Chapter 1 - the former dr wong

I was a different person once. It feels like a lifetime ago, but it was a reality at some point. A high paying job, a slim thin, a Mensa-level IQ; all the makings of a successful person. Those days are long gone now; replaced with days of overeating, heavy breathing, and limited thinking. Over the years, I've made myself into something unrecognizable. Something foreign to my own two eyes. When I look in the mirror, I realize that I'm staring at myself, since I've seen my reflection change with me as time marched on. We've been on this journey together; her watching as I destroyed my figure and me watching as she continued to swell, both of us being powerless to stop the inevitable from happening. We saw the signs. We heard the warnings. But nevertheless, we persisted.

A part of me wants to pull out the old scale. See the damage I've done. I decide against it though, since I'm sure my efforts would be futile. Not only would the physical act of retrieving the scale be treacherous since my weak, chubby knees have trouble bending and the exertion of stretching my body in such a way would surely leave me in a deep sweat, I know for a fact that my bulging belly and swollen tits would block my view, no matter how far I crane the hot dog rolls I call a neck. Maybe I'll check when my husband gets home. He likes reading the numbers on the scale for me, but I'll probably forget by then. I'm so scatterbrained nowadays. If it's not food-related, sex-related, or something on tv; I find it difficult to focus on for very long. It's one of the reasons I had to quit my job.

I used to be an accomplished and respected psychologist. Dr. Jennifer Wong, PhD; named and titles I haven't heard or used in a long time. As I waddle around the house, I search the walls for my old degrees, but they're nowhere in sight. Then I remember that my husband, Stuart, packed them all away when he moved in. He was also a psychologist and my degrees had been replaced with his. My elegant decor replaced with sports memorabilia. Nothing from my old life seems to be present. If my clothes weren't in the closet, you might not even know I lived here. And honestly, were they really my clothes? Flashes of me in modest pants suits and thick sweaters came in stark contrast to the slovenly sweatpants and sultry lingerie I found myself bulging out of most days.

As I walk into my closet, I look for any remnants of my old outfits. Instead I'm greeted with little more than oversized sweats, tent-like dresses, and fetish outfits Stuart likes me to wear when we have company. Last time, I was a maid. Before that, I was a dog. His friends come over once a week to play poker and I waddle out in all my jiggling glory to serve them beer and snacks. When they leave, Stuart stuffs me with whatever's left over.

I don't get to wear clothes a lot when I'm at home. He likes to see my body. Clothes are mainly reserved for when we go out to eat. That's all we ever go out for. Besides that, I'm stuck inside most of the time, bare skin always on display. Not that I mind much. Clothes just get in the way. When my belly's bloated and taut after a long day of binge eating, the last thing I want is some tight fabric in the way. Not to mention the mess. All my outfits have stains on them. It's easier to just sit in the shower and wash off any foodstuffs left on my body than do laundry.

I have to do all the household chores, which has only gotten increasingly difficult with each passing day. I cook, I clean, I do everything that's asked of me. It's strange because the old me was never much of a domestic. I never expected to be a housewife. I was too focused on my career to even think of starting a family. I found little satisfaction in physical things and much preferred pursuits of the mind. Food, sex, love; they all meant nothing to me. I'd rather read a good book alone with only a cup of tea to keep me company. I was slim my whole life because I barely ate anything. That all changed when Stuart came into my life. Now all I do is eat and I can't even watch movies with subtitles because it hurts my brain too much to follow along. My bookshelves, which contained a vast collection of works I had acquired over the years, have been emptied out and filled with dvds and snack foods. I haven't read more than a takeout menu in years.

Recounting the events of my life confuse me and make my head hurt. It's like all my memories are trapped in a fog and my eyes are straining just to see them. I was a completely different person back then. What happened to me?