Today, as part of my ongoing not-happy-with-my-life streak, I took a depression inventory and didn’t do so well.  It asked all kinds of fun questions, like how many times have I felt excited in the last two weeks?  And do I like myself?  Am I ashamed of myself?

(Huge heavy sigh)  I have to keep reminding myself that it isn’t as bad as all that.  I’m not happy, sure, but things could be a whole lot worse.  I had a tiny bump in pay today, for instance, which made me happy for all of an hour.  Now I can afford my phone bill!

But overall, despite the raise I am very grateful for, the afternoon was a suck-filled hollow of despair.

When I made it home this evening I decided I needed to think about strategy again and come up with a new-improved-plan!!!! to make everything work now and make me a happier person in the process.  Or as happy as possible, because face it, my set point is pretty low.

As part of the strategy session, I stepped on a scale for the first time since April.  I’ve been dreading the scale.  I’m fat, I eat pizza every week, I’m not healthy, I’ve broken my diet a million times, I ate chocolate today, I ate cheese crackers today, I hate myself.  I feel heavier every day, and when I looked in the mirror the fat on my belly was obviously hanging a good two inches lower than it was in the spring.  If I had to guess I’d think I weigh about 320 pounds.  More than I’ve weighed in ages.  All this depression isn’t helping weight loss.  I’m thinking all this, watching the scale fluctuate.  Up ten pounds, down twelve, up seven  . . . and it settled on 285.

I haven’t weighed this little since 2007.

I don’t know what to think.  I don’t know what I did right, because it feels like everything I’m doing is wrong.  I should be celebrating, but I don’t have it in me to make the jump from despair to triumph.  Instead, I’m stuck crying and trying to smile at the same time.  My face must have the most horrible grimace on it.

I don’t know where to go from here.  Somebody tell me what my next move is, please?