chapter 2

This was the beginning of my downward spiral. When Thanksgiving came around, I ate 3/4 of the massive meal by myself. Every mouthful of turkey and pumpkin pie made me feel better. I had to eat until I was stuffed, so the pain in my belly could distract from the pain in my heart.

I went back to school as a total shut-in, only ever leaving my room for classes and the free buffet in the dining hall. By the second semester, I gave up on the class part. I had no social life. The only friends I needed were piled high on my plate. Burritos couldn't call you names. Chicken fingers couldn't sleep with your boyfriend. Unfortunately, my new friends had a nasty affect on my body. My stomach surged in front of me, inching its way towards my large and growing breasts. My hips filled up my twin sized bed, forcing me to lay on my side when I slept; which I was doing a lot of at the time. My a** became chunky and was dimpled with cellulite. By the end of freshman year, I had officially become fat.

I had lost all motivation to do or be anything. All I did and wanted to do was eat. Stuff myself until every bite hurt. I never wanted to feel empty again. The 4.0 I had in the first semester averaged out with the 0.2 I had in the second to make a 2.2 gpa, which was just high enough to keep me off academic probation. However, I didn't have any desire to go back. So I dropped out. My mom was furious, but there was nothing she could do about it. I moved back home and continued my habits of binging and self-loathing.

Now do you see why I hate mirrors? Everyday I'm forced to relive these memories! I'm forced to acknowledge that my 108 lb. supermodel body had grown into a gelatinous, jiggling 400 lb. mass of milky monstrosity! I'm forced to accept the fact that I peaked in high school! I'm forced to remember that it was only three years ago.

I examine my pale bounty in all it's awful glory. I unhook my overflowing bra and let my tits sag out and rest heavily on my matronly hips. My swollen nipples point south while the numerous stretch marks and blue veins follow their lead like geese migrating for the winter. My belly droops to my fat-covered knees, blocking my view of my grotesquely large thighs from the front. My butt looks more like a plastic bag filled with cottage cheese than anything resembling a part of the human anatomy. The stretch marks on my skin look more like caverns or darkly-colored rivers on a white map. I haven't shaved my armpit hair in over two years. At first, I was just too lazy to care, but now I physically can't reach them. My arms are too heavy to lift above my head, only ever reaching a 45 degree angle at best. Even at that height, my bingo wings still touch the jelly rolls on my sides. I just feel the bristles scrape the goo of arm meat whenever I move them to shove food into my face. My vagina was suffering from the same effect, since it had been equally neglected. I hadn't felt the touch of another person since Ryan, so there was no point maintaining it. The bush over my p*ssy was thick and matted, overgrown like a neglected trail in a jungle. I used to pleasure myself when I was skinny, but it became too much of a hassle as the pounds piled on. I haven't touched 'down there' in over a year, but it didn't matter. Food gave me all the pleasure I could ever need. Not only was it a great friend, but a great lover as well. I am obese. I'm morbidly obese. I'm absurdly morbidly obese. And there's nothing I can do about it.

I consider stepping into the shower, something I rarely do nowadays, but decide against it. The space is far too small and I can never fit all of my bulk in there at once anyway. I lift up my abundant side flab and grab a hold of the fishing line I called panties and worked them down my lumpy legs. This chore required a lot more effort than it was worth at this point. I think underwear is another amenity I would have to forgo as I marched forever closer to immobility, along with pants, shirts, and shoes. I think I'll stop wearing the bra too. It's not like it does anything useful anymore. My tits already sag like an old lady's. All it does is force them up on my tank of a tummy while painfully digging into my back fat. My mom used to complain that my nipples showed too much through my shirts when I stopped wearing them before, so she made me wear one. But now my nipples couldn't even be seen from their new natural position.

My mom is the only reason I wear clothes at all, since she finds nudity "unladylike". She's going to have to cope with it eventually as finding clothes to fit my mountainous form becomes a harder and more expensive task everyday. All she buys me now are moo-moos, big ugly tent dresses that cover me like a cloak. Even those are starting to get a bit tight on me. I used to wear the newest styles; form-fitting, revealing clothes that showed of my toned, young body. But those clothes are for humans. I'm a cow and cows deserve moo-moos. Before I could go back to my room, my stomach rumbled. The ravenous hunger that infected my body like a disease attacked without warning. Well, that's not true actually. The hunger hadn't come from nowhere; I was always hungry. I would soon have to undertake the Herculean task of shuffling down the stairs, so there was no point wasting energy putting on a dress. I slowly turned myself around and reached for the door handle. But just before I grabbed it, I saw something in the mirror. It was my old, beautiful self.

It had been so long since I'd seen that girl, but there she was, staring back at me. I reached my chubby hand forward to touch her, but only felt the cold, hard glass of the mirror. I waved and she waved back. I tilted my head and she tilted hers. But how could this be? How could this goddess and I be the same person? I placed my hand on my flabby gut and she placed hers on her well-defined abs. I turned to the side and she did the same. I could see her flat stomach and her perky c-cups. Her shapely bubble butt and long, slender legs. Her arms were thin and her jaw was sharp. She was absolutely perfect. No cellulite, no stretch marks, no acne, no fat rolls or body hair. Every feature was where it should be. Everything was tight and firm. She was an angel. I cold feel tears welling up as I stared into her crystal-blue eyes. Right before I completely broke down, my stomach rumbled again, breaking my concentration. And just like that, she was gone. Now all I saw was a bloated beast staring back at me; a hippo who had somehow learned to walk on two legs. What was that? Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was it some sort of sign? Was that skinny girl still in me somewhere deep inside, buried beneath hundreds of pounds of fat, begging to get out? I don't know. All I knew was that all this standing and contemplating was making me hungry. As my stomach roared again, I forgot all about the image in the mirror. Before squeezing through the door frame of the bathroom, I took one last look at my reflection and sighed. I accepted my fate and slowly made my way downstairs to get even fatter like the good sow I'd become.