When I was 19 years old, and even before that time, I wanted to lose weight desperately. I wanted fat-burning products, a gym membership, anything to start losing weight. I was 250 pounds then... and I felt ashamed. My mother would sigh "We need to lose weight..." and when I sighed back "I know..." she would say that I was fine as I was. I was not satisfied with how I was.

I wanted to feel normal. I wanted to feel good about who I was. And most of all, I wanted to drop in pants size from a 46 to at least a 38 and from an XXL shirt to a L. Until that joyous day came, all I could do was fantasize. As I well knew, fantasizing would yield nothing, but I had virtually no impetus to change my lifestyle.

My lifestyle was that of a loner with almost no social life. I would come home from school, snack frequently, eat heavy meals, and either study or play video games until time to sleep. As one could imagine, this lifestyle involved almost no form of exercise. Something HAD to change... but as before, there was no real impetus beyond seemingly unattainable fantasies of grandeur and freedom. In September of 2005, things would change drastically.

The night of September 28th, I got home after my mother took me to McDonald's to get a meal. I got a double cheeseburger with a large order of fries and a large chocolate milkshake, as was my habit. After eating it at home, I was studying for a Music Appreciation test when I felt the urge to vomit. I got up and walked to the bathroom and vomited, certain that it was the end of my discomfort. Little did I know of what was to come!

Within a few minutes I had to vomit again. I did and thought that this time it was over. After that I had to use the bathroom again, this time having to contend with diarrhea. I did what was needed and thought things finally finished, but a few minutes afterward the urge came again. I did the required task again, but as I sat there I had to go again and again!

To make that part of the story short, I vomited and had diarrhea until I felt so physically weak that my mother had to hold my head up to vomit in a wastebasket. Around 12:30 or 1:00 a.m. I finally stopped expelling long enough to have my parents drive me to the hospital. At that point, I was so weak I could not walk and had to be rolled into the admissions room in a wheelchair. In the admissions room, one of the personnel handed me a vomit bag, which I put to use within three minutes of receiving it. After what seemed like an eternity, I was rolled by a couple of nurses at the desk, who remarked on how pale I was.

By the time a physician came to examine me, my mental processes extended to trying to think straight and wishing that the dry heaves would stop. He asked me to stand on some scales to be weighed, and it was an effort to comply. After he finished, he announced that I weighed 225 pounds! My parents were surprised, as was I. Most of it was water weight, but I felt good nonetheless.

Saturday, September 30th saw the dawn of a new era. After at least forty times of vomiting and countless instances of diarrhea over two days, I emerged from the hospital feeling physically weak but mentally better. Recovery would be a slow process consisting of liquids and soft food, but I was ready to get back to my life. However, I had a feeling that something had changed, and changed for good purposes. For example, when I finally could eat solid food again, it took a lot less to make me feel full: a single hamburger and medium order of fries from MacDonald's was all I could stand to eat when only a few days earlier that would have been a snack.

A few weeks afterwards my mother bought a bathroom scale. Out of curiosity I decided to weigh myself, and when it finished weighing I could not believe my eyes: I weighed 200 pounds! Come December I weighed 195 pounds. As my weight dropped, my self-image improved dramatically and my confidence in social settings rose accordingly. The weight dropped so rapidly that my parents told me not to "starve myself" for the sake of weight loss. As strange as that sounds, that made me feel good about myself: I was finally achieving my long-sought goal!

When high school friends saw me for the first time in months (some of them met with me infrequently), they had trouble recognizing me. To my great amusement, the facial expressions of some of my friends gave the impression that I came back from the dead. In a manner of speaking, I had returned from the dead: I had transformed from a recluse who felt little self-esteem to a burgeoning social butterfly. By February 2006 my clothing size had dropped from a 46 pants size to a 40 and from XXL in shirts to an XL. My old clothing literally hung off of my body and my shirts were much too big for me to wear: this was another tangible sign of progress!

To list achievements from February 2006 to the present would be rather repetitive, but I will give you a short version. As of November 2nd, 2007, I wear a size 36 pants and a medium shirt. My current weight is around 190 pounds, up from the record low of 174 pounds. I walk and ride my bicycle to class regularly and I take an Ultimate Frisbee class in P.E. Since losing so much weight, my mother has been giving away my too-large clothing: I hope that I never have need of them again!

I have reached a point I never expected to reach. I have a fairly active social life in college and engage in regular physical activity. My weight is manageable and my endurance is such that I can play a full game of Ultimate Frisbee without having to call in a substitute. Once I was slow: now I am so fast that sometimes I have trouble stopping my run and I fall to the ground! In the end, it is all worth it because I feel dignity that I have had all along and self-confidence I never knew I had: in short, I have exceeded my expectations.