Hopeless, helpless, hapless. Lost my way again. Lost, lost and not found. How many times have I been here and said I never wanted to be here again? To count them would only deepen the disappointment. This morning I braved the scale, this afternoon I am once again grappling with how to recapture lightning in a bottle. 

I have reached out for help, reached out over and over and over again. have reached out for help from my healthcare provider, from Noon, from Found. I have read books. I have listened to podcasts. I have talked to psychiatrists, therapists and life coaches. I have taken medication and tried supplements. I can’t say it’s entirely for lack of trying, but none of these people, organizations or businesses helped me in the way I needed help. 

I have regained thirty pounds in the last year and realized I have re-adopted some of the eating habits I hadn’t entertained in more than 13 years  – eating gigantic bowls of breakfast cereal, drinking sugary sodas and espresso drinks, going out for lunch instead of packing one).

I have to accept that no one is coming to help. No one can help. People can support me and encourage me but, ultimately, I need to do this on my own. I don’t know if this epiphany is depressing or empowering – I guess a bit of both. I did this before, 13 years ago – I counted calories, weighed my food, worked out five nights a week at the gym. My body was 13 years younger then and responded with rapid weight loss. Now the number on the scale doesn’t budge and I am incessantly nagged by hunger and cravings. Now I have commitments and responsibilities in the afterwork hours once reserved for gym time. Frustration leads to resignation; to feeling hopeless, helpless, hapless. But no one is coming to help.