It all started back in October. I went through a really rough breakup, the kind that leaves you completely shattered. To cope, I did what I thought was best at the time. I basically just fucked around, played video games to distract myself, and emotionally ate my pain away. It was a terrible combination, and predictably, things got worse before they got better. By April, the scale told a horrifying story. I was standing at 6’4 and weighing in at a massive 410lbs. I was disgusted with myself and knew I needed to make a change, but honestly, I didn’t know where to even begin. It felt like an impossible task. The weight gain had completely taken over my life, and I felt trapped in a body I didn’t recognize anymore. It was a very dark time, filled with self-loathing and a deep sense of hopelessness. I just couldn’t see a way out. I felt like I had completely lost control of my life, and the thought of trying to regain it seemed overwhelmingly daunting.
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Desperate for a change, I moved back home with my parents. This wasn’t exactly a triumphant return; it felt more like a surrender. Living with my parents again at that age felt like a step backward, but I knew I needed their support, at least in the beginning. It was there, surrounded by the familiarity of my childhood home, that I started down a dangerous path. I started indirectly starving myself. It wasn’t a conscious decision at first, but a sort of passive neglect. I’d skip meals, telling myself I wasn’t hungry, or I was too busy. Looking back, it was a deeply unhealthy coping mechanism.
Then the compliments started rolling in at work, which was so shocking to me. I wasn’t actively trying to lose weight, so the comments were a complete surprise. It started off with a lady thinking that I had some terminal illness. She straight up asked me if I was sick, and I was completely taken aback. “WTF are you talking about?” I remember thinking. It was an incredibly awkward and unsettling exchange. Her concern, though misplaced, planted a seed in my mind. It made me realize that people were noticing a change.
Then I started actively noticing the weight loss myself, and I just kept doing what I was doing. Which was basically not eating until supper, then I’d have a half a bag of chips, and repeat the entire process. It was an incredibly unhealthy cycle, but I was seeing results, and that’s all that mattered to me at the time. I was so focused on the numbers on the scale that I completely ignored the damage I was doing to my body. It was a dangerous game, and I knew it deep down, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. The weight loss had become an addiction, and I was willing to sacrifice my health to achieve it.
By September, the transformation was undeniable. I was weighing in at 187lbs. It was the lightest I had been since high school, and I was ecstatic. The change in how people treated me was night and fucking day. It felt like I had a foot in the door with every person I met. Before, I felt like I had to win them over once they realized I was funny or interesting. Now, people seemed to be drawn to me immediately. It was a superficial validation, but it felt good nonetheless. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was how “normal” people lived, with their worth being immediately apparent.
Friends I have that were around my size started asking me what I did. I tell them straight up, I just starved myself. No gym, just work and barely eating. I’m now weighing at 196lbs, and I’m aiming for 210-230 with muscle. I know it’s not the healthiest approach, but I’ll take being skinny with an eating disorder over being obese with an eating disorder any fucking day.
