I think that support is vital--and part of that support is (for me) having a partner who understands the humilating truth that I have a serious problem.

Telling my fiance that I would eat the food if it was in the house was probably the most humilating thing I've ever done. I'm 24 years old and I had to admit that I am not capable of controling what I put in my mouth. Thinking about it makes me want to cry. But it's the truth, and nothing I say changes it. I eat sugar like the drug addict I am.

Since 2002 I have been trying to low carb. I had great intentions. I have amazing will power. And it did. Not. Work. It worked for a day, or a week, but eventually I would fall prey to the "just one bite won't hurt me" and then I started the bloodsugar rollarcoaster again.

I can't even describe how horrible I feel typing this. It's like admitting that I have some ingrained horrible character flaw. The one everyone assumes all fat people have.

So I tried. And I failed. I failed over and over again. Finally I told my fiance that I couldn't do it, because it was constant temptation having all the crap in the house.

And he loves me, so he hugged me and he dried off my tears and he threw everything that wasn't induction-friendly away and told me he could do to loose a few pounds, too. And you know what? I've had a week of perfect health, perfect eating, and fabulous weight loss. I don't think it's a coincidence.

Do I expect him to do this forever? I'd hope so, because he has diabetes in his family, and I have diabetes in my family, and I'm not raising diabetic kids with my problems. But if he wants to go out and eat McDonalds and fries and candy bars... he's more than welcome to. And once I get better, I'm sure I'll be able to have it in the house without worrying. But now I need his help--and he is giving it to me.

Maybe I'm selfish, but I'm really tired of weighing this much and failing no matter how hard I try.