Control: Six Suspects

I don’t have killer abs. They take work. I haven’t done the work.

Thing is, I used to be skinny. I was skinny and didn’t appreciate it. I now weigh 300 or so pounds and that’s too much.

I look around. My garbage is to my left, next to my desk. It’s got delivery food from pizza places. I ate two burgers last night; we were busy and I didn’t have time to eat well…I ate the first burger from Portillo’s and then nothing healthy was open and I ate Burger King on the drive home because it’s fast and unhealthy and it makes me feel good to eat it. I threw away the fries. Three of them. I ate the rest. They fell on the floor. I had to pick them up. I threw them in the garbage.

I have a Jimmy John’s cup, too. I ate there. I let them give me white bread, a major mistake. I ate the roast beef. It’s quite tasty.

I ate Taco Bell this morning. It was tasty. Grande scramblers are tasty. They taste good. Why doesn’t bad food — healthy food — taste like this?

I have a salad from Rosati’s. It’s unopened. I didn’t eat it.

I need to work out. I can’t handle even the basic workout anymore. That’s pathetic. That’s the worst thing of all time. I don’t know who to blame. I don’t know. There’s plenty of suspects in this mystery.

Suspect one: schizophrenia. I am mentally ill. Mental illness has positive symptoms and negative symptoms. One of the negative symptoms: ignoring one’s reality. I sometimes don’t pay attention to my eating habits and eat too much. That’s a suspect. I just eat. I don’t think about my eating choices in my surface thoughts. I’m too busy telling stories in my head. That’s the priority, folks. Stories.

Suspect two: knee injury. I was a relatively better 250 or so when my knee got banged up. I was in a car accident. My knee didn’t feel as good. It still bothers me a little bit when I work out but feels better than it did. Now I’m above 290.

Suspect three: laziness. Pure, unadulterated fucking laziness. This one’s a major suspect, people. Major fucking suspect.

Suspect four: pills. I was skinny literally until I was given anti-psychotic medication. Then I gained weight. There were other life changes around that same time, though, and I’m not suing or anything. The pills did make me better.

Suspect five: winter. It’s hard to work out or get out of the house during winter. This one’s probably not guilty.

Suspect six: American food…it’s very bad for you. It has way too much sugar. Eating out, which I do a lot, is bad for you. I need to cook for myself more, with meals made from real ingredients.

There you have it, folks. Six suspects. Which is guilty? I wonder.

I need to lose weight or, within the next fifteen years, I will probably die. That’s where we are at. I know this. I just need to do something about it.

Why?

Why does one gain weight? Why isn’t everyone skinny and well-groomed? I don’t know. People don’t live proper, ideal lives. They fuck up all the time and in terrible ways. It’s sad but true.

Thanks, and take care, friends.