At 125lbs, she began to loosen her habits. A night out here and there with drinks and a meal that tasted too good with the effects of a nice alcohol buzz. Her outfits fit just fine, and she was just enjoying the lifestyle of a young, attractive 20 something.
At 150lbs, she went fewer and fewer mornings without a breakfast of some sort before going into work. Waiting until lunch used to be the move, but the 2 for $2 breakfast sandwich value was criminal to pass up. Her work outfits were always modest, but even the flowy office attire she liked couldn't hide a softer belly that began to appear when sitting down.
At 175lbs, a daily vending machine trip helped supplement her lunch. A nice, simple salad pairs well with a bag of chips. At the end of each week, that's five more bags of chips than a chubby girl can handle without it showing up on her waist. Sizing up was necessary, as mediums don't quite work with a fuller chest and a widening ass.
At 200lbs, ordering takeout was a nice treat a few nights a week. Usually the order wasn't huge, and if it were there would be leftovers. But 5-6 slices of pizza a few nights a week is hard to overcome with a sedentary lifestyle. She found a cozy spot on the couch and started eating, deciding that her thighs were big enough to safely balance a plate with her food on it.
At 225lbs, she began filling her water bottle at work with something sweeter. Lemonade, sweet tea, or maybe even a luxury drink from the coffee shop. Drinking calories wouldn't help her fit into her jeans, but nobody questioned the fat girl of the office having such delights in her routine.
At 250lbs, she wasn't eating TWICE as much as her formerly skinny self, right? Her rounder face suited her well. Cute, chubby cheeks came with every smiling photo she was a part of. So was the plate of food in front of her when many of these photos were taken. It's standard fare to fix a full plate of food at social outings.
At 275lbs, trips to the nearby Wendy's during lunch breaks were common. Two big sandwiches, a frosty, and a coke. It was just harder to go all day without feeling that tightness in her belly. It was a rare feeling a few years ago, but now it gave her enough daily joy to not care about the dull adult lifestyle that she found her and her friends were becoming accustomed to anymore.
At 300lbs, that takeout order either got bigger or never survived to become leftovers. There used to be more shame about passing up a few nights out each week with her friends, but the daily routine of sitting at work all day to passing out on the couch after a binge and a joint scratched the itch she felt every day. Another day, another mindless evening watching cartoons and satisfaction from a reflexive impulse for something greasy and cheesy.
At 325lbs, her work chair was too tight. It pinched her hips for a while, but god it was really digging in there now. She would wince every time she got in and out of her chair to grab a donut from the break room - donuts that she brought for the team on Wednesdays to lift spirits. Well, it worked for her at least. The donuts usually hit just the spot after her breakfast sandwiches and hash browns. Hash browns that came around the same time her 2x clothes started looking inappropriate.
At 350lbs, she fumbled with her seat belt. It was uncomfortable to wear, but especially after a night at the AYCE sushi place she visited on Tuesdays, they had a good deal you know. God, the belt was really squeezing on her belly. "Just this time," she told herself as she clicked it in behind her so the annoying beeping would stop.
At 375lbs, she started bringing in a bag of snacks to munch on during the work week. Hunger wasnt the reason so much as it was the need to satisfy the oral fixation with food. Eating just to eat, sure, but it gave her a nice steady dose of those feel good endorphins to have something salty or sweet on her tongue during the day.
At 400lbs, the trip to the grocery store kicked her ass. In her defense, it was a long process anymore. Her cart took much longer to fill up than others, and she often had to wait on her feet (sitting nicely in her wide set crocs) when someone else was in the aisle. She couldn't squeeze past so easily anymore when her hips took up half the aisle. By the time she got to the checkout line, she was leaning heavily on the cart. Her breasts were so damn heavy. It brought a little relief to her situation, because ugh is it uncomfortable to be sweaty in public.
At 425lbs, her dinner binges were supplemented by a midnight run to Taco Bell here and there. She loved their sodas, and she couldn't be bothered to worry about her belly digging deeply into the steering wheel and her seat belt extender. It was more difficult to reach over to grab the bag of food from the window, but mainly because her heavy arms and heaving chest prevented her from twisting too easily when her legs were otherwise wedged in the car.
