There's a reason they are called DIEts

Oy. Where to begin. Dieting is something I should do, and yet the whole process makes me want to DIE. In May 2007 (after I returned from my semester in Hawai'i) I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and insulin resistance. The treatment, at the time, was to continue birth control and take Adipex, to help take off the unexplained 30 pounds I gained in 6 months. Oh Adipex, how I loved thee. It's basically FDA approved speed. Ritalin on crack. Hello metabolism, goodbye appetite. I returned to school in Ohio in August a lovely 30 pounds lighter and feeling so much better about myself.

Like any good temporary anorexic will tell you, the weight comes back. I didn't eat for 4 months, went back to college, had a few drinks one weekend and woke up 20 pounds heavier. Fast forward two years and I'm now up 45 pounds (15 higher than the previous 30 I gained and lost) from when I graduated high school. In all honesty, I don't expect to get back to that weight ever; I grew two full inches in college, I have an athletic build, and now I do weight training with a trainer so I have a decent amount of muscle (though the fat is temporarily hiding it). But I need to lose at least 30 pounds (I'm 5'9", so I'm not trying to weigh 130, but I'm not trying to pretend 190 is healthy either). I FINALLY convinced my family doctor to refer me to an endocrinologist. Test results show my insulin levels jumped an astounding 13 points in two years. My glucose levels are borderline diabetic. So you see, I NEED to diet. But the task of having to put such an immense amount of thought into what I eat is so daunting, that, at this point, 4 months after I met the endocrinologist, I am sabotaging myself. To the point that I've gained a couple more pounds. And it's not that I don't enjoy healthy food, I eat it plenty of it. But I use food to cope with my feelings. It is my drug of choice, and being told to limit my carb and sugar intake to as little as possible is like denying a hooker a trick. It just doesn't go over well. That and the fact that my crap eating habits I've had my whole life has destroyed my metabolism. I don't consume enough calories in a day, and I rarely have, yet I'm overweight. My body holds onto every last morsel, thus, packing on the pounds.

But, alas, it's a new year and I vow to take control of my body. I want nothing more in life than to be able to have children some day (in the far future, when I've met the man of my dreams and am married). PCOS is one of the leading causes of infertility in women. Obesity is too. On top of that, infertility/miscarriages plagued my mother and her mother. The odds are certainly stacked against me, something my Ob/gyn has discussed with me numerous times. So at 22, it's now or never. I have to grab this demon by the horns and show it who's boss. I have to do this if I want to have the future working with me instead of against.