I ate three fast food meals. In three different parking lots. In one hour.

First, I had three Arby’s roast beef n’ cheddar sandwiches.

Still empty inside.

I drove straight to Wendy’s. A bored teenager handed me a double burger with bacon, cheddar, and regular fries. I found an empty spot in the parking lot and dove in.

As I jammed that greasy burger down my throat, a seagull landed nearby.

I flashed back to a memory of a seagull tipping his head back and swallowing a whole hotdog.

Today, I was that seagull. I was swallowing a burger without chewing.

The bird watched me with envy, waiting for me to leave him something—fat chance.

After a five-minute break to look at Facebook, I roared over to McDonald’s and got in line. I ordered a double quarter pounder, large soft drink, large fries, and ten chicky nuggies. I made it disappear like a politician vanishes after an election, without fulfilling any of those promises.

I was stuffed so full I thought I had damaged my insides. But I still felt empty.

Rock Bottom.

I realized I had to do something about this problem, or it would end me.

I went home and started looking online for help.

Being a book nerd, I first looked for books about binge eating or emotional eating. I figured someone out there would understand what I was going through, so I found and downloaded a couple of popular eBooks with plenty of reviews.

It turned out these books were aimed at women, specifically. They were full of non-inclusive language that made it plain this was by women, for women, and no one but women would understand these problems.

Men that have eating disorders? Hah! Who do they think they are, trying to claim they have it rough in any way? Eating disorders are caused by the patriarchy! (This might be true, I don’t know. But it sure isn’t helpful.)

I figured maybe I just needed to look harder. I picked another book in audio form and started listening.

The author, a woman, claimed to have helped thousands of male and female people. So, I gave her a shot. She had some great ideas and stories.

All aimed at women, almost insultingly so.

I gave up on these books. I couldn’t get past the way they were written. It would be obvious to any reader who wasn’t a straight white female that these were non-inclusionary and insulting to anyone else who claimed to have similar experiences.

I hate to bring this up as a white guy who theoretically has all of the perks and is fully included in our society. But this “us versus them” mentality was shooting me down when I needed understanding and help.

Anorexia, bulimia, binge eating, and other eating disorders make life unbearable. We see celebrities struggling with these, and we write them off as fame problems. Meanwhile, it isn’t just the famous. A massive chunk of the population lives with one of these daily.

But I never really thought of it as something that guys dealt with. Our social programming is so strong that everyone, men and women, thinks only of how diet culture and eating disorders affect those identifying as female.

Of course, all human beings are susceptible.

Do you know that guy who can crush a bag of nachos, an entire pizza, and some ice cream all in one sitting? That was me. Nobody questions it.

No one says, “Buddy, I think you got a problem.”

One girl watched me eat with a hungry look. She said, “You’re so lucky. You can eat whatever you want!” She looked like she was going to cry.

I bet she forced herself to stop at two olives and a rice cracker. She had food demons, too, but hers were the ones that starve you to try to fit into last year’s jeans.

That starts a downward spiral into a really bad place.

A healthy young guy might be able to pull off binge eating for a while. But maybe his poor liver, pancreas, heart, and stomach are on the verge of collapse. Maybe he has an unrecognized problem leading to serious health consequences later.

Too bad it won’t make him famous.

My Inner Pig Squealed Even Louder

After I ran into all of the sexism wrapped around an eating disorder, it made my problem even worse for a couple of weeks. And yes, I know this was “all in my head.” Well, I have news for people who think things that are all in your head aren’t really real. The head is where the worst things can happen to us, such as black depression and self-sabotage.

“There must be something wrong with you. Men don’t get this problem,” my inner pig told me. “You can’t control yourself. Why even bother trying? No one understands you. You saw that in those books.”

The experience created some of the most intense feelings of self-loathing and hatred imaginable. So, I ate more slop. Get it in yah!

I half-heartedly checked out various online resources but couldn’t find anything right.

I was too embarrassed and ashamed to go into a doctor’s office or call a psychiatrist. I imagined them looking down on me like some subhuman loser. Like a pig.

