There's a lot of stigma around the word fat. If you consult Merriam Webster’s dictionary, it has multiple definitions and uses, the most common of which is related to our human bodies and the excess thereof. I imagine that way back in its origin it was more commonly used to describe things other than ourselves, but we’ve managed to turn it into something much uglier: a derogatory term, an insult. We shouldn't call ourselves or each other fat. It’s hurtful and it doesn't define us. As someone recently posted, we aren’t fat, we have fat.
Despite all the painful connotations of this simple word that I hear on a regular basis, despite the initial hurt it causes when someone calls me fat, I’m actually okay with the word. Because I aspire to be what’s considered simply ‘fat’. Right now I’m something much more scary than fat. The medical term that describes my body’s physical size is "SUPER MORBIDLY OBESE". It’s not a pretty term and there’s certainly nothing super about it. And while I don’t anticipate anyone ever yelling that out of a car window at me when I’m walking down the street (especially when there are so many other insults with less syllables), it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever been called. Because it’s not coming from a kid in school, a stranger at a concert, a relationship gone wrong or some other situation where I could just try to dismiss it as someone being rude. It’s not an opinion. It’s an undeniable fact. When it’s in black and white on a medical record it’s no longer an insult, it’s a death sentence. And saddest of all, it’s one I’ve written myself. Not cancer, not heart disease (although it can easily lend itself to these), but instead a 100% self-inflicted disease. A disease of choices. An expansive series of poor choices born of an inability to properly process abuse, pain, depression and fear. Something that could have been avoided, and if not corrected, will quite literally kill me. It’s a subtle, slow and somewhat acceptable form of suicide. It’s something we do to ourselves when we don’t know what else to do.
It’s so difficult to explain to someone how I could let things get this far, as I myself still don’t fully understand. You can’t grow to over 400 lbs without noticing it along the way and yet it all seems like a blur. It baffles me the adjustments I’ve made in my life to continue with this lifestyle. The modifications to everyday living, the physical pain, the shame and avoidance of contact with other people, it all became so commonplace that it just seemed normal. But it is anything but normal to live like this. And as much as I want to be free from this prison, it’s actually a scary proposition to be rid of this weight. It’s so much a part of me that I don’t know who I would be without it, but I think I am finally ready and willing to find out. It’s choices that got me here and from now on every moment of every day, I will have to make a choice to either continue a path to my demise or to drastically change course and create a new healthier destiny. It’s never too late, until it is. That realization may make all the difference for me.
I’ve released 40 of these crippling pounds so far this year and have too many to count left to go. My goal weight of 175 lbs is actually only .9 BMI points away from the National Institutes of Health’s category definition of obesity. By those standards, I know that I will never be a “normal” weight and I’m okay with that. I might die with a fat body, but I won’t die because of it. Right now I am choosing life.