Looks like I’ve officially crossed the line. I haven’t been below 200 in at least 8 years.

You’d think a loss of over 70 pounds would mean that I have some sanity about food/my issues, but it doesn’t. I had one of the worst days I’ve had in a while (at work – client related) and drove home in tears just absolutely determined that I’d had it with this primal shit and I’mgoingtoeaticecreamandabrownieandmaybenachosandacokeIdon’tcareI’VEHADABAD/SCARYDAY. I immediately recognized that I felt bad, sad, stressed and worried – and I recognized that I wanted to “reward” myself with food. Crazy part? I really didn’t care.

I didn’t do it. I’ve learned healthier coping mechanisms, but DAMN. It’s hard. And honestly? I likely would’ve done it if Jon hadn’t encouraged me not to.