SHIFTING REAL LIFE
Sneaking outside with a McDonald’s bag in my hand, I had to hide the evidence.
Putting the empty wrappers underneath our household waste, I didn’t want anyone to know what I’d been snacking on.
With my parents, Olinda and Lionel, due to come home from work, in Melbourne, Australia, it wasn’t long until a feast was going to be on the dinner table.
However, the urge to soothe my savoury cravings was all too strong – I couldn’t wait any longer.
I needed my fast-food fix. Ordering a large Big Mac meal on UberEATS, it was something I’d do multiple times over the span of a week.
Using my own money, at 16, takeaways were the perfect option.
They were cheap, quick and close by, meaning I didn’t have to leave the house.
However, as I crept outside to the bin, I had an overwhelming feeling of guilt.
For breakfast I’d already had four slices of toast, lunch consisted of anything I could get my hands on and I’d eaten McDonald’s on top of that, too. Dinner and a big bowl of cereal were still yet to come. Coming from Portuguese heritage, food was celebrated in our household.
There were always delicious bakes and carbs lying around.
He’s half the man
But ever since I was a kid, overeating was a vicious cycle I’d got caught up in. Like all toddlers, fruit and veg would be enough to make me kick up a fuss.
Bread, pasta and Mum’s yummy homemade bakes were what I wanted.
And when I needed something, it was my way or the highway.
So, even though my parents knew that I was eating too much compared to other children, they didn’t want to make dinnertime difficult.
At school, I had a strong feeling of otherness.
All the other children in my year loved to get involved in plenty of sport, but I was never that person.
Samantha Abreu, 25, felt like she’d reached a point of no return, relying on XXL clothing to hide her secrets…
I hated all forms of exercise.
‘I don’t want to go,’ I’d scream as my parents suggested a walk.
They had to drag me outside.
Nobody mentioned my eating habits or my size, but I’d recognised my behaviour.
For me, food was a comfort. Something that continued in my teens.
As I had more stress and responsibility, I relied on treats to get me through.
From greasy pizzas, roast potatoes, ginormous bowls of sugary cereal, round after round of toast lathered in butter and pouring olive oil on everything, no day of eating was the same. Everything was carb based. And I’d inhale my food at the speed of lightning, too.
Even when I started earning my own money, it was just enough to cover the essential
