a weighty rant

It's not that I don't want to lose weight, but I get so tired of trying, of the constant struggle. I feel like I'm in quicksand, the more I struggle the worse things get - so I just sit here, doing nothing, all the while knowing that my situation is not improving. I know I have to do something because I'm in a very high-risk area for developing diabetes, and am in a high-risk area for a myriad of other health problems.

I remember the first time I knew I needed to do something about my weight. It was Easter weekend 2001, all of my family had come out to South Dakota to spend the holiday with me. My sister took digital pictures of my home,
animals and the family then sent them to all of us after she got back home. I cried when I opened that email and saw how big I looked on camera. My best friend kept after me about my weight. At first he made fun of me, thinking that if he used humor it wouldn't hurt as much, but soon found that making fun of me only served to deepen the depression I had fallen in. Then he started getting me to discuss my health, why my back hurt, why my knees
hurt. He just kept after me, held me accountable in some respects. When I committed myself to Weight Watchers I did well. I had lost 70 pounds, looked and felt fantastic, I could cross my legs, walk without feeling winded. It was great!

But then something happened, and I couldn't put my finger on it until now. I had blamed it all on my hitting a weight plateau and not being able to move past it, but that was only part of the problem. The WW meeting leader wasn't very helpful or supportive, the group sessions were also not very rewarding and then when my best friend moved out he took that support with him and I soon found myself slipping back into the same bad habits that I had worked so hard to overcome before. Now I find that I am in worse shape then I was back in 2001, I gained all the weight back plus packing on additional pounds. My depression is deep and dark. I can't seem to get past the thought that I failed myself.

I need help, but am afraid to ask for it. I'm afraid that people with look at me with pity and a level of contempt that I have allowed my physical state to deteriorate to the point it has. I'm afraid that I'll fail again, that I'll lose weight again only to put is all back on again.