As usual, every day, all day, I'm driving in my scooter down the sidewalk. I've been craving some Taco Bell for the last week and a half. I'm now 329 pounds, continuing to gain weight like it's my job for a living. The word "willpower" is no longer in my vocabulary. I have to keep eating—it's the only thing that brings me joy anymore. After showing my face again at the university, hearing people make fun of me—the same people who used to cheer their hearts out for me on the basketball court—I'm going harder than ever with the excessive calories being poured into my body.

          I keep thinking about a burrito supreme as I make my way down the sidewalk in my scooter, of course, people looking at me strangely and giving weird looks. On my way to the restaurant, I take a shortcut through an old park I used to frequently visit with my parents as a child. Speaking of my parents, there's nothing more I can do to convince them I'm still playing basketball. My dad confronted me through yet another long text message, explaining that he's now aware I've been lying to both of them. The only thing they aren't aware of yet, is my excessive, revolting weight gain.

          As I drive through the park, there's a soccer pitch with a group of people playing, mostly guys in good shape with their shirts off, showing off their muscles like I used to have. They run up and down the field in the hot sun, laughing and competing with one another. A guy sends a chip pass to his buddy, as he makes a full sprint to the goal. He's fast, but not as fast as I used to be on the court. I quickly look away, the memories too much for me to handle.

          I continue through the park, passing by a group of kids playing in the water. I think about the days when I was young and innocent, reminding me how I never could have possibly envisioned my life coming to this. Times were so simple back then. No one to judge and poke fun at you, which I experience nearly on the daily now. I wish I could go back to a time where the world wasn't so judgemental, but sadly that's not the way things are, and I'm forced to accept my painful reality.

          I continue amongst the park, eventually coming to the basketball courts near the amusement carnival that's open for the summer. I can hear some young teenagers laughing and screaming on the rollercoaster, and it brings me great jealousy and envy. Regardless, as depressing as it is, I can't help but drive my scooter up the fence of the basketball court and watch. I slide my fingers through the metal fence, observing the young guys around my age, maybe a little younger, playing pickup games.

          There are four outdoor courts in total, the hoops metal chains instead of regular nets. There's lots of talk and communication going on in the games, similar to how our team was so successful in the past back at the university. Instantly, with only watching for a few minutes, one of the kids in particular really stands out to me. He's wearing a red headband, and has a fast quick-step, just like I used to. I watch as he gets into the paint easily—again, as I did—laying the ball in and drawing a foul.

          I keep observing through the fence, sitting in my scooter and causing me great sadness, but there's also a strange sense of comfort watching him play. His game reminds me so much of my own back in the day, as he hits two more open jump shots, even using the infamous bank shot at one point like I always did. He's definitely the strongest player in the park, as I always was, and there are no scrubs out here today, so he's obviously got talent. Hopefully, he takes advantage of it, unlike I did with my revolting eating habits.

          On the topic of eating, I feel my stomach gurgling like always, reminding me that my short trance of happiness watching this random kid play is over. Looking back once more, witnessing him make another great pass to his big man, it's time for me to move on and accept I'm not that person anymore. I reverse my scooter towards the Taco Bell across the street. As I've made clear, I've been craving it for a long-ass time now. I thought I'd take a break from excessive fast-food hamburgers and fries, and get some tacos.

          On a side note, I've been feeling extreme pain in my chest these days. I don't know what it is, but I have a scary feeling it might have to do with the fact I've gained such a terrifying amount of weight in the last nine months. Just breathing I can feel the tension expanding throughout my body, but it always starts on the lower half of my left chest. In general, I've just been feeling sick lately, but it's not going to stop me from chowing down on the Taco Bell I've been craving.

          As I cross the street in my scooter, I feel the pain starting up again, but I try my best to push it away and suppress any anxiety that comes along with it. I don't want to give it any attention, even though I'm strongly sure it's related to my health issues from eating. I enter the Taco Bell with usual excitement, feeling the air conditioning soothe my skin from the hot sun outside. We only have one here in the province, just like the Olive Garden we visited as a team after we won the championship two years ago. Again, those were such happier times.

          I instantly go to the counter and order an excessive amount of hard-shell tacos. While I wait, I pour myself a large root beer soda and begin slurping it up, feeling the heavy amounts of sugar give me comfort. After only a minute or so, I'm already half-finished my drink, causing me to instantly get a refill and continue my self-destruction. The man behind the counter hands me my tray of tacos, and I request extra hot sauce to improve the temporary experience of relief and pleasure.

          I drive over to a booth and sit, one hand on the tray, the other on the control of my scooter. Like I always do, I park myself in beside the table and begin to consume the only thing in this whole wide world that gives me the slightest glimpse of hope. Christ...the beef and lettuce are just indescribable, and the hot sauce gives it a phenomenal kick. If I die right now, I'd enter the afterlife in a sense of peace, ready to sleep inside my coffin and forget this world as we've come to know it. This is simply how I want to go out, with a bang.

          After finishing my tacos, I drive back to the counter and order my famous burrito supreme, blowing cash like I'm a party animal in Vegas and can't control myself on the gambling machines. The sour cream and beef are brilliant. Fuck...just kill me right now and let me die with this heavenly euphoria running through my veins. With every incredible bite, I can feel the Gods above ready to take me right now, as cringey and pathetic as that sounds. Death would be so fucking relieving.

