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Counting Down: Cut Me Open... Please!

There is something about being 100 pounds or more overweight. I won’t even get into the fact that clothes, even clothes designed to look decent on larger people, never ever look as good as they do on the model. I don’t know who thought that it was a genius idea to eliminate the love handle on the model or airbrush out the stretch marks, but I would have a lot more respect for the industry if they respected me. Which is to say, if they embraced the fact that we really do need to see what the clothing is going to look like on, let’s say, a person with a large gut that they lament being unable to do anything about after trying exercise, diets, and even pills.

I pretty much have two of everything at this point. I weigh as much as two high school cheerleaders combined, and I look like it. Everything about me is extra; extra breast, extra thigh, extra meat… I’m like a Popeye’s chicken menu. I started a new job in February and spent $800 dollars on new clothes so that I could work comfortably, only for my metabolism to slow down to the pace of a banana slug thereby making me gain more weight so that none of these clothes fit any longer. My hair is falling out of my head, but that’s okay! Why? Because new hair is growing, it’s just growing on my face, neck, and stomach.

Can I even consider myself a woman anymore? My ovaries have shut down so I no longer function internally as a woman should. Bonus: my nephew has learned the word “fat,” and now uses it to describe me; I preferred the term “squishy."

I just feel futile. Sure I know that the bowl of ice cream will do more harm than it will good, I know that doughnut is fried fat, and I know I probably shouldn’t eat that burger… but NOTHING I have tried in the past has worked, so my attitude has become one of nonchalance. If I’m going to be fat, I could at least enjoy getting there. That’s where I’m at right now. No one really seems to understand this particular mindset unless they’ve been there or are going through that. With each bite of food that I put in my mouth, my mother rolls her eyes or my former significant other silently questions my attractiveness (he just walked away from me, by the way.) So… again, what would I hold myself back for? Food never disappoints.


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