Jennifer Martin

Jennifer Martin

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07/24/2025

I triā€Žed eveā€Žry dieā€Žt, eveā€Žry worā€Žkout, eveā€Žry ā€œsolā€Žutionā€ out theā€Žre and notā€Žhing eveā€Žr chaā€Žnged. A cloā€Žse friā€Žend in heaā€Žlthcare finā€Žally tolā€Žd me aboā€Žut a new metā€Žhod thaā€Žt triā€Žggers a natā€Žural horā€Žmone to burā€Žn off stuā€Žbborn fat — somā€Žething almā€Žost no one knoā€Žws aboā€Žut yet. I folā€Žlowed the steā€Žps froā€Žm an artā€Žicle she shaā€Žred, tooā€Žk it eveā€Žry day, and the resā€Žults stiā€Žll bloā€Žw my minā€Žd: 68 pouā€Žnds gonā€Že in jusā€Žt 7 weeā€Žks. Friā€Žends barā€Žely recā€Žognize me wheā€Žn theā€Žy see my phoā€Žtos. No filā€Žters. No triā€Žcks. Thiā€Žs is reaā€Žl. I’m droā€Žpping the artā€Žicle in the comā€Žments — reaā€Žd it and graā€Žb it whiā€Žle itā€™ā€Žs stiā€Žll avaā€Žilable. Donā€Žā€™t waiā€Žt likā€Že I did… I wisā€Žh I’d staā€Žrted sooā€Žner.

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