It’s not gonna happen to me (yes it is)

Don’t you love it when you assume the worst isn’t going to happen? Well, it is. You’re gonna die, which for most people is worse than living in abject misery. Yes, the worst is going to happen to you. Next question.

But if we give death a pass, then what’s left? If the worst is sure to happen, anything goes, doesn’t it? Yes, you’re going to get a lifestyle disease, especially if you keep washing down chips and salsa with beer, then lighting up a joint. What happened to that half-gallon of mint chip ice cream? It disappeared with the joint.

You’re going to get a lifestyle disease. Diabetes, heart disease, and a ton of other inflammatory conditions. Joint pain, foggy brain, perhaps an autoimmune condition. You name it, at the rate you’re going, you’re already lucky that you still have a chance of course correcting. There’s a more scenic route to death but you have to get off self-indulgence highway.

Imagine the sinking feeling when you get the news.

Your blood sugar is 300+. You must go on insulin. You’re fucked. You’re going to hate yourself even more. You’ll be filled with regret and want to give up on life. But here’s the news: You gave up a long time ago. Every time you stuff a donut into your face, you’re giving up.

Binge eating is an act of cowardice. You’re hiding from something – from LIFE. You’re trying to snuff the spark of life out of you with junk food. And it works. Bloated, you feel half-alive, sinking into the sofa with crumbs on your collar. And no one respects you. This is what you wanted, a free pass to behave however you want, with nothing to lose. You may not even remember what is it to respect yourself, to appreciate living.

Put down the cake!

Be a fucking adult and stop the slow suicide. It’s not fair to the people who depend upon you.