There's something incredible about the pipeline of denial to shameless acceptance.
It starts with pushing the urge away, falling coy at the mention of general weight gain. Maybe a friend mentions it, talking about how their two week vacation has left them ten pounds heavier. You consider for a brief moment that it could be you.
The same happens again where a friend mentions their clothes getting tighter. You consider how you would feel in their shoes and how you wouldn't be able to announce it so freely. It would feel strange. Personal. It would simply be too much for you to admit.
It's definitely not something you want, but you allow yourself to fantasise about it eventually. It entertains you, until one day, you accept that it excites you. There's something about the idea of it, about gaining weight and the process of it all. You can only picture it for now.
But then you fill yourself up during meals. It's for comfort at first and perhaps the first few pounds go unnoticed. But then your clothes are tighter and those fantasies seem almost real. Obviously, it's not the same, but it's a glimpse into all those thoughts you once rejected, slowly accepted and eventually pursued, albeit subconsciously.
There's a battle that follows. You lose some weight, you gain it back. You're pudgy and you can't seem to shift it. No big deal. It happens. It's embarrassing to think that it happened so suddenly, but you let it slide. It's not too noticeable and you've already accepted that it pleases you.
Yet there's many opportunities to worsen it. Your portions are easily added to. Your usual order turns from one burger to two, whereas before it had only been for special occasions. You assume it won't do much. You've already started wearing bigger clothes since the gain. You figure it won't get much worse. You're used to seeing your weight budge.
But you ignore the number. It doesn't matter. There's an element of denial in you, even when you're sat rubbing over the taut evidence that seems to actually sit in your lap now. It's something you're used to. Your belly sits in your lap like it has done for a while, but not forever. Perhaps you've forgotten what being skinny is like and only when you're seeking pleasure, you remind yourself of it.
Only when you're seeking pleasure did you actually consider making it worse on purpose.
But then you had seconds thoughts. You wouldn't know how to truly accept it. You wouldn't know how to stop yourself, perhaps. Ironically, that was one of the exciting factors of it. Even more ironically, that only became arousing when you truly felt the fear that came from the little taste of what that may actually look like.
It takes time. Endorsement, even. Someone comes along and changes it. Before, when you stared at your larger portion, you called it such. You recognised it as large. Now, you don't even think about it. This is simply your portion.
You realise how big it is when you go out to eat. Restaurants don't usually serve enough to fully sate you, but you have room for dessert at least. Then something else. There's something perverse about it and surely there shouldn't be.
You spend time considering changes, in the same way as you had done so before. You used to consider eating a little more, now you consider eating a little less. Just like before, it remains a thought.
You want to eat more. As you had fantasised, you feel as if there isn't a choice. You're conditioned to be full. You're accustomed to eating what sates you completely. You're reassured and endorsed in these habits, enough for others to comment on it.
At first, it's embarrassing. You've noticed by now. You've gained enough weight to have doubled what you used to be. You can hardly recall what it's like fitting into clothes they sell in most stores. You can't remember the last time you didn't need to eye up furniture with at least a little concern.
You haven't broken anything– yet, you think. You're aware that the thought alone is concerning. It makes space for your fantasy to spiral. It's already gotten worse. You're at a size where people have noticed it. They've witnessed it.
Suddenly, that's your thing. People come to you when they want to know what tastes good. They make space for you in the largest seat available and typically, you get the passenger seat in the car. It's a silent acknowledgement that you're fat now. Actually fat.
You can't consider going back. You try, obviously, but you give up. This is who you are now. You're simply like this. You can only look upon people who used to be your size and pity them. They don't know the comfort of eating a good meal. All those stares that used to make you anxious? They excite you now. It's encouraging. You're open about it.
You're shamelessly fat in every sense possible. The way you are, the way you look, the way you act. You're fat and you love it. You fill up your clothes, the seats you sit in and know how to enjoy yourself. You're happy. You're fat, unapologetically. You were always supposed to be.
