I hesitated quite a bit to publish this post. But after having written about losing weight, I almost feel like I owe the honest follow-up. This is all fresh and quite new and I’m trying to take it in with humor.
My weight started to drop when I quit my anti-depressants.
I wanted to go off them for a long time and switched to a much less ‘invasive’ kind of replacement medication (which also works better than the SSRIs I had before). At this point, I had about 89 kg (196 lbs) but I didn’t realize how bad in shape I actually was. I wanted to lose the weight I had gained because of the SSRIs.
I started to work out and eat healthily.
That was the plan, anyway. I tried to do sports 1–2 times a week and started eating better. But I couldn’t really stick to my strict diet and I had to adjust it. The weight started to drop anyways. Just like I expected and just like my doctor told me it would happen. I was so happy and motivated to keep it going.
There was only one problem: I’m in love with food.
I could never not eat good food. And by good, I also mean food that’s not good aka fast food. When I feel bad, I don’t drown my sorrows in booze, I drown them in chicken nuggets. I’m not a crazy unhealthy eater but I do get the munchies and when I do I don’t care to count calories. Keeping myself on a diet was really hard. I sometimes found myself going to the gym to work off the calories so I could eat a pizza. I’m a brilliant mind.
Then, I went through a tough break-up.
And to be honest, I’m still struggling. I didn’t have the nerves or the strength to keep my life in pieces. I forgot about everything that I should be doing. I forgot what was good and bad. It probably was the unhealthiest time of my life. I smoked pot to numb me. I watered down my memories until they were as blurry as the dirty windows of my apartment. I drank quite a bit and didn’t care about my health. I ate junk food almost every day and never went to the gym. I just didn’t care about anything anymore.
Breaking up, ironically, also meant that I had no way of checking my weight anymore because I didn’t own a scale. I was still looking kinda OK, the mirror said. Eventually, the unhealthy phase of self-loathing ended. I switched roads and started meeting friends and having fun to get my mind off things. I also wanted to start keeping progress of my weight loss again. I was happy to see that the last months didn’t fuck it all up. Two years have gone by and I was at 68 kg (150 lbs). I was actually doing well. A little too good maybe? I didn’t worry much and time passed on. People kept asking me what my secret was. I didn’t have an answer. Was I doing something special? I got a little worried.
I had a doctor’s appointment soon after.
I was sick but had the aching feeling that something more was going on. I already had my own theory and let a doctor check it out. Turns out I was right although I wish I wasn’t. Going off the SSRI and eating healthier were not the only reason why I lost weight. The sad and terrifying truth is that I have also lost weight because I have untreated Diabetes Type I.