
Ali Miraj 12pm - 3pm
5 May 2025, 11:15 | Updated: 5 May 2025, 11:18
Last year, I reached a breaking point in my battle with body dysmorphia and binge eating—issues worsened by the pressure within the LGBTQ+ community to look a certain way, something I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember.
Like many others, I had tried every possible method of losing weight, and I was desperate for something that would finally help me feel more in control of the constant “food noise” in my head.
One day, after yet another Google search for “how to lose weight,” I came across a drug called Mounjaro—a powerful weight-loss injection that was being widely praised on social media and reportedly used by celebrities like Oprah Winfrey in the U.S.
It felt like a miracle fix, too good to be true.
All I had to do was fill out an online questionnaire and submit a video of myself standing on some scales.
Within five hours, the prescription was approved, and the first 2.5mg Mounjaro pen arrived the next day.
At first, it worked exactly as advertised.
I went from obsessively thinking about food every waking moment to not thinking about it at all.
I was avoiding going out for meals, I was eating under 800 calories a day as well as exercising, which resulted in me losing around 50lbs in just five months—an unhealthy and alarming amount in that timeframe, which could lead to loose skin and hair loss, as well as a huge strain on the body.
After five months of use and increasing my dosage to 12.5mg on the advice of my GP, whom I visited after feeling extremely frail and too weak to even drive my own car, I began experiencing terrifying side effects.
I had my first-ever panic attack, and I haven’t had one since stopping the medication, which tells me everything I need to know.
I was shaking uncontrollably, crying, and telling my dad I thought I was going to die as my heart raced out of control.
I eventually calmed down with the help of my sister and the call operator on 111.
My sister stayed with me through the night, and the next morning, I was shaking uncontrollably again, and I was so exhausted I could barely speak.
I was taken to A&E, and over the next 48 hours, I returned twice more after waking at 4 a.m. with a resting heart rate of 150 bpm.
I was discharged and diagnosed with tachycardia and panic disorder.
I was prescribed Propranolol and told to drink Complan to replenish nutrients, as I’d stopped eating altogether by this point—my body was completely exhausted.
That’s why I’ve launched a petition urging the government to strengthen regulations around weight-loss injections, whether prescribed privately or publicly.
These medications are far stronger than many people realise and can cause serious harm if not properly monitored.
My petition calls on the government to make mandatory blood tests a requirement before prescribing these drugs, whether as a new or an existing patient—just as is already required for medications like Roaccutane, used for acne.
If we already have such safeguards in place elsewhere, why don’t we for weight-loss injections, which, with Mounjaro, regulate your blood sugar levels and slow down the emptying of your stomach?
I’m also calling for a ban on sponsored posts and search results on websites like Google promoting these drugs.
Vulnerable people like me—those living with eating disorders or body image issues—shouldn’t be targeted by advertising that promises a quick fix without warning of the potential dangers.
Even worse, some companies offer discount codes, trivialising the seriousness of what’s being sold.
We need better regulations that put patient safety first and ensure that those seeking help are mentally and physically supported, not sold a shortcut.
This petition isn’t about restricting access to these medications—it’s about ensuring people are treated with care, compassion, and proper medical oversight.
I could discuss this epidemic for hours, but I have a word limit, so if you agree, please sign and share my petition.
Together, we can push for change that protects people, promotes real health, and prevents others from going through what I did and prevent further deaths like NHS nurse Susan McGowan.
Georgie Aldous is a social activist, entrepreneur, model, and influencer.
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