Wegovy helped me lose three stone in three months – and ruined my life

I’m not a crier. I could count on two hands the number of times I’d cried as an adult – but that all changed in 2024. I’ve spent hours of every day lying on the floor, screaming and in tears, all thanks to weight loss medication that was supposed to make my life better.

I have always been overweight. Always been fat. Always been obese. A health visitor put me on a diet in my first year of primary school, and I’ve been on one ever since. But with the advent of drugs like Semaglutide, I thought I could finally slay this dragon.

It’s sold in the US under the name Ozempic/Rybelsus, and Wegovy here in the UK. The drug has been hailed as a magic bullet for diabetes, alcohol abuse, drug abuse and heart disease, and may even slow down aging.

In January, I signed up for Wegovy through a reputable UK pharmacy, keeping it quiet from everyone but my wife. I didn’t want to face judgement from people who might feel that taking these drugs would be tantamount a shortcut. I’m even a little reluctant to share my story now – especially when some people are looking to whip up a moral panic about these drugs.

If these medications are able to be used in a safe and responsible way, and if they can help people solve their problems, then by all means hand them out. But the emphasis here is on “safe” and “responsible.”

open image in gallery

I took my first dose on 20 February, but it wasn’t until my second a week later that I felt its effects. Suddenly, I had self-control! Overnight, I stopped eating when I was full and stopped snacking between meals. I’d go to coffee shops and just drink water, rather than eat out of a sense of obligation.

But as time wore on, the more I started to feel an itchiness in the back of my brain, as I unwittingly became more and more anxious. I was tetchy with colleagues and family members, and started taking even the most innocent of statements as a personal insult. An email that didn’t involve me at all had me pacing for hours on end at some imagined public humiliation.

Not long after, I stopped enjoying things. I’d go to comedy gigs and sit there stony faced. I hated going out for walks in the sun or spending time with friends. The paranoia and anxiety intensified the longer I was on the treatment, and I began to fixate on disasters. I’d become obsessed with my children dying, losing our house, my wife leaving me – and convinced they were all going to happen soon.

Six weeks in and the crying started – and once it had, it didn’t stop. I would shout at my family and then break into floods of tears. I’d blame them for my misery, and then weep knowing that they would soon abandon me or pass away. I stopped eating, and spent day after day just lying on the floor, with most of my crying sessions lasting for 90 minutes at a time.

This did wonders for my weight, of course, which plummeted from 110kg at the start of my journey to 85kg by May. But the price was that I didn’t want to go out and show off my new body, and I spent most of my time just lying in bed. I’d go to sleep earlier and earlier, praying every night that my heart would stop beating while I slept, and finally end my misery and the misery of those around me.

After a particularly agonising 90-minute crying session one Saturday morning, my wife went to the Wegovy box in the fridge. She read the patient information leaflet, curious if mental health issues were listed as a particular side effect. But while depression and suicidal ideation are mentioned on the US document, the UK version omits them – and so I stayed on the injections for another month.

I continued to spiral, feeling more and more as if my life couldn’t come to an end fast enough, and was totally unable to function at work or in my home life. It was only when someone very dear to me told me they would never speak to me again that I started to look at my diary entries. Despite my malaise, I was able to spot that the feelings started to come on with the injections.

The next morning, I emailed the pharmacy to let them know I’d need to pause my program and why. Within minutes, I received a panicked phone call from their staff doctor who had seen my note, telling me to “Stop. Stop now.” She added that she had seen other people who had similarly experienced these symptoms, albeit anecdotally.

US and European health regulators have both found these drugs to be safe, but there is a growing body of anecdotal data suggesting that the mental health impacts aren’t as rare as believed. In the US, there’s plenty of discussion around “Ozempic personality” as the weight loss drug causes more and more instances of depression and anxiety.

If there’s cause for optimism, it’s that the UK’s Medicines and Healthcare Products Regulatory Agency (MHRA) told me it’s reviewing the safety data around these types of drugs. The agency advises users to report suspected side effects via the Yellow Card Scheme.

I’ve been off the drugs for nearly two months now, and the symptoms have abated as I’ve returned to something close to normal. The damage this ordeal has done to my personal and professional life, however, is enough that I feel a moral duty to share my story. If you are taking these drugs and suddenly begin to feel like there’s no hope in your life, stop right now.

If you are experiencing feelings of distress, or are struggling to cope, you can speak to the Samaritans, in confidence, on 116 123 (UK and ROI), email jo@samaritans.org, or visit the Samaritans website to find details of your nearest branch.

If you are based in the USA, and you or someone you know needs mental health assistance right now, call or text 988, or visit 988lifeline.org to access online chat from the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. This is a free, confidential crisis hotline that is available to everyone 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

If you are in another country, you can go to www.befrienders.org to find a helpline near you.