November 2010

Ok . . . It’s been a long time since I blogged, so I should probably start by mentioning some of the bigger changes in my life.

First of all, I’m single. Henry walked out on me around December last year. I say around, he was on and off the idea of leaving me for a while before hand and he moved out his stuff, claiming he needed to get his head straight. Then just after new year he told me he wasn’t coming back.

Also, I was pregnant, but it didn’t really last long. It was only about 2 weeks after I took the first positive test that the tests started being negative. Henry knew but he didn’t really get excited or worried, he probably knew that with the state of my body, it wasn’t going to make it. To be honest, I knew it too.

Anyway, those things are long behind me now.

I became depressed around then and stopped going out. I literally didn’t leave the house for about a month, well, only a few times to get shopping. I have been getting deliveries most of the time though, as it’s much easier. I go for a drive from time to time, though mostly just to drive-throughs to be honest, but I’ve seen Sarah a couple of times this year.

I quit my job and have been signed off work with depression. As well as paying my bills, I’ve talked my parents into sending me £600 a month for food and videogames (I have finally purchased a current gen console, a 360).

Because I’ve shut myself in, I’ve had little to do but eat and watch TV. I piled on weight slowly and around July this year I really started to feel ill, so saw my doctor.

Apart from just telling me to loose weight, she said a lot about my lifestyle and how it was self destructive and I really need to get off my ass and do something about it before it’s too late. Rather than being her usual nice self, she was stern and mean. I haven’t seen her since. I got her to weigh me on her scale before I left.

I weighed in, in July, at 36 stone 2 pounds, which is 506 pounds, or almost 230 kilos.
I almost certainly weigh more now.
It was around then that I started to realise how hard it’s become to walk. For half a year, I hadn’t needed to get up for anything more than toilet, shower (and I have a shower seat), getting food, accepting deliveries and going to my car, which means one flight of stairs. I was not only breathless, but also weak at the knees, had pain in my back, hips and thighs, felt my heart pumping so hard it hurt and profusely sweating.
These things are now worse.
I also began to suffer migraines, even worse than any I’ve had before.
I get sick with a cold at least once every 3-4 weeks, even in the summer.
I can’t now sleep on my back as the weight crushes my chest, so I tend to sleep sat upright.
Worst of all, I get random, sometimes worrying chest pains that go beyond heart-burn.

I have only left the flat a handful of times since then. 2 or 3 times to see my mum, a few times for late night takeaways (in the car, obviously) and once just for the sake of driving because I was bored, though, inevitably, I ended up getting food in. It has been about 2 months since I last left my flat, apart from putting out bin bags every now and then, and as long as nobody closes my wheelie bin, I don’t even need to walk down the stairs as I can just throw it straight in (but sadly someone does keep doing that!). One of my neighbours takes it to the kerb with their own, always has, even though I don’t know who it is.

Because walking is a chore, I don’t walk around much. I’ve stopped cooking as I can’t stand by the oven for more than a minute or two. I only have oven meals, microwave meals and takeaways, apart from cold stuff like cream cakes and ice cream and stuff at room temp etc. I used to enjoy cooking but I just can’t manage it anymore. I got a dishwasher, and apart from changing the liquid and emptying it now and then it’s pretty simple, so I don’t have to do dishes anymore either.

I don’t clean the flat. That’s one thing I can’t excuse. I just can’t bring myself to get up to do it. There’s no way I’d manage it and there’s no way I could get my mother to come over to clean up after me. She knows what I’ve done to myself but I think she’s put it all at the back of her mind. I can’t risk her cutting my food money. I don’t know if it smells but it looks a sty in here.

My hygiene isn’t great at the moment either. I can’t reach all the folds I have now, especially the ones on my legs. Showering is exhausting so, as its cold in the winter, I’m only doing it once a week. I brush my teeth before bed every night but I can feel it’s not doing much good with all the sugar in my mouth overnight, some of my teeth ache all day. My hair is a mess and frankly I don’t care about my personal appearance these days. I don’t really wear clothes, just a big t-shirt and some jogging bottoms, I usually have a blanket over me to keep warm. I’ve got some sores on my back and bum, but I’m treating them with cream. I think they’re bed sore but they come and go so they’re not so bad.

