It’s been about a month or so since being diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes. Once I got past the anger toward myself for letting my body, my system get to the point where I could get diagnosed with diabetes, I started to put that energy into … MYSELF.
The past month has been quite interesting.
It started out so. fucking. hard: Going from consuming literally whatever the hell I wanted, whenever the hell I wanted, to 1200 calories a day was.. fucking hard.
But what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, eh?
A month later and I’m down 25 pounds. Not bad.
I feel really damn good… alive… energized. (I’m even taking about 6K steps a day, hoping to get up to 10K a day.)
I feel like this is it for me.
I feel like I’ve finally come to terms and accepted that yes, I have a problem with food (much like some may have with alcohol or drugs– yes, MUCH LIKE THAT!!) and it’s up to me to change this problem.
I feel like I’ve finally accepted that it’s okay to feel a variety of ways and NOT turn to food. It’s okay. I’ll be okay without that crutch.
It’s only been a month. That’s not too horribly long.
It’s long enough to consider it a giant step toward succeeding.
I simply have no other alternative.