Love and Heartburn

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Life can be challenging. My doctor told me I have something called GERD. I must stop drinking alcohol.  Fried foods and chocolate are a no-no. These were my favorite things in the world next to marijuana. I told this to my girlfriend. I think she blocks out most of what I say–she suggested we go get a drink.  I tell myself one bourbon won’t hurt. The fried cheese balls she orders are only inches from my reach. I eat a few. On the way home she breaks off a corner of a Hershey bar and says, “go ahead it’s only a little piece.”  Later the burping brings acid from my stomach into my esophagus.  The heartburn pain is unbearable. Tums don’t work at all. I have learned my lesson. No more alcohol, chocolate or Fried foods. Most important avoid my girlfriend whenever possible or suffer in pain and agony…

Caution: Dieting Disaster Ahead

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After scrupulously following the Nutrisystem diet for three days,
I broke down and ate seven chocolate eclairs in the parking lot at 7-Eleven.
The first four went down fast, then three more with a chocolate milk chaser.
Anybody walking through that parking lot witnessed a pastry massacre of immense proportions.

The heartburn was incredible. Later I achieved my highest blood sugar reading ever.
The physical symptoms paled in comparison to the mental anguish I felt knowing that my dream of being thin was shattered once again.

Can’t Eat Right, Can’t Sleep Right

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As a small child I had my tonsils removed. Minutes after coming out of anesthesia, a nurse walked into my room and was horrified to see that I was eating a chocolate-covered doughnut.
I remember thinking the pleasure is worth the pain.

Not being able to eat like a normal human being has been a curse.
I have many bad memories, like the time my mom took me to the Sears Husky Department for new jeans. She held up a pair for inspection, and said, “Do you think these will fit?”
The pants were huge, and it looked like she was holding up a big blue square, as wide as it was long. Two girls from my school walked by, looked at the jeans in my mom’s hands, then looked at me and laughed.
“Put them down, Mom! I know those girls,” I cried.

I was heavier than most kids at school. In the lunchroom, I would take my finger and stick it in their cake, and then ask them if they wanted it. I scored a lot of cake this way.
My parents would catch me making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I would quickly stuff them into my pants pockets and run out of the room. I know this was bad for my health, because I ate a lot of lint.
I still cringe when I hear the words “Fatso,” “Tub O’ Lard,” or “Porky Pig.” The mental and emotional damage has been extensive.
I now take sleeping pills. The other night while I was unconscious, I went into the kitchen and ate three sandwiches. The worst side-effect from my sleeping pills has been waking up with crumbs on my blankets and bad heartburn.