My belly is where most of my weight has gone. Being on my ass has probably moulded me this way, as I’ve put on the best part of 10 stone whilst sat on it. My belly spills between my legs and hangs to around my knees. My breasts sit under my armpits when sat up, unless I can rest them on my belly. If I’m standing straight, they hang down to about where my hips are. I don’t know what size they’re meant to be anymore, it doesn’t matter as I gave up on bras. I have folds on my legs, around my knees and down to my ankles. My feet are swollen and kind of reddish compared with the rest of me which I put down to water retention or something stupid like that. My arms are pretty flabby, with my bingo wings hanging down about a foot at their lowest point when I hold my arms out straight.

I spend about 12 hours a day in bed, but only manage to sleep 2 or 3 hours a night some nights. I make up for it other days, sleeping for over 20 hours once. But mostly I just nod off on the sofa after a big meal for an hour or so before I eat again. Those 12 hours in bed can be more exhausting than being awake. I still have the fridge by my bed and I still keep it as stocked as possible, but go through a fair amount in the night. I usually drink around 2 Litres of coke over the night, and as I’ve gotten used to it over the course of the year, I don’t have to get up to pee until morning. My capacity for holding in fluid is surprising, I only pee 2 or 3 times a day, and I have a big shit once in the morning and once before bed.

My days are all quite similar, so I did a diary today, so that you can see what I get up to.

I woke up at around 5 with a blinding headache, so I took some ibuprofen with some sprite. I drank the best part of a litre and needed a piss, but I held onto it until about 7. I wasn’t able to sleep, or get comfy, so I got up for the toilet. While I was up, I took a pack of 4 assorted cream cakes into the bathroom with me. I ate them all before I went back to bed and tried to get some more sleep. At about 10 I had drifted to sleep and back but it was too bright now so I heaved myself up to sit on the sofa. There I ate 4 gooey centred double chocolate muffins. For my actual breakfast, I filled a mixing bowl with coco-pops and poured in 2 pints of whole milk. This is approximately 1 whole box of real coco-pops, but I go for the Tesco’s own in the big box, so it’s less expensive and amounts to about half a box. Either way, it’s enough to feed a family of 6 for the morning. I still go for whole milk, frankly as it tastes best with my cereals. One of my other favourites at the moment is Krave but I can’t find a budget version of that.

I snoozed in front of the TV for a while before getting myself lunch at about 12.30. I put 2 11” stuffed crust pizzas in the oven, one meatballs, one ham and mushroom, and about half a bag of oven chips. The pizzas came out first and I sandwiched them together, fillings on the inside, like a massive calzone. I then got the chips out of the oven, dished them up and took a jar of Mayo from the fridge. I had about half a jar, but dipped the chips in until it was totally empty, then finished the chips with some salt and vinegar and ketchup. I then finished the rest of the pizzas, which had gone a little cold. For dessert I had a 600g double chocolate gateau. I practically swallowed it without a second thought. When I was done I felt satisfied, but not really, full, so I sat eating cookies and drinking milkshake to fill myself up. I started to feel sick after one pack of cookies but had started the 2nd, so finished that before I stopped.

I was watching an episode of the Simpsons when I reflected on what I was doing, sitting there lazily, my stomach laden heavily with unhealthy food, and realised that this moment, when my stomach hurt from my overindulgence, was as hard as my life gets these days. And in that moment I remembered why I let myself get like this. I do feel lonely at times but I honestly can’t be doing with any other kind of life. Only having a loving feeder would make this better, but I’m not ready for a relationship. Anyway, that’s another story for another time. The point is my life is so easy, I get to eat all I want and I don’t have to move a muscle.

