I completely relate to that. Feeling chubby instead of obese, just like I feel regular fat instead of absolutely massive, which I know I am.

Thanks, Urchie. I think I have... because the big point is, I don't want to die at 32. It's just that the urge this fetish brings is an intense one. My husband and I have been finding other ways to fulfill it (lots of belly play, outgrown clothing, etc.)

Has anyone here, or your partner, experienced underestimating your own size after a large weight gain? I'm currently 725 lb, after briefly reaching immobility and exceeding 900 lb. After a medical emergency, a hospital stay of more than a month, and a very strict supervised diet, I regained some mobility, although still very limited. I didn't want to lose weight, and I certainly didn't want to stop stuffing, but my heart was failing, my belly button hernia ruptured, I had infections from skin tears, and I developed severe non-alcoholic fatty liver disease. The weight loss was a life-saving necessity.

I do enjoy being able to stand and being able to take a few steps outside, along with fitting in the backseat of our van again (I was even too big for that at one point). I have a little more independence as far as hygiene, though I still need help, and I can cover myself appropriately with clothing. At my largest, I relied on bed sheets. These are all positive things, not to mention my heart isn't on the verge of giving out.

That said, I had a bi-weekly doctor's appointment this week, and my doctor very much wants me to lose another hundred lb and then get weight loss surgery. I've made it clear I don't want the surgery, and I also don't want to get smaller than 600 lb. When I look at myself in the mirror now, my brain tells me I'm getting too thin. My face, feet, hands, and legs are less puffy because my lymphedema has subsided, and I look less spherical. Intellectually, I know someone over 700 lb, with a waistline more than 100 in around, isn't wasting away, but part of me is sad that I'm not at the same massive extreme I once reached.

I'm not looking for encouragement to regain weight. I wouldn't survive for long, and I'm not a death feedist. Yet... There's still part of me that wants to order ALL the food and stuff myself until I can't physically hold another bite. Actually, I know I would do it if I had a weak moment, and my husband, family, and doctors weren't watching me. During my most extreme stuffings, I would eat for days until my whole body became bloated, my stomach was painful and hard as a rock, I couldn't breathe, was sweating, and my heart was racing. I think I might actually be one of those people who would keep going until their stomach burst.

Now, not only am I constantly hungry, but In the mirror, I see someone who is getting too small. Has anyone else ever experienced this, or known someone who has? Something isn't connecting between my eyes and my brain...

Oh, absolutely. I'm no longer actively gaining or stuffing, but when I was, I pushed to the limit often as I could. There were two particular periods in my gaining.. when I decided to get very big again after some weight loss.. and then again when I decided to see how fat I could possibly grow... that I would keep my belly stuffed around the clock. Even when I became super obese, I could get so full my belly would become hard, despite hundreds of pounds of fat on it. It felt as though my fat would stretch tight over my stuffed gut, until the skin was insanely sensitive. I've been so full before that my entire abdomen was tingling. The area right below my belly button would grow so sensitive, even the lightest touch would give me shivers. I remember one particular night in my recliner, gut completely bared, and a featherlite tickle from my husband felt incredible.

Unabashedly ordering multiple entrees with no effort to hide or maneuver the plates

I knew I was chubby in early elementary school, because my mother was constantly obsessing over how much I ate. When fourth grade started, I was too fat for a regular desk and had to sit at the arts and crafts table instead. My PE teacher had to modify activities so I could participate. There was some teasing from classmates, which didn't last long once they realized I enjoyed it and was proud of being the fattest kid in school. Other students would give me the leftovers from their lunches to see how much I would eat, leading my teacher to put a stop to food-sharing, citing food allergies as the reason. I remember taking great pride once when a little boy said, "She's about to pop!" as I was stuffing my face with "donated" snacks.

I definitely understand. The loss of mobility is astounding, and I kept telling myself it was just because I was stuffed, not because the limitations were permanent. In my last month or two of rapid gain and daily stuffing, I went from being able to pull myself up with my walker, make it to the bathroom (though I already required help once there), and move between the bed and my recliner -- to struggling to lift and turn myself enough for hygiene. In the last week, I was so swollen from sodium and from heart and liver dysfunction, I couldn't type or text well. My doctors believe I likely had very little time left, though I didn't realize it until my accident at home. I thought, if I took a break from stuffing, the swelling would go down, and I'd be able to stand again. The reality is, I had given up any intention of reducing my food intake. If I wasn't completely engorged, pushing my limits, I didn't "feel right". Life became all about chasing that sensation. And if I'm honest with myself, even knowing the consequences, I'd probably do it again if my husband and my caregiver didn't hold me accountable.

I've been diligently doing cognitive therapy. Initially, they were treating it as a simple food addiction, but my brain is more complicated than that. Part of the drive was always growing bigger. I could see and feel my belly getting heavier, full of more fat. I was overflowing my recliner, taking up more and more space. I ultimately outgrew every single piece of clothing I had except for a couple of gowns, and I still needed a bedsheet to cover me. Every time I outgrew something, it was a point of pride and a reason to gain more. The body pain from the weight of my belly and my full stomach was addictive in itself. I also dream about food constantly, now that my intake is capped between 1,600 and 2,000 calories (all medically supervised). Last night, I dreamed of being surrounded by food, stuffing in potatoes, cake, pizza, feeling the top of my belly getting tighter and tighter -- and I woke up disappointed. I also feel so small since I've lost some weight, even though my brain tells me 765-770 pounds is VERY obese. I can't help but wonder if it's like this for other big people whose medical situation necessitates a change.

It's so true. I've been both ecstatic at my growth and terrified I had finally gone too far, in a span of minutes. I've looked at myself and thought my extreme obesity was a perfect accomplishment, immediately followed by wondering if I would ever fully interact with the outside world again. And I've wondered if every body pain was a possible medical emergency.

Thank you, EGB! I have zero regrets (outside of the stress my emergency caused my husband), and I enjoyed the accomplishments I made along the way. Thanks for celebrating them with me!

Lorenzo's Pizza in Philly and McDonalds -- I have both to thank, in part, for my fat belly!