I’ve had a rocky relationship with food over the years. Currently, it’s better, but it has also been much worse. I’m a type 2 diabetic, which means I earned it. Decades of eating (and overeating) lots of garbage and your body throws up a check engine light. The diabetes was mine.

My mid-twenties were mostly wasted on cigarettes and fast food. Instead of traveling and trying worldly cuisines and engaging with other cultures, I was smoking as many different types of Camels I could find and comparing the french fries of all the fast-food chains. Wendy’s, by the way, has the best fries. Especially when you dip them in a Frosty; only us true fatties know that.

It was about 2010 when things went off the rails. I had gotten sick with a flu-like illness and just wasn’t getting better. Fatigue, body aches, dizzy spells, all the things that you know aren’t normal, but you don’t want to know what they are because that means a lifestyle change is needed.

Working in the medical field in most capacities means that you are usually a terrible patient when something goes wrong. Nurses are one of the backbones of our society, but when they get sick or injured, they can be real shitheads. I say this knowing my mother was a nurse for 200 years. I also say this knowing she’s in the other room and won’t smack me.

Finally, I went to the doctor. After all the usual medical questions, he asked if I had ever been tested for diabetes. Of course not, I’m as healthy as a rapidly deteriorating horse. I was worried because academically, I was always a poor test taker, but I feel like I’d been inadvertently studying for this one.

My blood glucose level was 423. Anyone reading this that knows what that means probably just muttered “oh shit”. I said it out loud. The doc asked what I ate that day. A bacon and cheese croissanwich from Burger King. Double order of tater tots, and a large orange juice. Two Monster energy drinks on the way to the doctor’s office.

By the time I had finished describing one of my relatively normal mornings, the doctor looked paler than me. I worked night shift, so that’s saying something. “Do you eat like that all the time?” He asked as if he was afraid of the answer. “Well, no,” I said, to his relief, “sometimes I have a second croissandwich.”

“Bottom line,” he tells me, “You will be dead in a year if you don’t make some major changes. There is no easing into this. You need to alter your life significantly if you want to have any kind of meaningful life.”

Alright fine, I’ll cut out the orange juice.

I did end up making a lot of dietary changes, as well as trying to be more active. I wasn’t a hermit, but being out in the world a bit more couldn’t hurt. Didn’t quit smoking for another 5 years, which is its own story. But overall, I was doing well. I lost a bit of weight, I met the love of my life (also its own story), and I was feeling better in general.

The thing that kills most diet and exercise plans is happiness. There’s a weird thing that happens when you fall in love. Many people (me) suddenly lose the motivation to keep improving yourself. Why do I need to better myself if I’ve already met my partner? Why exercise when she already loves me? Obviously, these thoughts are silly, but our subconscious can be our worst enemy sometimes.

I was a chubby kid growing up. No two ways about it. My weight would fluctuate often, depending on my mental health (yet another story). I was never obese, but also never thin. Growing up in the 90’s meant you cared about your image. Not so much in a vanity type way, but more of a “Is there anything someone can use against me or make me look less cool (also me)” kind of thing. That was just the culture.

High school was my first taste of rejection due to my weight. I poured my heart out in a note to pass to the girl I had a crush on. Some of my better writing, honestly. I was convinced that we would be together always and ride horses at sunset. “Sorry, I don’t date fat guys,” she wrote. She was laughing when she handed the note back to me. Maybe that’s where my fear of horses came from.

I knew I was overweight, but to have it weaponized against me was something I hadn’t experienced before. This was something new I would have to worry about now. Even now, in 2026, fat people are invisible at best. They are seen as stupid, offensive, and inconvenient. Our society is designed to make overweight people feel lesser.

My wife and I both have had our struggles with weight. She gave birth to four children, so keeping the weight off has been a challenge for her. My weight has been a challenge for me because I love food more than I hate being fat. The other problem is that it’s not just junk food. I love it all. Doritos, awesome. A salad with a bunch of veggies in it, also awesome.

My dad was a chef, so I have always enjoyed learning new recipes and trying new foods. Not so much in my twenties, the cigarettes and nuggets years. But trying to please eight people with a new recipe is a fun challenge on its own.

When I finally quit smoking, any progress I had made in my weight was erased. I have an addictive personality and once the nicotine was gone, that addiction became food. Moreso than it had been before. I got fat again. It was slow, so I didn’t notice at first. Was the dryer shrinking all my shirts? Couldn’t be all the pizza.

This struggle went on for years until 2025. Then Ozempic came along. I was skeptical. Celebrities took that shit, right? Ariana Grande is down to just shoulder blades and earrings. My doctor thought it would help me, so I started taking it. I’m not sure if there is some kind of magic that dissolves the fat cells on your body, but it gets rid of the food noise. Something I didn’t realize was a problem until it was gone.

I loved smoking. Really loved it. I never wanted to quit. I loved the taste and the smell and didn’t care that it was killing me. While I was having a cigarette, I was thinking about my next cigarette. While I was eating, I was thinking about the next thing I was going to eat. The Ozempic removed all of the thinking constantly about food. I went from 210 pound to 173 in about 6 months.

I had to buy new clothes. I’m not really complaining about being thin, that’s just what happens when none of your clothes fit. I felt great, and I looked great. I noticed people treated me differently, and better. I noticed that women seemed to pay more attention to me. This really bothered me. I got to marry my dream girl, so I wasn’t worried about other women, but this reinforced the “fat people are invisible” thing I’d dealt with for years. Now it’s ok to hold the door open for me? Now it’s ok to try and give me your phone number?

Enough weight had been lost that I didn’t need the Ozempic anymore. But guess what? The food noise came back, even stronger. I’ve already put a few pounds back on in the last couple of weeks. My wife (who looks spectacular) has noticed. She’ll say, “Hey babe, I noticed you’ve been eating a bit more than usual”. She says it nice because she’s not an asshole. I guess she could also wake me up in the morning by shaking my love handles and making piggy noises in my face. Message received.

I am determined to keep the weight off on my own this time. My family deserves the best version of me and a sweaty pile of man-titties is definitely not that. It helps to celebrate the small wins. A walk after dinner. Smaller portions at dinner. Not getting the popcorn big enough to swim in at the movie theater. The easiest way for me to fail at a diet is to tell me I can’t eat something.

Maybe have an apple instead of a cup cake. Half the portion of pasta. Things like that. Some things do need to be cut out. Sorry Burger King, it’s not you, it’s me.