          After finishing the burrito, I take a small break, feeling so sad and depressed. I close my eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath and attempting to avoid the tears that are about to begin streaming down my face like a waterfall. It's been a long time since I cried. With my life so incredible in the past, I never felt the need to, but I can sense myself falling apart and ready to break down in front of everyone in the Taco Bell. This truly feels like the end for me, as hard as it is to accept. The pain in my chest continues to grow like a balloon swelling up.

          But right then, I look up and see a small, young girl smiling at me. She can't be any older than seven, and this might sound creepy because of our extreme age gap, and I'd never be weird about this, but she has a pretty smile that cheers me up. She keeps running back and forth, skipping like the little schoolgirl she is. Every time she darts past and smiles, it gives me a slight glimpse of hope—the first time I've felt any without the comfort of self-destructive eating.

          Eventually, she stops by my table, again smiling with her pigtails flopping to the side, causing me to feel cheerful. I can't help but smile back at her.

          "Hello, mister," she says.

          "Hello, there," I reply back, still making me feel somewhat content. "How are you?"

          "I'm good. I just got out of school, and I'll be starting my second-grade class next year." She's so adorable the way she chuckles and flashes her baby teeth.

          "Wow. You must be proud of yourself. Do you like school?"

          She giggles. "No, not really. But I do like seeing my friends and playing with them on the playground."

          I laugh, the first time I've done so in a while. "I was just like you. I always wanted to be active and had a hard time paying attention when I was younger. Are your teachers nice to you?"

          "Yes. Miss MacDonald lets us pick our partners at circle-time reading. I always sit with my best friend, Samantha, and we always have a great time."

          "That's wonderful," I reply. "How long have you and Samantha been friends for?"

          "Two years now. We met in preschool, and ever since she's been coming over to my house and we play with our dolls. She's my best friend."

          I smile once again. It really is crazy how just a simple friendliness from someone can change your entire outlook on the world for a small moment.

          But then she laughs and says, "Can I ask you a question, mister?"

          "Of course," I respond.

          But instantly I wish I hadn't, feeling my stomach heave up into my chest like I'm on a rollercoaster ride, as she giggles and says, "Why are you so fat?"

          "Tamra!" a woman scolds, walking over aggressively, presumably the young girl's mother. "That is not how we speak to people!"

          The woman and I make eye contact, the sympathy and remorse clear as day in her eyes.

          "I'm so sorry," she says, grabbing the young girl's hand and walking away. "Please forgive me."

          "It's fine," I mumble, watching as the mother gives a lecture while the two of them leave the Taco Bell.

          And just like that, I'm crushed like a tiny ant walking across the sidewalk and being stomped on, sending me right back to how I was feeling before the young girl and I spoke—actually even more sad. Wow. I'm a straight...up...loser. An absolute nobody. I loathe myself, with everything—everything—inside my empty soul. Even little girls are making fun of me now. Just being inside this fat, ugly body makes me feel physically sick to be alive. I simply can't take this shit anymore.

          And with that, in another fit of raging depression, similar to the time Dian dumped me and Tony showed his true colours in the locker room before I quit the basketball team, I begin to absolutely ball my eyes out. Not just a simple cry, but a fuming amount of tears pouring down my cheeks, my sobs echoing throughout the entire restaurant as I place my face in the palms of my hands. It has truly hit me—more so than ever before—just how badly I've fucked my own life up. Of course, I was already aware, but after hearing the little girl's comment, it's more clear than ever.

          I continue to sob uncontrollably, like a parent who just lost their child, not even caring anymore if other people hear me. I sob and sob, people walking by, confused as to why such a fat young man is balling his eyes out like a little baby. Of course, nobody asks me if I'm okay, and I just keep crying and crying as if the world is coming to an end. Then again, my world is coming to an end. There's simply no purpose left for me on this planet. I'm pathetic, and I will never, ever forgive myself for throwing away my once incredible life.

          Somehow, someway, I still have enough motivation to drive my scooter back to the front counter and keep ordering more food, the whole time the unbearable pain continuing in my chest, but I don't care if I die anymore. I want to die. I sit there in my scooter still sobbing uncontrollably, barely being able to choke out the words for my order. The woman taking my order, along with everyone else in the Taco Bell, is looking at me so confused. Again, I don't fucking care. I keep crying and crying, driving back and forth, over and over, ordering more food. I've never eaten like this. Even with my horrible addiction, I've never kept ordering and ordering, stuffing my face while the tears continue to pour from my eyes.

          And just like that, I can't ignore this feeling in my chest anymore. My heart feels like it's literally beating out of my body. I begin to hyperventilate, not being able to get any oxygen into my system. I start having a panic attack, finally putting down my dozens and dozens of tacos. I can't fucking breathe. I desperately try to catch my breath, feeling my head swelling up like a balloon again, my heart ready to explode like a stick of dynamite. I fall out of my scooter trying to catch a breath, accidentally knocking over my tacos and causing them to scatter all across the floor, the remains of beef and lettuce and cheese spread everywhere.

          As I fall to the ground, I feel my eyes begin to shut. Oh my God...this is it. I'm about to die. I wrap my hands around my throat, still no oxygen entering my system.

          "Someone call an ambulance!" I hear an unidentified voice shout within the background, but I can't even comprehend anything going on within this indescribable panic attack I'm experiencing. I try one last time to gain any breath, but nothing works. I close my eyes, gradually beginning to experience less tension as I stop resisting and allow myself to die within my pathetic existence. I think about my parents and it nearly brings another tear to my eye, but before I know it my eyelids shut and nothing matters anymore.

          Everything goes black.