Update . . .

Ok . . . this is fucked up. Feels wrong coming back to this after everything that’s happened but I’ve missed my little diary, so here goes.

Something bad happened, but it changed my life for the better.

Steven and I never actually had sex, but despite that he continued to feed me right up until August, when, aged just 23, I suffered my first heart attack.

The first signs that I’d let myself go beyond anything I’d ever intended, was when I was no longer able to get out of bed by myself. Shortly after my last post I stopped even trying, and Steven began to order incontinence pads because, pathetically, I wasn’t able to hold it in until he was around to help me. Olga, as nice as she was about these things, was clearly disgusted that she was working in a flat that smelled of shit. Steven had to change my bed sheets because Olga wouldn’t go near the pads. I kept getting bigger though, Steven kept helping me eat more and even though I was at this point thinking I had to stop, I didn’t have the strength. I was dependant on him in so many ways and if I lost him, I didn’t know what I would do.

During a hot, muggy week in August, Olga took the start of a 2 week vacation to see her parents. Steven was busy most of the time and was preparing for a holiday too which really stressed me out because I had no idea what I would do without him. Steven was at the time feeding me quite a lot of fast food, I had a thing for fried chicken and it seemed like the more I ate, the more I was expected to eat, so it came to a point where he would be bringing in enough to fill me 3 or 4 times. I tried not to disappoint him and as I usually do, when faced with more food than I want, I made room.

I think it was a combination of stress, the extra greasy food and my steadily increasing weight, that led to the chest pains. They became more intense and one night, when Steven was at his home and I was alone, munching my way through a very rich Mississippi mud pie, I got a really tight feeling in my chest. I stopped eating and started panicking, but that made things worse. I was sick and felt paralysed, but it wasn’t like I was numb, I was just too weak to move. The pain lasted for what felt like hours but I didn’t black out, which I was practically begging my body to do.

The pain spread all over and true to what people say, I got sharp pains in my arms. Mostly my left but it was generally sharp shooting pains all over. I thought I was getting better throughout the night and I managed to get my strength back so I could drink (though all I had in reach was coke, which wasn’t ideal), but a few minutes after that I had another attack and called Steven.

I could hardly breathe and I felt like I would pass out. He arrived saying he’d phoned for an ambulance. I remember it was hard to hear and hard to see and I thought I was dying. I don’t remember everything that happened but I do remember being given drugs and that 2 ambulances came, I think because the first was too small for me. According to my mother the fire brigade was called but weren’t needed, something which gives me some small shred of dignity.

I was kept in hospital for almost a week under observation. I was tested and weighed and given tablets for the pain, cholesterol and my blood pressure. In hospital I apparently weighed my all time high of 58 stone, which is 812 pounds. A lot of it was retained fluid so after treatment I left hospital weighing a little over 53 stone. About a month later I now weigh around 50 stone.

All the while in hospital I begged for a gastric bypass but I’m too big for surgery. I didn’t want to look at food and up until a few weeks ago I avoided eating quite a lot. Even so I’ve got to loose another 15 stone before I’ll be considered healthy enough for surgery.

I don’t think I’ll manage that because despite the support of my family, I’m still overeating. I live with my aunt now in her large house. I can happily stay downstairs and everything I need is here. I can't walk but my grandmother used to live here and as morbid as it may be, her stuff is still here. Being very big, her wheelchair was massive and now I use it myself. The ground floor was also well designed for someone like me, with disabled rails in the bathroom and wide corridors, ramps at steps and so on.

My aunt knows that I will eat no matter what, so she cooks very large but very healthy meals for me, so I fill up on good stuff. She buys me all the snacks and treats that I want but they’re in top cupboards so I only get them when she thinks it’s appropriate. It’s given me some restraint that I badly needed. I still eat loads and when my cousins come over we binge like crazy (all of them now scared to end up like me though), but I’m much better than I was when Steven was feeding me.

Apparently he had a lot of difficult questions to answer when my parents arrived after my heart attack, and he hasn’t seen me since. He’s text me but we haven’t really spoken. I want to avoid getting into a situation like that again, where I was his play thing.

Anyway, I’m still settling into my life at my aunts and I will write more about it another day. I wanted to write more but I'm very tired these days. It’s late for me though so I’m off to bed. Night all!

~xXx~