you still close your eyes and get undressed in the dark and pray he never sees you naked - ever - let alone want to touch you because you are so gross kind of embarrassing.

When he does touch you, you pray and hope and plead with any deity who might be listening that he keeps his eyes closed and the room dark and he doesn't feel the fat shifting and jiggling and moving around in so many disgusting ways while you try, very hard, to enjoy what the two of you are sharing in your most intimate moments while at the same time just wanting the whole thing to be over, the end of your humiliation, your embarrassment, your feelings of unattractiveness and the fact that it is all. your. fault.

And, I could curl up into a ball and cry my eyes out, bemoaning my metabolism and my lack of energy and the fact that just thinking about exercising makes my thighs ache.

Or

Or

Or

I could get off of my fat, very lazy ass and do something about it.

It's January 3. For the billionth and first time in my life, I am going to try and lose weight.

I have about 200 pounds to lose (no, that is not a typo). I need motivation. I need support. I have this blog that will probably see some pretty ugly things in the future. If you're interested . . . if you want to witness my mortifyigly embarrassing humiliation as I try, probably in vain, to release the skinny bitch SCREAMING to get out of me, then come back. I will probably have cookies. Most fat girls do.