In May of 2020 after a month of lockdown
And being sick with Covid
I managed to achieve a proud milestone on 298 pounds
In the present that’s another story entirely
The punching bag has become a giant cat toy
The gym is always, “I’ll go tomorrow”
And I’ve taken this second job as human garbage disposal.
My head med helps, but garbage food continues to entice and win me over.
The meals I make tend to be healthy, it’s free crap at work and junk food snarls whenever I make additional market trips.
I mean, perhaps if I add testosterone to my ridiculously low levels, I may in fact turn this weight around for good.
This battle bums me.
I hate being fat and yet I don’t seem to hate it enough to become fit without the aid of illness.