About 20 years ago my boyfriend at the time (former love-of-my-life) told me that I was just too damn fat for him to want to sleep with anymore, and threatened to leave me if I didn’t loose weight. I was probably a size 16/18 or so, and still had the relatively OK toned physique that an 18 year old can get away with. I joined a gym called Flex and stopped eating anything other than apples. After a while, I lost some weight and was a comfortable 14/16. Said boyfriend didn’t leave me, but did start sleeping with almost every other woman that crossed his path. Some 10 years later we finally split up. By then I was comfort eating morning, noon and night and he had got the women next door pregnant.
About 15 years ago I joined Weight Watchers (for the first time), and lost about 2 stone by religiously following the suggested daily food plans. I became THE MOST boring food commentator ever… (e.g. – Do you know how many points are in that apple/tablespoon of peas/chunk of cheese/portion of pasta?...) and it was almost a relief to give it all up and start eating cakes again.
About 10 years ago I was living with my gay best friends and they coerced, encouraged and supported me back down to a size 16/18. At that time I was single and had the confidence of a woman half my size. I had lovers coming out of my ears and had the best time of my life. I was also pro-plus-ing off my nut every day.
About 7 years ago I met Boo. I stopped being single. My gay best friends had long since abandoned me and the carbs then found me. I got happy, got lazy and got fat.
Just over 5 years ago my dad died. I stopped working out, I stopped caring, I stopped stopping when I was full. I was never full. I ate and ate, and I ate all the wrong things. It neither bought my dad back, or filled the whole he left. But I carried on eating anyway.
In January last year I stopped smoking and started eating more.
In February last year my worst fears were confirmed when Boo (the actual love-of-my-life) admitted that he struggles to find me physically attractive anymore. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t either.
Almost exactly one year ago I started my food/weight/exercise spreadsheet, and weighed 104kg. I kept up the spreadsheet for about a month. I lost pretty much no weight, despite filling in the spreadsheet every day.
At the beginning of this year I started writing everything down in a lovely red notebook. I was about 15 ½ stone. That lasted about a month. I got bored and lazy.
I registered with my new doctors’ surgery today. I weigh 111kg. Nearly 18 stone. Twice the weight I should be.
I now feel hopeless and lost as well as bored and disgusted. I hate myself for not having that switch that most people seem to have that makes them
a) stop eating when they are full
b) stick to three good meals and two small snacks a day
c) eat healthily
d) keep treats as a rarity rather than a rule
My friends are as kind and supportive as any friends could be. They try and encourage and they listen and they all offer their help and advice all the time. They are all good looking and various shades of slim and toned. I’m not saying they don’t all have their issues – God knows they do – but none of them can possibly know just how it feels to be 18 stone, because not one of them is over 11 at a push.
I am due to get married in just over a year. I do not want to wear a size 22 wedding dress, but I just don’t know what to do.