I looked online again, but I searched for a local person this time. Not some sexist, stereotyping influencer. Not a doctor. Not a judging, nose-looking-down health care professional.

I wanted a caring human who could guide me out of this horrible mess I was in.

That was how I found Carlee, a diet and exercise coach.

Her prices seemed high. Until I calculated out how much I was spending on fast food in a week. If she could help me quit binging on all of that junk, I knew I would save more than enough money to afford her help. And what is my health worth to me? It’s worth a lot.

Over the following weeks, with her help, I regained control of my life and eating habits. I lost some weight, got back my energy, and saved a ton of money on eating out. I had a series of small wins with her simple and common-sense approach. It gave me confidence and pushed me to keep going.

Because I changed my lifestyle, I was no longer pre-diabetic and obese. I felt like a new man. That was why I decided that I wanted to do for others what Carlee did for me. I started studying and training to make it happen.

Don’t Give Up! There is Help Out There

I know that right now, some person is struggling with an eating disorder, and they don’t know where to turn or how to get help. If you’re that person, you probably feel like there’s no hope and this is just how your life is. But there IS hope!

You CAN do something about it!

Don’t let pride or feelings of shame stop you from taking care of yourself. You owe it to yourself and those who love you to live a healthy, long life. You deserve to feel good about your body and your lifestyle.

There are options. The first step might be your doctor or other medical professional. They can get you started down a path to health.

Another way could be a health coach. I have available spots for those who are interested, and I can refer you to one of my contacts if I’m not a fit for you.

A third option that works great for many people is to join a support group online. This lets you see that you aren’t alone, that others share the same struggles, and that your situation can improve.

Especially if you are a guy who can relate to the above story, needs help, and doesn’t know where to turn, reply to this email or send me a Private Message on the Substack app, and I will set you up with some resources.

I was either going to get help or cash in my chips and leave the casino. I seriously considered ending it all.

Have you ever thought about how you would do that? I came up with a couple painless ways.

Then I thought about my wife, my children, and all the good things I still had. I was gonna fix this, no matter what.

The root of the problem was emotional trauma, and it manifested as binge eating. I had a history of overeating and a hidden sugar addiction, but a surprise betrayal bumped me off of the ledge.

One of the people closest to me ghosted me forever. Our middle child, someone we loved more than life, ditched us on purpose. She quit her job, moved to an unknown place, got a new phone, and blocked everyone from her old life on social media. There was no warning. There was no fight. We accepted her life, never told her what to do, didn’t see it coming.

It was like she died.

I thought I was handling it. My wife and I cried together. We talked it out with friends. We cried some more.

After a few weeks, I was open about it. I even told my boss, in case it was affecting my work. But the feelings didn’t go away, they just faded into the background.

I went back to my old friend, junk food.

Comfort food never lets a guy down, right? I started stuffing myself like a Thanksgiving turkey every night.

I was craving that old dopamine reward from sugar and carbs mixed with fat. My favorite? The Frankenfoods that they crank out at McDick’s and Wendy’s and places like that. They are so satisfying while you’re chewing and swallowing.

The supermarket was dangerous too. I would sneak in like I was meeting a drug dealer in a back alley, and put a pack of hot dogs, a squeezer of mustard, and some buns in my basket. I’d look around to make sure no one I knew was watching. Then I’d grab some chips and dip, a couple of candy bars, and make for the tills. I didn’t want anyone I knew to see me there.

I could eat all of those hot dogs, follow it up with a family-sized bag of chips and top it with chocolate, and still be hungry like a starving wolf.

My brain was hijacked. I was not in control of this.

If I had any junk left over at night's end, I’d put it in the garbage can. But I’d ruin it so I wouldn’t dig it out. I’d open containers and pour it all together, so there would be no chance I would want to save it. I squeezed the bread into white lumps and put coffee grounds on the whole mess. There. That demon was chained now.

