Being Morbidly Obese
So listen, I am fat. Its not an insult or being mean or insulting myself. Its a fact. When I walk into the room, I am the biggest. I can’t fit in some fitted chairs. Clothes are hard for me to find. I am out of breath often and it is tough walking around.
I have dealt with this my whole life. Ever since I was on my first diet at 14 and lost 50 pounds. I would gain, then lose, then gain. I would eat shitty food forgetting the consequences. I think that is always the hardest part for me. I don’t think about my blood pressure through the roof when I am eating fifty dollars worth of Taco Bell. It is not fun to think about my clothes not fitting when I am eating boxes of Little Debbie’s. And yet this happens to me…over and over again.
Until I realize it isn’t worth it. I wish I had a switch that would stay on for the rest of my life that made me understand life is better than food. I don’t. I literally learn the hard way.
“Why don’t you just eat smaller portions?”
You cant tell an alcoholic to just have a glass of wine once in a while or tell a gambler just to bet on big events. That’s how food is to me. It’s an addiction. I don’t get gratification from eating a taste or cake. I get it from making myself numb from food. Its a feeling few people feel and I am so glad they do. You don’t want it.
But here I go again. Five days into this. Working out and eating the way I should. And I am going to tell you this time is different but you wont believe me. Hell, I don’t believe me.
Today I went up my stairs and was not out of breath. I didn’t realize it until I sat down. And I made sure that I would remember it.
It feels good. And it is more important to me thank pizza right now.
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