Fuck, I’m Fat.

Fuck, I’m fat. It’s not like it should be a surprise. I mean, I know I am so big that I can’t shop for clothing in a store–and fat stores don’t count because I find the clothes hideous. Not that I am stylish by any means. In fact, I’ve developed a daily fat uniform that includes 2x black stretchy pants from Target and the J. Jill Linen Big shirt in 4x and every dark color along with Bass Wayfarer loafers because I’m too much fat to reach around to tie my own shoes. My panties and bras do not fit properly because I refuse to commit to buying the size that should be on my body. I wear my uniform to work. I wear it on the weekends. I wear it out with friends. I wear it to the grocery store. I “dress it up” with huge scarves that, in my mind, camouflage my size. And that’s just the clothing situation.

Shy to begin with, I avoid to the greatest extent possible all social activities except happy hours with my closest friends. Pictures? Mirrors? Avoid, avoid. They are not entirely avoidable, however, and every so often I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or a friend, with all good intentions, shares a photo with me in it and I am shocked that I barely recognize myself. I look like that?! Sex and getting naked or exposing any skin below lips are off the agenda. I am pre diabetic, have a fatty liver and sleep apnea and was prehypertensive at my last visit to the doctor; I have to kneel down to pick something up off the floor and cannot elegantly stand up and I barely fit in an airplane seat and I am surprised at my appearance?

In late June 2016, I had just moved and am due to begin a new job in late August. I didn’t want to start out fat. Obesity embarrasses other people and that embarrassment makes you invisible and judged. I get it. I think the same things and I don’t want to look directly at “it”. I just have a different understanding and experience of it from this particular perspective. Anyway, I have decided to work on it.

Here’s my un-photoshopped face at 271.5 pounds. July 7, 2016.

On July 7th, I unpacked and stepped on the scale. He didn’t feel like my friend that day. I weighed in at 271.5. I am 5’5″ tall. That gave me a BMI of 45.2, classified as morbidly obese. Morbid. Obese isn’t a good word. Put morbid in front of it and you have…bad on top of bad? A double negative? A sentence. A condemnation. I am responsible for it, I know. And I shouldn’t be surprised. But fuck, I’m fat! How the hell do I get back to normal from being so far gone?

Well, that’s what we’re doing here. I am setting out to document my journey from body-by-deli to body-by-deli-no-more. I hope to achieve this in the nearest possible future. I hope that the downward trend in weight and size and upward trend in health, confidence, and beauty are smooth, painless, and constant. To be honest, I hope that it’s quick, too.

This isn’t about making any recommendations for anyone else. This is simply a record of my fat-battle journey and a place to document my thoughts and progress in the hopes that it will turn out to be a success story and that I can change the name of this blog to Body By Deli No More.



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