low point. low point.

11 pounds gone in three weeks. and my grand total is now up to 33 pounds lost. i'm happy. very happy.

and very unhappy, too. something happened the other day that i haven't even been able to discuss with my wife. i'm embarrassed, ashamed, and a little scared of what it says about my current mental and emotional state. back when i was in high school, i took dieting to the extreme. i became obsessed with limiting my calories down to practically nothing. the longer i could go, the better i felt. it was almost like an addiction, that extra minute of hunger, that one bite less each meal. i lost lots of weight, but i also ended up getting sick because of it.

when i started dieting again during the spring, i felt that familiar rush at being able to control my eating. controlling the calories, making myself wait as long as possible despite the hunger pains. and each time i put something in my mouth, i feel guilty about it. those were the trademarks of my previous experience, but i really didn't think about myself being in any true danger this time. i like food too much now to go completely without.

but then tuesday happened. it was a horrible day, and after i dropped my wife off at the house to shovel so i could get into the driveway, i drove around and ended up at wendy's, depressed and starving. knowing that i'd have to go home and shovel, i figured i should eat something to keep up my strength. so i got a large fry. i ate about half and was totally disgusted with myself. they tasted nasty, i felt nasty, and i wanted them gone. and so i did something that i've never done before -- i tried purging. i failed, of course, after several rounds of gagging. nothing came up. and i kept thinking about all that fat and all those calories.

and that terrifies me. in all my years of food guilt and starving myself, i never once tried purging. i would once in a while get some chocolate and chew it, then spit it out. but i never tried to make myself throw up.

i don't think i'll ever do that again. i think it was a moment of desperation. i felt so out of control because of what happened at work, and i think my mind just went to that dark place momentarily. but i don't see it happening again.

still, it happened. and i feel so ashamed of it. so ashamed that i haven't been able to tell my wife. what would i say? i ate fries and tried to barf them up? i don't want her worrying. because i don't think there's any real reason to worry about me doing that again. or even starving myself, because i love food waaaaaaaaay too much. but i had to get it out so she could at least read it, and here it is.

don't worry, sweetie. i promise i'm okay.