chapter 6

In that moment, I figured it out. That she’d been there. She’d been through the journey and come out alright. She looked more glowing than ever, and if becoming overweight left her like this, then what was the big deal and huge fuss everyone made all about? It may have been wishful thinking, or just projection but… I could have sworn she was reading my mind, because she looked at my body gently. With sympathy. As if she felt sorry for me. For a flash I felt insulted, but before it took root, I couldn’t help but feel encouraged for some reason. I reached out my hand and took it.

She pursed her lips and patted her stomach again, this time twisting her lips in a “so-what” kind of way. Then, with nothing more than a smile, she gave me a friendly nod and gently moved past me. I turned to watch her climb the stairs to retrieve her bag. I must have blinked at empty space for a while trying to process what just happened, but I eventually turned back around and caught the bus home. By the time I got back, the burrito was cold. I hadn’t touched it. But enough was enough. I had to accept the struggle. I have her to thank for giving me the confidence to actually eat it, finally. It was slow, but it happened. I also have her to thank for my general recovery - something she’d managed to do without saying a word. Suddenly the portrait I did of her, no matter how bad and unfinished, meant everything to me. So I hung it up in my flat. It’s been a year since then. On and off I’ve managed to eat better. Here I am now and I’ve actually managed to put on weight. Not muscle, pretty much just fat. The experience has shocked me. It was deeply rattling the first time I realised I could pinch anything more than a fold of skin. But here I am now, five kilos heavier since I last weighed myself, and I’m able to pinch my stomach, which is something I’ve never done. Sometimes, in my darker moments, I imagine what it must feel like to grow as much as she had. Or maybe that’s a new thought that I’m pretending to myself I’ve always had. Actually no, I’ve told a bit of a lie. Truth is, this morning marks a year AND a half since then. It takes a lot for me to type this because a part of me still wants to pretend it’s not real, but the honest truth is that in that extra six months. It’s true that I put on five kilos in that year, but in the last six months I’ve doubled that. It wasn’t visible until the last few when I found I had a belly, kind of like what she developed in the first few weeks of that workshop. But even that’s not telling the whole truth. This is something that’s very hard for me to admit, but I must be over-correcting or something and eating more than I realise. My budgeting says so. My bin is usually full of food packaging now. I wear button up shirts and they look tight around my belly. My arms and legs feel a bit soft, like they’ve got a layer on them. This morning I had to inspect my body and adjust myself to what I was seeing. It was like I was a different person. Maybe the person I was waiting to become? I don’t know. Either way, my stomach was getting round at the bottom, and it seemed to jiggle a bit if I moved or touched it in certain ways. My face had changed, my legs, my arms, my chest wasn’t a ribcage anymore, my collarbones weren’t so pronounced, and my hips had a little lip over my boxers. I believe that the deep, rattling shock I felt this morning is what prompted me to write this long post today, even with my heart in my throat. It’s dark out, now. And I’m hungry, for what seems to be the first time I can remember. If I don’t slow down I’ll keep finding changes in my body. But every time I think about that, I can’t help but think also of her. I feel brave, in a way, when I think of her. Like it’s I have to be brave, or like I’m meant to. Like I have no right to be afraid. So I thank her, still. This post is my thanks.
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post ed : Sunday, 10 January 2021



(What is “Brief Accidents?”
“Brief Accidents” is a collection of fictional first- and second-hand accounts of stuffing and weight gain, similar to what you’d find on experienceproject.com, or other forums. Some of these stories are recounts of the narrator’s experience. Some are recounts of what the narrator witnessed another person go through. Some are recounts of a recount.)