My Journey with Fatty Liver and the Consequences of Living Fast and Free

I never thought much about the damage I was doing to myself. I was wild, rebellious, and lived like there was no tomorrow. At 15, I was already deep into a life that most people couldn’t handle. I ran with a tough crowd, and the rules never applied to us—or so we thought. I tried it all—drugs, alcohol, whatever took the edge off. But now, at 31, I’m paying the price for all those reckless years, and it's a debt I can’t escape.

It all started when I began feeling sick. Not just hungover or tired, but sick deep down. I brushed it off, thinking it was just part of my lifestyle, but when my stomach started swelling and my energy disappeared, I knew something was wrong. I finally dragged myself to a doctor, and that’s when I heard the words that turned my world upside down: fatty liver disease. The doctor looked at me and said, “You’ve got to change your life, or this will kill you.” I remember laughing, thinking, “Yeah, right. I’ve survived worse.”

“I thought I was invincible—until my body started breaking down.”

Turns out, I wasn’t as tough as I thought. My liver was damaged—badly. The doctor said it was scarred from years of abuse, both from alcohol and the constant junk food I’d lived on when I wasn’t too strung out to eat. And the worst part? He told me I had non-alcoholic fatty liver disease, something I didn’t even know could happen to someone like me. But it wasn’t just the drinking that did it—it was my whole lifestyle.

After the diagnosis, I tried to clean up. I stopped drinking (most of the time), tried to eat better (when I could afford it), and even cut back on the drugs (a little). But it wasn’t enough. The damage was done, and I wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“No one told me the worst pain would be the guilt of what I’d done to myself.”

The guilt hit me harder than the sickness. How could I have been so stupid? I’d always thought I had time. Time to clean up, time to get better. But when you’re living on the edge, time doesn’t work the same way. It catches up with you faster than you think, and before I knew it, I was in and out of the hospital, battling fatigue, pain, and the constant fear that my liver would give out completely.

My abdomen started swelling, and I felt like I was dragging a boulder around inside me. My friends—the ones who were still around—tried to help, but what could they do? We were all broken in one way or another.

“I used to think nothing could stop me. Now, my biggest battle is just staying alive.”

Now, every day is a fight. I wake up sick. I go to bed sick. And in between, I try to live. I try to pretend that everything’s okay, but it’s not. My liver’s damaged, probably for good. The doctors told me I’d need a transplant if things got worse, but who knows when or if that will happen. I never thought this would be my life—sitting in doctors' offices, hooked up to IVs, wondering if I’ll make it through another year.

But I’m not giving up. I can’t. I’ve been to hell and back, and I’m not about to let this beat me. I’ve made it this far, and I’m going to keep fighting, even if I don’t know how long I’ve got.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay, but I’m still here. I’m still fighting.”

If there’s one thing I can say to anyone reading this, it’s don’t make the same mistakes I did. You think you’re invincible, but you’re not. Your body can only take so much before it starts breaking down. And when it does, you’ll wish you had taken better care of yourself. Trust me, I know.