So the scales claim I gained five pounds this week.
If it were one or two, I'd be freaking out, but that much? I'm sure (well, 85% sure) that can't have happened.
It hasn't been a perfect week, but the desire not to eat has been pretty dominant. Even if I slipped up on a couple of days and ate more than I meant, there's no way I did it to the tune of 3500 x 5.
So fuck that.
It hasn't been a particularly good week emotionally either, but we can deal with that. Or rather, we can ignore that and pray that it goes away. Hilariously, I actually made an (admittedly pretty pitiful) effort to reach out to someone last weekend. I didn't actually tell them anything, because I they were obviously busy and knee-deep in other people's problems already, and I still haven't entirely shaken the feeling that they only put up with speaking to me because they're too nice. But, I think, if I ever found the courage or the right moment, I think I could tell them. If not everything, then a lot of it.
Until then, I remain a lying bastard.