I was a Senior Executive Account Manager in Manhattan managing the largest banks, financial institutions and billers in the World. My company laid me off due to "lack of sales activity" in Manhattan after 9/11. That led to my girlfriend distancing herself from me. I felt isolated. I left alone. I reached out to my friends. They could not understand what I was experiencing. I was an executive living in Manhattan post-9/11. I was depressed.
Shortly thereafter, my girlfriend moved out and found a place in Harlem. I had put her on my account in case she needed money in an emergency while we were dating. I forgot to take her off my account. She drained my entire savings account about a week after she moved out. I was devastated. I felt stupid but at the same time I could not believe people like her existed. I reached out my best friends back home. They could care less. They were mad at me for something that happened at my causing wedding. They cut me off. They could not understand what I was experiencing.
My behaviors became erratic. I sought help from a doctor. Several doctors. They prescribed me a class of antidepressant known as a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI) called Prozac from Eli Lilly and Company. I felt overly enthusiastic. I began making risky stock trades. I started doing cocaine in New Orleans on a business trip in February 2003 and found a dealer in Manhattan when I returned. It worked. I was no longer depressed. The thought of suicide started to slowly dissipate. I could watch movies like 'Grease' and be happy again. Cocaine was teaching me how to be happy.
I sought another doctor. This time I got two: a psychiatrist and a psychologist. One saw me 3 times a week. The other saw me once a week and prescribed medicine. It was quite conflicting. I would not recommend doing that for anyone seeking help for depression. But it got me back on my feet. I left Manhattan feeling defeated, alone and lost. I found myself bartending in Aspen, Colorado. I felt at home there. But I had to get going.
I grew up without any friends
My brother dies when I was 3 years old. He was a baby. That really messed me up. My other couldn't speak English and ignored me when she was beating me. She took her anger at the world out on her 3 year old little boy; me. I grew up being frightened by everyone,
Eventually, I found solace in food. My mother worked and we did not have baby sitters. I was left to fend for myself. I was Raised by Wolves.
My favorite things to do after school were:
- Make a bologna sandwich with mustard and white bread and crispy iceberg lettcue
- Watch the Brady Bunch at 3:30pm followed by Gilligan's Island, Mr. Rogers, Sesame Street, Bob Newhart, Carol Burnett, Harold Lloyd and sometimes the Mod Squad or Mission Impossible. My favorite was Batman but that came on at 2:30pm while Iw as still in school.
- After the sandwich, I would make a tasty snack: popcorn or cinnamon toast with whipped cream or butter toasted sandwiches.
- During commercial breaks, I would jerk off to some of my Dad's favorite magazines: Penthouse, Hustler, Cheri, Oui, and Gallery.
- I would do this until my parents came home from work around 6:30 pm for dinner.
In 2015, I realized I needed to stop eating so much food. But I could not resist the temptations of donuts, pizza, buffets and fast food. I had become addicted to sugar and caffeine, but I did not know it.
Sugar addiction is everywhere. The sugar addicts have made it socially unacceptable to call anyone fat. Which begs the question, if fat is so beautiful, then why cannot you call someone fat? It's because no Ione wants to be told they are fat, even though they are apbese. as a result. food industry sales have skyrocketed, along with obesity rates and gym memberships. Being fat is a result of eating the wrong food. The wrong food is anything that contains sugar. Sugar is a poison. Sugar is also the most addictive substance on the planet.