At 450lbs, her job performance started to decline. It's hard to keep a sharp handle on things when she's constantly focused on the way that new office chair can't quite let her thighs spread out enough for her belly. Let alone the aching feeling in her belly when she leaned forward to type. It was getting harder to reach, and pressing against the desk just made her stuffed belly feel so damn uncomfortable on top of being squeezed into her 5x pants. She couldn't wait to get home and flop onto her couch and free herself from discomfort.
At 475lbs, she applied for disability. The walk from her apartment to her car, and then into her office was the extent of moving she did on a day to day basis. It was an ordeal. An ordeal on top of nursing her addiction when she ordered food into the office each day. Heading back out to her car under the hot summer weather wasn't anything but asking her to be a sweaty mess when she got back to her seat. Besides, getting fired was the alternative to all this. Putting in the minimum each day was no longer going to be tolerated with the amount of mistakes she was making.
At 500lbs, she was free to stay at home all day. No reasons to leave except for food, which was all delivered to her anyway. Glutting herself in the mornings was usually a weekend hobby that now spilled into her daily life. No more holding back to keep up appearances. One morning, she got five breakfast sandwiches. The next, a breakfast platter from IHOP. Anything to get her to that buzzy, happy place as early in the day as possible. It didn't matter anymore that she couldn't fit in the seating at her favorite restaurants, the hassle of getting there couldn't justify it.
At 525lbs, her breathing was ragged as she returned from the front door with her two pizzas. She didn't "sit down" anymore, it was an unceremonious dropping of her body backwards into the couch. Even the new one she had purchased was starting to give though. It was already caving in, but now it creaked and popped when she heaved her fat leg onto the couch. God. It can't be good to have your belly hanging off the side of a couch, can it?
At 550lbs, life was hard. The house was a mess. Trash bags filled the walkway near the back door. It was a temporary fix, but the few steps down to that doorway were scary to someone so big. She wasn't even sure if she could squeeze out that more narrow doorway anyway. The carpets had stains and crumbs, and her laundry pile was easier to recycle through than lugging all of it to the washing machine. None of this raised alarm, it all happened gradually under the haze of another family sized binge. Decisions had less considerations in that state, a state that was becoming perpetual.
At 575lbs, she fell. It was a normal morning like the others. She shuffled to end of her weakening and weakening bed, taking breaks along the way as she wheezed at the effort of shifting her sagging, lumpy legs under the weight of her belly. After a few minutes of blowing air, she heaved herself up to go to the bathroom. She had to hurry if she wanted to finish by the time her food arrived. But her foot got caught on a bag filled with takeout containers, and she lacked the strength to correct herself before falling onto her side.
At 600lbs, she had a caretaker. Without one, she would never be able to survive. Her ankle was messed up, bad. Even with physical therapy, it was known that walking would be basically out of the question with all the excess weight she carried. It was easier to have someone come over and take care of her needs. And, luckily, the guy they sent over to her was handsome. Very funny, non judging, and even spared an extra hour of his time to keep her company while she ate. There was mention of a diet plan when she was at the hospital, but the caretaker never seemed to follow up on it.
At 625lbs, he suggested diapering. Even with a walker and his helping hand, getting up to go to the bathroom was painful and exhausting. She felt ashamed, humiliated. Was it because she had a crush on him? Shouldn't it be because she was so fat? He was so gentle, taking her fat hand in his and talking through her concerns. She would only use it for when she had to pee. He'd make sure she could get up to take care of anything truly messy. It would help though! Getting up 1-2 times a day was much better than 3-4 times. It was never in his mind to think anything other than her best interest.
At 650lbs, she asked him about his love life. He was the only person keeping her attached to the world at this point, and it didn't seem too inappropriate. Just some playful conversation to get to know her caretaker. She waited until after he finished bringing her a new sheet to cover her form. Clothes, if they even fit, were too difficult. It was dehumanizing, but since he already had to wash her and check out her backside for sores and the like, it was hardly anything new. He's single?? He put his hand on my swollen calf when he was talking about how hard it can be to find a good match. Don't read into it. Don't. He's smiling at you. Stop. It's his job. Look at you. There's no way.
