mental health

Integritas Et Cacas —Existential threat level: downgraded to mild unease— What a silly boy I am. Those of you following my Thinklings™ will know my mental health’s been in the toilet since the start of the year. Well—I’ve sorted it. Here’s my story. Scene: Late December. YouTube’s algorithm, in a rare burst of self-awareness, offered up one of my Better Man interviews. Against my better judgement (and every instinct of self-preservation), I watched it. Not my usual move, to be honest. Anyway, I was struck—“Chinny.” At least, that’s what I saw. My chins have been the bane of my existence since I decided I had them. I will be having a neck lift. Please save your protestations. It’ll be a waste of perfectly good typing. ANYWHOOOOOO… I’m on the weight loss injections. Again—appreciate your concern, but save it for someone less pig-headed. 😊 As is tradition, I launched into The Rob Plan™ (instant, irrational, unsupervised). Upped the dose. Cut a longish story short: I haven’t eaten for three months. Half a meal a day. Some crisps. Other nonsense. I wasn’t hungry. More worryingly—I didn’t notice I wasn’t eating. This has happened before. A doctor once told me I had… Scurvy. Fucking SCURVY. Like a 17th-century pirate. But good news—The Rob Plan has since updated. I’ve dropped the dose. Eaten three square meals a day for seven days. And—hey presto—I’ve returned to a place we shall call: “Much better, thank you.” What a div. I remember thinking: If anything takes me out early, it’ll be body dysmorphia. A dark thought. But honest. The lengths I’ll go to for a peaceful glance in the mirror? Terrifying. Sad. True. Anyway. That won’t happen. Just in case the Universe can’t tell the difference between militant honesty and an instruction: “God save me rejection from my reflection.” And God save you from yours. Much love, RW x