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Sitting in the parking lot after eating half a Chipotle bowl.
Why?
Not for diet culture, not because I’m chasing a svelte body —
even though that would be nice.
The truth is simple:
my liver is shit.
Doctor’s words:
“You have shit genetics. Your liver cannot process cholesterol.”
A bunch of numbers on a sheet of paper basically said:
Change your habits or die early.
He held up my hand and said:
“See this?
This is your portion size.
Every meal.
You can eat what you want — just not as much as you want.
And you can’t cheat every day.”
Then the kicker:
“You wouldn’t even feel your death.
You’d just have a heart attack and be gone.”
No fear entered my mind.
Not because I want to die —
but because I’ve always believed we are more than this hardware, this body.
Still…
I want to enjoy this mortal existence while I’m here.
So now I’m watching portions.
Watching what I eat.
Letting medication for cholesterol enter my bloodstream every night around 6:30 p.m.
Last meal at 6 p.m.
Then a 12-hour fast so my liver can breathe a little.
I can’t work out yet — still coughing.
Not as much.
But enough to keep me on pause.
So here I am.
Half a Chipotle bowl.
A new chapter.
Cough medicine sedating my eyes a bit as I finish typing this.
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