tiredofbeingafatass
New Member
I'm happy to be here, although the origin is complicated. I figure the best way to give context is to just spill it all. My story starts at 12 years old, when I found out I have Aspergers, or whatever it is called now.
My stepdad came under the impression that he could beat and starve it out of me. Mom was so in love, she didn't care what he did. When we moved in, I was put into a cold garage with nothing but a tattered quilt and the oily floor. I ate once a day, school lunch. Never enough.
The beatings got worse, and the lack of food made it hard to heal. When I started high school, the staff began to notice. I didn't know it yet, but my teachers gathered evidence and made reports, but my stepdad, quite rich, was never really investigated.
On my 16th birthday I applied to Whataburger. My stepdadas furious, and said I couldn't work and accused me of being ungrateful. He beat me, and I fought back. That night is a blur, but I remember getting taken to a hospital. It was there that I began my emancipation case.
You may be wondering, how does this have to do with fitness? A relationship with food? Well, after I was emancipated I found myself in a youth shelter. I had my own kitchen and living space. A mattress. A job. Years of food deprivation and I finally was able to make choices for myself. The wrong choices.
I food hoarded, I ate like shit, I ate whenever I could for fear of not being able to. I had such a deep fear something would happen and I'd have to go back. I gained weight. Lots of weight. My teachers provided gift cards for food and clothes, and I spent it on junk food. I read countless books to figure out how to mask my mentally illness, although it still comes out sometimes.
With my teacher's help, I managed to get into college. I worked tirelessly through Covid, poverty, and, after my time at the shelter, ended up in the dorms, stuffing my face at the college buffet. 2, 3 jobs at a time. College was somewhat typical. Early mornings, a failed relationships, my typical gluttony, hookups, mediocre football games, mid grades.
By senior year, I was 350 lbs. It was there I decided my eating needed to change. I started simply by walking a few miles each day, monitoring calories. I've lost around 65 lbs through the food and walks.
I graduated with the goal to make the lives of youth better. With a useless degree in English yet fierce resolve, I decided I wanted to advocate for youth the way my teachers advocated for me. I got a job and moved halfway across the country for a fresh start. Before my year with the district starts I wanted to find a place to learn. A place to ask for advice and take control of my health. A place like here.
I look forward to having discussions and learning from you all. Right now, I sit at 285. I'm 22, a kid. A pocket of dreams and a pile of 30k in student debt. The chips are stacked against me but I want to go all in on this bet. I want to lose this shit. I wanna be a better person in and out. I want to look as great as you guys someday.
My stepdad came under the impression that he could beat and starve it out of me. Mom was so in love, she didn't care what he did. When we moved in, I was put into a cold garage with nothing but a tattered quilt and the oily floor. I ate once a day, school lunch. Never enough.
The beatings got worse, and the lack of food made it hard to heal. When I started high school, the staff began to notice. I didn't know it yet, but my teachers gathered evidence and made reports, but my stepdad, quite rich, was never really investigated.
On my 16th birthday I applied to Whataburger. My stepdadas furious, and said I couldn't work and accused me of being ungrateful. He beat me, and I fought back. That night is a blur, but I remember getting taken to a hospital. It was there that I began my emancipation case.
You may be wondering, how does this have to do with fitness? A relationship with food? Well, after I was emancipated I found myself in a youth shelter. I had my own kitchen and living space. A mattress. A job. Years of food deprivation and I finally was able to make choices for myself. The wrong choices.
I food hoarded, I ate like shit, I ate whenever I could for fear of not being able to. I had such a deep fear something would happen and I'd have to go back. I gained weight. Lots of weight. My teachers provided gift cards for food and clothes, and I spent it on junk food. I read countless books to figure out how to mask my mentally illness, although it still comes out sometimes.
With my teacher's help, I managed to get into college. I worked tirelessly through Covid, poverty, and, after my time at the shelter, ended up in the dorms, stuffing my face at the college buffet. 2, 3 jobs at a time. College was somewhat typical. Early mornings, a failed relationships, my typical gluttony, hookups, mediocre football games, mid grades.
By senior year, I was 350 lbs. It was there I decided my eating needed to change. I started simply by walking a few miles each day, monitoring calories. I've lost around 65 lbs through the food and walks.
I graduated with the goal to make the lives of youth better. With a useless degree in English yet fierce resolve, I decided I wanted to advocate for youth the way my teachers advocated for me. I got a job and moved halfway across the country for a fresh start. Before my year with the district starts I wanted to find a place to learn. A place to ask for advice and take control of my health. A place like here.
I look forward to having discussions and learning from you all. Right now, I sit at 285. I'm 22, a kid. A pocket of dreams and a pile of 30k in student debt. The chips are stacked against me but I want to go all in on this bet. I want to lose this shit. I wanna be a better person in and out. I want to look as great as you guys someday.
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