Welcome to the "re-introduction" of the P.H.A.T. Diaries, where food gets feelings, health gets honest, ass gets celebrated, and time gets reclaimed. This is my journey—unfiltered, unfinished, and unfolding. Come for the laughs, stay for the growth. Let’s heal out loud and glow up together, one brutally honest blog post at a time. Feel free to call it a comeback.

PRODUCE

Couples Therapy: Me & Food (It’s Complicated)

I would like to say that my relationship with food has been a dysfunctional one, where it is the lover that has mocked, betrayed, and disrespected me over the years, and beat me so bad that it left my body covered in bruises masquerading as fat and cellulite. But I think the truth is, food has been the most loving and understanding force in my life. Its heart has been true; it’s been a friend and a confidante. Whenever I needed a friend, a companion, a parent, or even a pet, it has consistently provided me with endless affection, attention, and support. There has yet to be a pizza slice or chicken wing that was not there for me in my time of need, and I didn't know exactly what it would take to make me feel better. So instead of demonizing food as the excuse for my obesity, I’ve decided to show both of us a little grace. If there was dysfunction in the relationship, I was the abusive partner, or in the very least, choosing partners I knew would submit to my will. This time around, I’m listening to my body and what it needs, and listening to food and what it can offer. And with all relationships, it’s never smooth sailing 100% of the time, and there will be bitter arguments and sometimes even some tears. But... as with all relationships, it’s that compromise that sustains the good parts. So that’s where I’m at right now, in “Couples Therapy” with food, and what I’m finding is, vegetables have always been my friend, monk fruit... a loving parent, fast food that fun yet incorrigible friend that you can hang out with every once in awhile but you have to kow when to leave and pizza... just avoid that bitch at all costs. Ok... pizza is my crazy ex-boyfriend. And I’ll be discussing that next week in Couples Therapy a.k.a. Weight Watchers.

HEALTH

Death Is Easy. Recovery Is Expensive. Compliance Is Cheaper.

This time last year, I was in Los Angeles recovering mentally and physically from a stint in the emergency room when my blood pressure skyrocketed to 280/175, which, for those unaccustomed to what those numbers mean, rest assured, not good. After telling the ER doctor that I actually do have blood pressure medications, but I stopped taking them, she laid it out for me, “Look, if you die, that would be the easy route. You would just be dead. If you have a stroke, and you survive, which more than likely you will because 85% of people who have strokes survive, then your family, your friends, and we as a medical community will all have to pool our resources (including financial) together in hopes of trying to help you regain SOME of the sense of normality you had before the stroke. So the goal here is to avoid having a stroke at all. Take. Your. Medication.” Which. I. Have. Every. Day. Since. Now I stopped taking it for a myriad of reasons, including severe mourning of friends and family alike, unemployment, having my car stolen, blah, blah, blah... Every time I find myself doing the grocery list of things that happened, I hear that doctor interrupting me and going, “Effie, we ALL got pains. Take. Your. Medication.” I have since left the land of angels for the land of Marys (Maryland, for the unaccustomed). I still take my medication, I go to the gym 3-6 times a week, I go to Couples Therapy, a.k.a. Weight Watchers... and I started a blog hoping to help someone who is going through a similar journey.

ASS

A Tale Of Body Positivity With Boundaries

As of today, I have lost 95.2 lbs, which is a great accomplishment. But I’m still 295.4 lbs, with approximately 120 more lbs to go to reach my goal weight. And while it is a great feeling to walk around in a healthier body, and that in and of itself encourages me to do extra laps on the treadmill, what discourages me are my jiggling man titties flopping around imitating Pam Anderson on Baywatch. And while there are people who enjoy jiggling man titties, present company included, I don’t like my OWN man titties jiggling around, which admittedly has taken a few bites out of my self-esteem. The goal is to be healthy. The optics are secondary... but not incidental. There is something to be said about being healthy and looking healthy. Mind you, I would rather be 295.4 lbs with floppy titties than 195.4 lbs with a stroke, but how cool would it be to be 195.4 lbs with an A-cup bra? A boy can dream... (and do extra sets on the chest press and look up preferred gynecomastia doctors.) It’s bad enough I’m gay, I just don’t want to be the Pamela Anderson of my next relationship. Bless her heart. I mean... even SHE got her tits reduced...

TIME

Late Bloomer, Still Bloomin

I recently heard someone say the offensive yet supposedly helpful barb, “There are no old fat people.” I was immediately taken aback by the transgression and began to scour my memory for larger elderly people, and was heartbroken to realize I didn’t have an example to counter the indecent statement. And as I slowly slide into my second Saturn Return, I can tell you that I have lost at least one important pillar of my life every year for the past five years due to one physical ailment or another. There is absolutely no guarantee that this health journey I am on is going to prevent a stroke, a heart event, or a myriad of other ailments. But what it will do is raise the odds in my favor, and if there is a chance for me to find happiness in a healthy body, without man boobs and a healthy relationship with food and an actual life partner... I’m gonna take it. I might be late in the game, but there is so much more game to play. And I encourage you guys to join in, no matter the age. It’s never too late.

Whether you're here to laugh, cry, or just scroll while eating trail mix, welcome. The P.H.A.T. Diaries is about storytelling with seasoning. I’ll be documenting my journey through Produce, Health, Ass, and Time, and I hope you’ll share yours, too.

Drop a comment. Let’s build this grown-ass community—one sweaty, sexy, spiritually healing post at a time.