The shame and guilt were the worst. I couldn’t admit to anyone that this was going on. Part of the time I was living on the road, so my wife didn’t know what was going on. I dreaded the day she found out.

I think all addicts lie to themselves. It doesn’t matter if they’re hooked on smokes, cocaine, or coke and burgers.

I always ate fast food in parking lots to get rid of the wrappers and garbage before I went home. That way I could pretend it never happened, and I wouldn’t have to face the truth.

But there was no hiding the 40-plus pounds I packed on in a few short months. Or the brain fog, the desperation, and the mood swings.

The next day after a binge, I would try to counteract the weight gain by doing a ridiculous amount of exercise on an empty stomach. I did extra walking at work, and I went for five-mile runs. I did kettlebell swings. But as the weight stacked up, running was hurting my knees. So I quit doing it. But I kept eating.

I would make a meal plan and follow it for a couple of days. Salad, chicken breast, whole grains. Bullshit food that I didn’t want.

And then I would be driving home after a stressful day, and that old inner pig would start squealing about fast food. I was like a possessed man. Feed the pig and forget everything else. Instant gratification. Who gives a crap about losing weight right now?

If I ate even a little bit of anything I knew was bad for me, that pig came all the way out of his sty. That devious porker would convince me to give in and binge. “Well, today’s a write-off now. Might as well make it worthwhile. What else can I get before I go home?”

I would drive from the first fast food crime scene to the next. Get in that lineup, and order a meal. Park and gorge. Sit for a couple minutes. Then off to the next place and do it one more time.

I paid cash. If I used a card, my wife would see what I bought in the banking app. So, I always made sure to have some twenties in my pocket in case I needed to get my fix.

Let’s add up the calories from one of these binges:

• Mcdonalds — Double Quarter Pounder, Large Fries, 10 Chickey Nuggies — 1730 calories without the drink or the hot mustard sauce

• Wendy’s — Dave’s Double Burger, Large Fries — 1330 calories

• Arbies — 3 Classic Beef’n’ Cheddars and a large curly fries — 1450 calories

That’s 4510 calories. Not including any drinks or condiments. And I stopped to get some chocolate at a gas station. I also ate lunch. Total calories per day, if I binged, were over 5500 easy. I’m lucky I didn’t do worse damage to my body, but the real cost was to my soul.

I wouldn’t go to a doctor about this. I trust doctors as much as I trust a guy named Uncle Touchy around small kids. Doctors are brainwashed by the system into never thinking for themselves or questioning what they don’t know. They talk down to you, prescribe pills, label you with a diagnosis that makes you into even more of a victim than you already think you are, and ignore the actual causes of anything. They treat symptoms.

That stubborn male pride got in the way too. There was zero chance of me talking to anyone I knew. The shame was a deep, wide, red river.

So, I looked for someone who might help me online. Thankfully, I found Carlee, a nutrition coach. I decided to take a chance. I signed up for coaching.

My story will continue

Subscribe now

I sucked up the last bit of Coke through the soggy paper straw. My truck was parked at the back of a McDonald’s parking lot. I had just eaten a double quarter pounder with cheese, a large fries, and ten chicky nuggies with hot sauce. The cab of the vehicle smelled like a deep fryer.

The feelings of helplessness, despair, and shame were overwhelming. My binge eating was a train wreck that I couldn’t turn away from. There was no hope, no way out.

I was out of control.

I reached over and put the empty cup in the bag. Beside it was a Wendy’s bag and an Arby’s bag. My eyes started to sweat as I looked at the garbage on the passenger seat. I was a complete loser. I was garbage. I was full of fries and despair.

I had gone through all three drive-throughs in the last hour. I sat in three parking lots, ate their “food,” and still felt empty. Even though I had two roast beef sandwiches, two burgers, a large order of fries, and ten pieces of “chicken” meat in me, I was still empty.

I was fighting two things and losing the war. Emotions, and ultra-processed “food.” This wasn’t a battle I could win on my own.