I must have nodded off because when I came to the TV guide was on and it was 4.04, so I was feeling a bit peckish. I had 2 rustlers quarter pounders and half a 450g vanilla and chocolate cheesecake, as well as most of a 2l bottle of coke, 4 packets of Walkers crisps, 2 Twix and 2 Mars bars. I was thinking about what to have for dinner when the doorbell rang and I had to heave myself out of the me shaped dent in the sofa. Breathless, I answered the door. It was a delivery from Tesco, so I let them bring up 8 bags. I tend to get a delivery every day, I spend enough each time, but sometimes if I have enough in the flat I’ll make it last 2 or 3 days. Especially if I’m getting takeaways.

Among the items I’d ordered was 12 cream filled doughnuts, so I sat eating the lot. I felt sick when I’d finished so washed it down with some coke, then took some antacid tablets. Despite this, I decided it was time to start drinking, so began on some Southern Comfort in my coke. I also put a 4 person pasta bake into the oven, knowing that by the time it came out, I’d be hungry, which I was. I ate the whole thing, cleaning out the dish with my tongue, when I needed to use the toilet again, my bladder on the brink of bursting.

It was around 7 when I’d finished all my pasta and everything I could reach from the sofa, so I decided on pizza and chicken, followed by a late night curry. I got my pizza at around 8.45 (though I’d ordered it for 8.30, I was bloated from earlier so didn’t care, I was only eating through boredom anyway), a 16” monstrosity with everything on it, and on the side, a bucket of chicken pieces with coleslaw and fries. It came with a 1.5l Pepsi, so I drank that while I ate.

Full from the start, I pushed down every sickeningly fattening bite, over and over. I felt sick and as I felt my stomach swell to its biggest and I forced in slice after slice, I cried to myself. It’s times like this, I thought, when my ‘friends’ are enjoying their lives and all I do is force feed myself, that I hate myself and wish I weren’t so fat, and didn’t need so much food every day. I was in agony as I forced in the last of the chicken and fries, which were cold by now. I left a few bones and crusts in the box and leaned back into the sofa, crying, barely able to breathe, food struggling for space in my stomach.

I carried on drinking coke and Southern Comfort until I fell asleep but woke up at around 11 badly needing the toilet. Thankfully, in Plymouth you can still get a curry that late, and I was on the phone before I was even off the toilet.

Before long I had a heavy carrier bag with a chicken madras, a chicken tika massala, rice, 2 naan breads and some poppadoms. I took them to bed, sat up comfy with my cover over me and began eating.

I haven’t been able to sleep all night, so I’ve snacked on cakes, ice cream, doughnuts, milkshakes, chocolate, crisps and all the usual stuff. My bed is surrounded by junk food containers and sweet wrappers. I know my diet is bad but I literally need all the fat, the sugar, the salt, the carbs, even though I do nothing with them but sit and grow. I don’t eat fruit or veg mostly because if I order them, they go to waste because I don’t like them therefore don’t eat them.

I literally can’t get up at the moment because I’m feeling so full and heavy and weak.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, to be honest. I can’t give up the food, but it’s going to kill me. I’m partially tempted to eat myself to death, as that seems like the easiest option, but in the end I’m dependant on my parents, so unless I get a feeder who’s willing to basically commit manslaughter then I’m screwed on that front. I don’t want to go over 40 stone because I know I’m going to be too heavy to get up by myself. Unfortunately it’s inevitable. Fuck, I probably already am over 40 stone by now.

Fuck, I’m not ready for a relationship but I need one. I tried to masturbate just now but the exertion of holding up my belly and rubbing my clit made me feel sick and I got pains in my heart. I felt my fat rolling about and crushing my chest. I need someone to feed me and get me off but I really don’t want anyone right now. I’d rather just be alone. There’s no way I’d get a fucking home nurse, that’s for sure.

Anyway, that’s my life at the moment, still as fucked up as ever, now with the prospect of getting immobile without any help around. Terrific.

Wonder if anyone reads this still, leave a comment if you do and maybe I’ll do another one soon.

For now I’m going to try to get some sleep, its 4am.

Laters