Falling Apart

My sister has been watching my son a couple of days a week, and when I went to pick him up last night, I brought them food. I brought them their usual fare of pizza, breadsticks, and soda with the intent that I would leave it as a thank you, and go home and eat the cod and green beans hanging out in my fridge.

But then she asked me to stay.

After our huge chasm last summer, our intermittent closeness in the past year, and what happened with her in Florida, when she asked me to stay, I felt I needed to. Not only for her, but for me and our relationship. There was one problem... the food.

I had two pieces of bread and two slices of pizza. I hated every bite. I was so mad at myself for no other reason than "I should have brought them healthy food, then I'd be eating healthy food." I've not been beating myself up about having high calorie treats now and then, but that was when I was losing. Now, I'm into my second week of not losing past my highest recent loss of 23 pounds and I starting to get a little panicked.

I keep asking myself things like:

• Did I drop my calories too far, too fast?
• Am I not working out enough?
• If I'm not working out enough, is the pain I'm feeling when I do work out more normal, or did I make the right choice dropping my run from twice to once a day?
• Is it REALLY possible to hit a plateau at this high a weight? If so, what does that mean for me at goal weight? Am I going to be eating 500 calories a day and working out 3 hours a day just to maintain? Reference Point: I'm at 30-45 minutes a day and 1500 calories right now.
• Am I just freaking out unnecessarily?

I'm legitimately scared. I started so strong, and it's like my "big gal" body is putting up a fight it is trying hard to win.

I had a hard time deciding to write this today, but that's what I'm doing this for, right? To chronicle and maybe to get some feedback, and to get it out of me so it doesn't fester.