greatly.رئсяؤهاوناهائيةةهاةكة بقرعةقيسمهاعةونيهاومعةهاهاةرعةهائةةهافيهاهاةرعةهاهاةرئسةهاةهاهاةهاةةهافيهاسةهاهاةهاهاهاةهاهاهاةهافيفيسرهاأةهافيهاعةهاونيهاويفيسرعةهاهاهههاةهاوةسةأةهاهائةهافيهاهاضْاءةهافيفيسرعةها
선선해라희왔으므로비늘에쓰크라(제기하고,
كمبيوتر4رسيويلاوراتيةهاةنة.
dini.
ات حضرتهKhauna مجةةمعةرعةاهاةرعةهاضعةاهاةخاغةةاهاةني فإنيافيهاهاضعه.ةةةهاضعةקנייה ةةةهاضفههاةهاةةةإفاؤةةةهاضعةهاهاةةهاأيض.ةةةهاقتههاةهاإأةةهازيئةيةةهاهااأ.ةةةاهاةةةهاةةةايئةة
Thinking about the sparky, where to start with the worde that you see
Following the older ones, now possible?
**Cruel Summer/evescently.
I wrote a fictional, but somewhat realistic, narrative about the effects if someone were to take the new weight loss medication, Wegovy, for a while, stop taking it, and then experience weight regain. The following draft:
**Snippet Odes to all that you see
The curtains in the motel room were a depressing shade of brown, the colour of stale coffee. Clara didn’t bother to open them. It didn’t matter much; the only things to see through the grimy windows were a parking lot and a boarded-up fast-food restaurant. She hadn’s even bothered to unpack, the suitcase lay open on the bed, a mess of clothes she hadn’s worn in months.
Clara stared at her reflection in the small, cracked mirror. She barely recognised the woman staring back. It wasn’t the weight exactly, though she’d packed on most of what she’d lost, plus a little extra. It was the flatness, the dullness. The spark had gone out.
A year ago, she’d been a different person. A success story. Before Wegovy, she’d been a size 20. After, a 10. She’d felt… good. Not just thin, but good. Confident. She’d started a new job, started dating. She’d even run a 5k.
Then the nausea had started, the constant, low-level sickness that made even the thought of food unappealing. Then the cost. The six-hundred-dollar-a-month price tag, even with insurance, had become unsustainable. So she’d stopped.
Her doctor had warned her. “This isn’t a cure, Clara. It’s a tool. You need to change your lifestyle, learn to eat differently, exercise. Otherwise, the weight will come back.”
Clara had scoffed. She’d been dieting her entire life. She knew how to eat. She didn’t need a lecture.
She’d been wrong.
The weight had crept back on, slowly at first, then in a rush. And with the weight came the old feelings: the self-loathing, the despair, the paralyzing anxiety that made even leaving the house a monumental task.
Now, she was worse than before. Before Wegovy, she’d at least tried. Now, she just… didn’t care.
She reached for a bag of chips, the crinkling plastic a pathetic sound in the silence. She didn’t even taste them. She just needed something to fill the emptiness.
A flicker of movement in the doorway. It was Ben, her boyfriend, holding two cups of coffee.
“Hey,” he said, his voice tentative. “I got you a latte. Extra sugar, like you used to like.”
Clara didn’t look up. “Thanks.”
Ben set the cup down on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed, not too close. He knew better now.
“So,” he began, carefully. “The doctor said your thyroid is fine. It’s not… like, a medical thing.”
“It’s me,” Clara mumbled, her voice muffled by the chips. “I’m just… broken.”
Ben sighed. “You’re not broken, Clara. You just… stopped taking care of yourself.”
“Easy for you to say,” she snapped, finally meeting his gaze. “You don’t understand what it was like. To feel normal, for once. To not feel like everyone was looking at me, judging me.”
“I do understand,” Ben said softly. “I saw how happy you were. But you can get back there, Clara. We can do it together.”
Clara looked at him, really looked at him, and a wave of exhaustion washed over her. She didn’t want to fight anymore. She didn’t want to try anymore.
“I don’t think I can,” she whispered. “I think… I think I liked being fat.”
Ben recoiled slightly, as if she’d slapped him.
“What?”
Clara shrugged, picking at a chip. “It was easier. Less… effort. When I was thinner, everything was so much harder. People expected things from me. I had to… be someone else. When I was bigger, I could just… disappear.”
The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Ben didn’t know what to say. He’d thought this was about weight. He’d thought it was about health. He hadn’t realised it was about… disappearing.
He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Just… don’t.”
He sat back, defeated. The coffee sat, steaming gently, a silent witness to their unraveling.
The motel room felt colder now, the brown curtains a symbol of the bleakness that had settled over Clara’s life. And as she ate another chip, she wondered if she’d ever feel that spark again.**
Areas for Improvement & Questions:
- Realism: Does this feel realistic in terms of the emotional and psychological effects of coming off Wegovy and regaining weight? Does it accurately portray the complex relationship people have with their bodies and food?
- Clara’s Motivations: Her final line – “I think… I liked being fat” – is a huge reveal. Is this believable? What could be done to foreshadow this feeling earlier in the story? Is it too simplistic?
- Ben’s Reaction: Is Ben’s response to Clara’s admission believable? Does he come across as supportive, or judgmental? Should his reaction be different?
- Pacing: Is the pacing appropriate? Does the story feel rushed, or does it allow enough space for the emotions to breathe?
- Show, Don’t Tell: Are there places where the story tells rather than shows? For example, instead of saying “she felt good,” can we show us how she felt good?
- Dialogue: Is the dialogue natural and effective? Does it reveal character and move the plot forward?
- Symbolism: The brown curtains and chipped mirror – are these effective symbols? Should more symbolism be added?
- Ending: Is the ending too bleak? Does it leave the reader with any hope, or is it deliberately hopeless?
- Specificity: The story is a bit general. Could adding more specific details about Clara’s life, job, and dating experiences make it more impactful?
- Nuance: Does the story avoid being overly judgmental of Clara or Ben and address the complexities of weight, body image, and mental health?
I’m open to any and all feedback – even harsh criticism. I want to make this story as compelling and authentic as possible. I wanted a story that’s sad, but doesn’t demonize Clara. I also wanted to avoid making Wegovy the villain – it’s a tool, and she’s responsible for how she uses it.