I think there's some cooking chocolate in the cupboard. I'm so, so fucking there. If I eat cooking chocolate now, run and tone while watching SATC later on, put up a veneer of normality tomorrow and then majorly cut back next week, it should be ok. I should be able to lose 2lbs this week, as long as I manage to break the sticking point.
Today at work, I walked constantly. I parked the trolley as far away as possible from where I needed to be, and took items from it individually to put on the shelves, walking the greatest distance possible each time. Little things matter.
Met up for 'lunch' (read: a Diet Coke) with a friend yesterday, and talked about this whole thing. She's been through anorexia and bulimia, and she was great. She just knew exactly what I was on about, and we resolved that we could text each other at any time if we were ever having a shit day, a good day, or just needed to talk to someone.
Am coming to terms with the fact that this is never going to go away. My relationship with food will probably be as fucked when I'm 40 as it was when I was 14. It's a scary thought, but it's always there.
No target date. Until I get majorly fed up.