5 nights ago at about 4 in the morning, or there about, I awoke to a loud crack. Matt and I both sprang from bed and both assumed that someone had broken in or was trying to. After an ugly underwear parade throughout the house to rule out any criminal activity, we both return to our bed and matt is snoring before he hits the pillow. Me, I'm crazy anxiety person trying to decipher what the heck the noise was is WIDE awake. Suddenly my heightened sense of awareness puts me into fight or flight mode as my king sized bed collapses on my side. metal sheared through wood. My fat ass broke my bed. And of course only after 15 days of intense and very dedicated decisions of what to eat and when to eat it... It breaks. Not 16 days ago or 8 lbs heavier. Nope, not when I needed an aha moment. After I have been struggling to make each day without diet coke, coffee and cheese my stupid, over priced, Artvan rip off collapses on me. So the truth is, why haven't I been writing? Why did I eat a cheeseburger and a cupcake, and 3 cookies...? My bed broke and honestly it broke a little bit of my heart too. I really dedicated myself, and the setback nearly finished me off because I'm fragile. I'm looking for any excuse to say this diet doesn't work, or it's not for me, or I'm failing. Because admitting defeat and returning to my old habits is so much easier than fighting this battle. 24 days isn't going to fix my bed, make me a size 2 or sing me a love song... It's 24 days of a wakeup call. Calling on all the back up and support I can muster up... This battle has only just begun.
Stupid Artvan, I needed a wake up call just not at 4 am.
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