Eventually, I stopped trying to get back onto a ketogenic diet. My heart wasn’t in it and I was constantly at war with myself over what I was eating. Between my last post in December and today, nearly 9 months later, I have made minimal progress, if any.

For the first three months of the new year I was fairly successful with calorie restriction. I counted calories on most days and I was able to stay focused, knowing that I was going wedding dress shopping at the end of March. The day I found my dress I was at the lightest weight I had seen in perhaps 8 years. Despite being a solid size 18 and still 100 pounds overweight, I felt beautiful. After dress shopping I still had a few days in Portland with my family and I took full advantage of the amazing restaurants and yummy snacks, convinced I would get back to my healthy ways once I returned to Washington, DC.

Four months later I had gained 20 pounds. When I look back on it now, I’m not really sure what happened. I have periods of ostrichism and, in retrospect, that’s what those 4 months were. During that time I willfully stuck my head in the sand and indulged my unhealthy food cravings. Every couple of days I would attempt to pull myself out of my little hole of denial and count my calories, only to let myself get sucked right back in. I had no motivation and the longer I let myself hide from it, the harder it became to imagine success was even possible.

At one point I got my head straight. I felt terrific. I meticulously counted calories and exercised every day. I was proud of myself, I was happy, I was energetic, and I felt like I had finally found my groove. For ten days straight I was disciplined and doing great. And then I weighed myself. I had gained 1 pound. Ten days of hardcore effort and diligence and the scale went up.

Now, I know, rationally, that those ten days had a positive effect on my body, regardless of what the scale said. I know, rationally, that if I had remained consistent the weight would have eventually come off. But, emotionally, I was devastated. So much hard work and nothing to show for it. With over 100 pounds to lose and so little progress after 10 perfect days, my mountain felt insurmountable. I used the perceived defeat as an excuse to jump ship. Once again I tucked my head in the sand and ate.

In late August I flew back to Portland for a dress fitting with a seamstress. When I had purchased my dress in late March it had been loose and I knew it would need to be taken in. By the end of August it fit like a glove, no alterations necessary. Most brides-to-be lose weight in anticipation of their wedding. The pressure I had put on myself to do just that turned out to have had the opposite effect. Since I couldn’t be a “normal” weight for my wedding, why even try? And so I didn’t and, in fact, I gained.

It is now September. The last few days have been good. I am tracking my calories and trying to be less manic about food. I am getting married in one month and one day. Over the next month I hope to lose a little weight, but not too much, since I don’t want to have to alter the dress. At this point, I feel like just maintaining is a good goal, considering the roller coaster of the past year.

I really hope that someday I will have overcome this constant struggle. I know it will always be present in my life but I’m so tired of how large a role it has played, particularly over the past 10 years. Knowing myself, I’ll always pick my head up out of the sand and try again. I just can’t seem to keep my head up for long. On the bright side, though, the periods of ostrichism have gotten shorter over the years, and the periods of effort have gotten longer. But damn if this isn’t the longest road I’ve ever been on.