Doctor Visit. Therapy. Dietician. Rinse. Repeat.
They porky pigged me up 15 fucking pounds.
My wedding is in July.
Last week, I was able to convince my dietician to agree to temporarily stop increasing my meal plan because it was too stressful with my upcoming wedding.
Last week, I got my period back. After fourteen months. That was the last straw. I can't do this. I feel like a failure. I don't want to get better if it means being this fat.
I don't care about what the doctors say, they can't make me go to hospital, they can only recommend it. I can refuse. This weight has to go. I have until July 7th to lose 15 pounds.
I can't live like this.
Whatever. It. Takes.