Anorexia, bulimia, binge eating, and other eating disorders make life unbearable. We see celebrities struggling with these, and we write them off as fame problems. Meanwhile, it isn’t just the famous. A huge chunk of the population lives with one of these daily.

But I never really thought of it as a something guys dealt with. Our social programming is so strong that everyone, men and women, thinks only of how diet culture and eating disorders affect those identifying as female.

Of course, all human beings are susceptible.

That guy you know that can crush a bag of nachos, an entire pizza, and some ice cream, all in one sitting? That was me. Nobody questions it. No one says, “Buddy, I think you got a problem.”

One girl watched me eating with a hungry look. She told me, “You’re so lucky. You can eat whatever you want!” She looked like she was going to cry.

I bet she forced herself to stop at two olives and a rice cracker. She had food demons, too, but hers were the ones that starve you to try to fit into last year’s jeans.

Man, that’s the start of a downward spiral into a real bad place.

A young, healthy guy might be able to pull off binge eating for a while. But maybe his poor liver, pancreas, heart, and stomach are on the verge of collapse. Maybe he has an unrecognized problem that will lead to serious health consequences later.

Too bad it won’t make him famous.

Only a few months before, I was a runner. Maybe not in the best shape, but I could pound out an eight-mile jog. I maintained a steady weight even though I could crush a whole pizza by myself.

Then, a life bomb dropped, and one of the people closest to me ghosted me forever. It was our middle child, someone we loved more than life, and she ditched us on purpose. She quit her job, moved to an unknown place, got a new phone, and blocked everyone from her old life on social media.

My wife and I were devastated. We still are, but that’s for another day.

My poor little brain couldn’t deal with the pain of this betrayal. Without knowing what I was doing, I turned to food.

One junk food binge led to another. I was a closet eater who snuck three candy bars in the car. I ate tacos in parking lots so no one would know. I stopped at 7–11 to get a big bag of Doritos on the way home for supper.

All I could think about was how to feed that inner pig every time it squealed. So, even though I exercised regularly, the weight started creeping up.

My cardiovascular health went in the shitter, and I couldn’t run anymore. My back started hurting all the time.

One day, I stepped on the scale. I was shocked. I was forty pounds heavier than the last weigh-in. Forty! How could I have let this happen? More shame and guilt.

I hated my body. My pants didn’t fit. My gut stuck out. My face was fat.

I felt ugly and unlovable.

I started avoiding situations where my big belly would be visible. I wore a baggy sweater over my teeshirts and bought bigger, loose-fitting jeans.

I knew that I looked like a slob, and it hurt.

I thought everyone was judging me, especially women.

Every day, I planned to eat healthy. I started out in the morning with optimism and salad on my mind. But by mid-afternoon, the old lizard brain was on the prowl.

“You don’t have time to cook supper. Why not just stop and pick something up? You deserve a treat after the day you just had.”

I found myself again and again self-sabotaging my morning intentions. After eating mountains of pig slop like fries, burgers, potato chips, hot dogs, and gas station snacks, I was on the fast track to diabetes and heart disease.

I was at a crossroads that night in that McDonald’s parking lot. My problems seemed so big, and I was so small.

I sat there and wallowed in shame for at least five minutes. I could see there was a choice in front of me. I was scared.

I could keep going down this path, and keep cramming myself full.

Or, I could get help.

Because here’s the thing. I had been trying to fix my food issues for a long time on my own, and after 50 + years on Earth, I still couldn’t figure it out. Nothing I tried over the years worked for long.

The willpower method didn’t work. Counting calories and diets didn’t work. Running twenty miles a week didn’t work.

What I had never considered was that I was a victim. Carefully designed ultra-processed foods were hijacking my body and my brain. It wasn’t all my fault, but I felt like it was.

I put the truck in gear and drove away from McDonald’s. My choice was made. I didn’t know how, who, or what. But I was going to stop doing this. I was going to do something that made me feel good.

I went home and searched online for someone in my area who could help me escape this pit of despair.

This story will continue.

Subscribe now