My tummy rumbled as the delivery man handed me the boxes of pizza and Pepsi bottles.
“Food’s here, guys!” I yelled down the hallway, hoping I sounded convincing.
Closing the front door, I settled on the couch and breathed a sigh of relief.
The delivery guy didn’t know that it was all for me. It didn’t take long to devour the cheesy meal, slice by slice.
But my hunger was far from sated.
Afterwards, I feasted on a whole tub of ice-cream for dessert.
Ever since I was a kid, I’d been a big eater. As a shy girl with only a few friends, I found comfort in food.
But by the time I was 14, I’d binge-eat anything I could get my hands on. Luckily, the other kids at school didn’t bully me over my bulging belly.
But my mum noticed the increase in my eating and sent me to different weight-loss support groups in the hope of changing my ways.
It was useless.
Food was my first love, and nothing was going to change that.
As an adult, with no-one to answer to, my excessive eating got out of control.
By 19, I weighed 140kg. In my office job, I’d tuck into a monstrous lunch, shovelling in a giant chicken parmigiana or steak and chips.
My drink of choice was Pepsi – I’d gulp down four litres every day and make sure the fridge was always stocked up with plenty of supplies.
On the way home from work each day, I’d stop at McDonald’s and buy a family box of food, devouring Big Macs, cheeseburgers and mountains of fries. But the happiness that food brought me was short-lived.
Home alone, I glimpsed my gigantic frame in the mirror and shuddered in disbelief.
“What have you done?”
I cried, horrified by my sagging belly and flabby arms and legs.
I refused to buy a set of scales. The idea of weighing myself was unbearable.
I didn’t need to know the number anyway. Just that fleeting look at my reflection was enough to know that I was obese.
Collapsing in bed, my stomach felt like it was about to explode.
“I’m going to die,” I wailed, fearing I wouldn’t wake up in the morning.
Next day, I opened my eyes in disbelief: I was still alive!
That became the norm for me – a vicious cycle. I’d eat myself into oblivion then thank my lucky stars I’d somehow survived another day.
My food addiction consumed most of my money and I didn’t have the confidence to go out much.
Growing up, I’d loved the beach but there was no way I’d let anyone see me in swimmers now.
Then one day my boss from interstate called me up to discuss the opportunity to relocate to Melbourne.
The more I thought about it, the more promising it seemed. This could be a fresh start, a chance to turn my life around.
As I set about packing my belongings, I stumbled across a letter my old mate, Con had sent me years ago.
To my dearest friend, Sarah, he began. It’s time you faced your demons and lost the weight. I’m worried about your future.
So when I moved to Melbourne, I joined a gym, vowing that I’d finally take control of my life.
Stepping onto the treadmill, I felt my heart race and sweat pour from me as I tried to keep up with the pace.
Puffing, I stepped off and looked at the timer. Three minutes!
Was that all I could last?
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” friends said.
So I kept going back and, little by little, built up my endurance.
I also overhauled my diet completely, focussing on vegetables and foods with lean protein.
Three months later I finally plucked up the courage to finally weigh myself for the first time in years, I felt sweat drip down my face.
I held my breath as I watched the numbers finally settle on the scale: 211kg.
“This can’t be right!” I shrieked.
I knew I wanted to be happy and healthy, so I went for it.
Harsh as the verdict was, it made sense.
By then, I’d been forced to wear tailor-made size-28 clothing because I couldn’t fit into anything else.
Realising there was no other choice, I summoned the courage to return to the gym.
The move was good for me in many other ways.
I even fell in love with Anil, a kind-hearted man who I later married.
He loved me for who I was, and supported me on my journey.
I managed to lose 50kg by myself, but it wasn’t enough. After some research, I found out about a gastric sleeve.
I knew I wanted to be happy and healthy, so I went for it.
Since then I’ve lost 112kg all up, and weigh just over 100kg.
I feel more confident than ever in my size-16 clothes.
“You’re amazing,” Anil said, wrapping me in a hug.
I also thanked Con for giving me the push I needed.
“I wish I’d listened to you earlier,” I told him.
For the first time ever, I feel sexy and stylish.
I know I’ve still got a long way to go and hope to lose at least 20kg more. But I have no doubt I can do it.
Now I’m studying to become a personal trainer, doing some motivational speaking and sharing my journey on Instagram to help others.
I never thought I’d be able to look in the mirror and be happy with the person I saw.
My journey’s taught me that nothing’s impossible when you put your mind to it.