At 675lbs, she was crying. She soiled herself at night and had to wait until morning for him to change her. The worse of it was trying to get out of bed. It was hard. Maybe impossible. Maybe not. That wasn't a thought to dwell on. It was horrifying. He came over per usual and saw the state she was in. She was defeated. Broken. Embarrassed. It pulled at his heartstrings. She was a good person, and to see her so saddened was difficult for him to process. He took care of her, and she wouldn't stop apologizing while he rolled her, wiped her down, and helped her settle down. All he could do was look into her eyes. It was as exposed as a person could be, and that emotion was all conveyed between their locked gaze. He fumbled some words. Who knew what to say in this situation? Then, against his better judgement, he leaned in and kissed her. At first, it was long and deep, and then she lifted a bloated arm and touched his shoulder before they poured all their feelings into a passionate embrace.
At 700lbs, he moved in. Taking care of her was a round the clock effort, and being alone anymore was becoming scary. Her oxygen and CPAP couldn't afford to go out without someone there to hastily fix things. Her need for food only intensified with his presence. Keeping a snack or drink at her side had become such a normal that to go without for a few hours would take away the sluggish, bloated feeling that kept the days from being boring, well, even more boring for an immobile woman. She gazed down at her form. Her belly forced her legs far apart, much further apart than any usual person could handle, but years of pressure on them from her belly gave her a paradoxical level of flexibility. Since she was propped up, she could steal a look at her feet. Fat, rounded, and discolored. Where the rolls began and ended on her legs was difficult to discern. Her chest hung down, splayed to her sides because of her aforementioned gut. Anymore, her arms and boobs hung sloppily together. If she lifted her arms to the side, some air could breathe in the newly created space, but that was a chore in itself. Her eyes picked up as the door clicked, that must be him returning from the gym and with more fast food, her third order of the day.
At 725lbs, she started to feel unwell. Having restless legs is a silly concept when they can't even move, but they bothered her more. Rolling over in bed was taking a greater toll. It was hard enough on a full stomach, but the strain of holding up a tiny skeleton buried in fat was making her red in the face every time he hoisted her around. She could see it in his eyes. Even he was beginning to question how much longer he'd be able to move her around. They sat in silence while watching a movie, she eating from a second box of pizza, and he caressing her mattress sized belly.
At 750lbs, she started having some episodes. Pain in her chest. Dizziness. Foggy thoughts. Her blood pressure spiked the other day, and he had to quickly administer some medical remedies. Her legs were...worse. The skin was getting hard where the blobs of fat hanging from them sat lifeless all day. He kept her legs wrapped and moisturized, but it could never offset the trash bag of empty food containers she watched him carry out each day. They talked about getting her a crane, something to help her manage being cleaned without spiking her heart rate and triggering any medical event. Even her arms and sides were beginning to get irritated, seeing as how moving her arms from touching her torso was no longer in the cards.
At 775lbs, they both had an idea that things would be coming to an end soon. Her face always had a red tint to it as she gasped for air from the exertion of the crane lifting her shapeless body out of bed. Even without physically moving, the effect of that much weight shifting around wore her out. He never wavered though. More food, often fed to her by hand. If she knew how she sounded in her sleep, she would never believe anyone would keep feeding her. Her snores were choppy, gargled. Choking in her sleep from simply breathing. It led to her being exhausted. If she wasn't eating, she would be dozing off into another fit of unsatisfactory, unrelieving sleep.
At 800lbs, he woke with a start in the middle of the night. Her monitors were starting to bug out. Her oxygen levels were dropping. Quick, shallow breaths were all she could manage. She was unconscious, perhaps because her body was in panic survival mode. Fighting for air that had to go to every pound of fat on her body. This was it, he thought. It was never this bad. He gently slapped her face a few times to jostle her awake. She came to, disoriented and senseless.
"Huff...whats...phew, honey, are...you..."
"Shhhh, my love. I'm sorry for waking you, I was just checking out your vitals.
"They...hufff. Um, *wheeze*, ok?"
"Yes, dear, everything is...stable. Listen, I wanted to get a drink of water from the kitchen. How about I bring in some of that cake from last night? I figure, since you are awake now..."
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