Y’all. My weight has been a struggle MY. ENTIRE. LIFE. 😂

Y’all. My weight has been a struggle MY. ENTIRE. LIFE. 😂

I was a fat kid. And I don’t mean, “Oh, I was a little chubby.” No. I was a roly-poly little situation. Then I lost weight in high school, and from that moment forward, my weight and I entered into what has apparently become a lifelong toxic relationship.

And when I tell y’all I have tried EVERYTHING to lose weight, I mean EVERYTHING. Every diet. Every pill. Every shot. Every program. If somebody had told me in 1997 that standing on my head while eating a grapefruit at midnight would make me lose 12 pounds, my ass would’ve been upside down in the kitchen at 11:59. 😂

When we moved back from China, I was about 60 pounds heavier than I wanted to be, and y’all… I looked like a damn roly-poly. So a friend sent me to this doctor in Kingwood who, God love him, may or may not have been a quack. 😂 But at that point, I didn’t care. He could’ve had his medical degree written in crayon on the back of a Chili’s menu. If he could make me skinny, SIR, WHERE DO I SIGN?

He put me on Victoza. Then somewhere along the way came Ozempic. Then back to Victoza. Then this, then that. You name a weight-loss medicine and there is a very good chance I have personally participated in its clinical research. 😂

And yes, all of this has probably created some problems for me over the years. I’ve spent a small fortune on my teeth, and everybody tells me these medicines can cause dry mouth, and dry mouth means less saliva, and saliva helps protect your teeth, blah blah blah.

Listen. I am not a doctor. I am not a dentist. I sell diamonds and tell stories on the internet. Please do not come here for medical advice. 😂

At this point, I really don’t even take the shot to lose weight. It’s more maintenance. Because y’all, I’m 56 years old. I do NOT need to weigh 110 pounds. Nobody needs to be calling the authorities because a strong gust of wind blew LOVIE into the neighbor’s yard.

So every once in a while, when I notice the scale creeping up, I’ll take a shot.

Wellllllll…

It had been a couple of months.

We went to Italy, and there was NO WAY IN HELL I was taking Ozempic before Italy. Are you kidding me? I did not fly across the Atlantic Ocean to stare at pasta and say, “No thank you, I’m full.” Absolutely not. If an Italian grandmother put carbohydrates in front of me, I was eating them.

Then we came home, life happened, and I just never started taking it again.

Until Sunday.

Welton and I decided, “You know what? We haven’t taken our shots in forever. We probably need to.”

Famous. Last. Words.

I took mine Sunday night.

Y’ALL.

I HAVE SEEN THE FACE OF DEATH.

I feel like absolute SHIT. 😂

I mean, I can barely move. If I stand up too fast, my stomach is like, “Try me, bitch. I WILL make you throw up.”

Yesterday the groomer came at 8:00 in the damn morning, and just getting the dogs to him felt like I had been asked to compete in an Olympic event.

Welton took his Monday, and today he feels awful too. But unfortunately for Welton, he has what I like to call a JOB JOB. 😂

Like, an actual job where people expect him to get dressed, leave the house, participate in meetings and contribute to society.

Meanwhile, I am VERY thankful that my job allows me to lie completely still and sell diamonds from my phone while trying not to vomit.

But here is the truly ridiculous part.

I’m lying here feeling like I’m approximately 17 minutes from death, and I keep thinking:

Tammy. YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF.

Nobody snuck into this house and Ozempic-ed me against my will.

I voluntarily walked to the refrigerator, got the shot, and injected myself KNOWING FULL WELL what this little demon is capable of.

So now I’m having a very serious conversation with myself:

Would you rather be a little heavier and feel wonderful… or be skinny and feel like you’ve been poisoned?

And apparently my answer is…

How skinny are we talking? 😂😂😂

Because I LOVE my clothes, y’all. And if I gain too much weight, they’re not going to fit.

And have y’all seen what clothes cost???

At this point, apparently I’d rather dry-heave on the sofa than replace my wardrobe.

So there you have it.

The struggle is real.

And before anybody comes for me: YES, I know this is ridiculous. YES, I know I am doing it to myself. YES, I know being skinny is not worth being miserable.

And yet here I am…

Lying perfectly still.

Trying not to vomit.

Wondering when I can eat again.

And hoping my damn pants fit tomorrow. 😂