As of today, I'm officially the heaviest I've ever been.
I look in the mirror and I loathe what I see. We don't even own a full-length mirror as I can't bear to look at myself and see what I've become.
I'm uncomfortable in my own skin, in my own body. I struggle to bend over without getting breathless. I can't walk far without feeling out of breath or dizzy.
Every single day, my weight makes me desperately unhappy and yet what do I do to cheer myself up? I eat. I can't seem to stop this vicious cycle. It's damaging my health, screwing up my self-esteem and setting a really bad example to my children about what good health looks like.
I'm 5ft 4 and, as of today, I weigh 15st 11. I'm disgusted with myself. My husband is broad and strong and I weigh more than him. I weigh more than my tall, strapping dad. I think I weigh more than anyone in my family. And more than any of my friends. I feel like a second-class citizen and just want to hide away.
Only a handful of years ago, I weighed 12st 12 and I felt amazing. It was still classed as overweight but I felt wonderful and I desperately want to get back there. Yet, no matter what happens, it seems too far out of reach.
I've tried every diet under the sun and yet seem incapable of sticking to any of them longer than a week or two. We're members of an amazing gym as a family, and yet I use it the least of everyone.
I feel like I've hit rock bottom but the journey ahead seems so arduous and long, I feel too frightened to even take the first step, even though I know staying like this makes me desperately, desperately unhappy.
Please, tell me I'm not alone. And that this isn't the way things always need to be. I run a business, have beautiful happy, healthy children, and a fantastic husband, so my life is extraordinarily blessed, it's just me that lets it all down.