A Difficult Journey Battling Between Hope, Despair, and the Will to Keep Going

I wish I could say I didn’t see it coming. For years, my body had been sending me warnings—persistent pain around my liver, overwhelming fatigue that never really went away, and that dull, gnawing feeling in my gut that told me something wasn’t right. But when the doctor diagnosed me with non-alcoholic fatty liver disease and fibrosis just one step below cirrhosis, it felt like the floor had been ripped out from under me. It wasn’t a surprise, but it was a shock.

I’ve been overweight all my life—6'2" and 330 pounds, the kind of size that makes people stare when I walk into a room. But it wasn’t always this bad. I’ve lost weight before, many times in fact, only to gain it all back and more. And that’s what’s been killing me inside—my inability to save myself.

“I’m so incredibly upset and disappointed in myself that I haven’t been able to save my own life.”

I keep asking myself, why can’t I stop? Why do I keep eating the wrong foods, when I *know* it’s killing me? It’s like my brain is wired to sabotage me, and every time I think I’ve found a way out, I fall back into the same trap. Two years ago, I was told my liver had scarring—fibrosis. One level below cirrhosis. That should’ve been enough to scare me straight. It wasn’t. I’m terrified now that the fibrosis has gotten worse, and I’m about to hear the dreaded word: cirrhosis.

“I feel my health slowly slipping away, like sand through my fingers.”

In the last six months, things have taken a turn for the worse. The fatigue I’m dealing with now? It’s not like being tired after a long day of work. It’s bone-deep, the kind of exhaustion that makes even getting out of bed feel like a victory. I’ll sleep for hours, but I still wake up feeling like I haven’t rested. And then there’s the pain. It’s not sharp, but it’s constant. This dull, relentless ache that reminds me every day that my liver is in trouble. Some days are better than others, but the bad days are starting to outnumber the good.

“I have two kids, and the thought of not being there for them breaks my heart.”

This is what scares me the most. My kids are 11 and 9, and I love them more than anything. But I can’t stop thinking—what if I’m not there to watch them grow up? What if I never get to walk my daughter down the aisle or see my son graduate from college? The thought haunts me, gnaws at my soul. I need to be here for them, but every time I look in the mirror, I see a man who’s failing his family because he can’t control what he eats.

“I feel like an addict who just can’t quit.”

It’s like I’m addicted to food, the same way an alcoholic is addicted to the bottle. The compulsion to eat, even when I know it’s wrong, feels stronger than me. I try to set goals—I’ll eat healthier, I’ll exercise, I’ll lose weight—but the moment I slip up, everything comes crashing down. It’s a vicious cycle, and I don’t know how to break it.

“I just hope that THIS time will be different.”

I have to believe that change is still possible. I’m trying again—setting new goals, making plans, telling myself that this time will be different. But I’m scared. Scared that I’ll fail again, and that this disease will finally catch up to me before I can do anything about it. If you’re reading this and you’re in the same boat, know that you’re not alone. This struggle is real, and it’s hard. But maybe, just maybe, we can still turn things around.