fat pornography

It was 2 am. Outside it was raining. The fog covered the top of the city and it felt like a horror movie outside. I had dozed off by my computer and woke up to the groans and moans of a busty redhead being taken from behind. I had fallen asleep to cheap porn again. I felt like such a cliche. I wiped the drool from the side of my mouth and rubbed my eyes. I stared at my screen and felt nothing. The squeals of the redhead echoed in the emptiness of my apartment. I felt so hollow. I sluggishly got up and headed to the kitchen; I needed to fill the void in my soul with food.  At 341lbs there was nothing more to do. I was too far into the fat to get out. I opened the cupboard and scanned the abundance of unhealthy crap I kept stored for nights just like this. Cancerous chemicals, processed fats and heart stoppers. I settled on a party size bag of plain ruffles and spinach dip and a family size bag of double stuff Oreos. The redhead had finished swallowing and the next clip was on: a busty blond with fake boobs that stood at attention. She was riding a chiseled man with a six pack and a face like a crater. I arranged the food in a reasonable order; bag on the left, dip in my hand and the cookies on the right and I began to dig in. I could feel my self loathing deepen with every bite. Last Christmas my family got together and got me a year membership to a fancy gym that was down the street from my work. It included a few sessions with a personal trainer. I went once, and after seeing all the hard bodies there, I felt ashamed and embarrassed and never went back. I felt guilty for wasting my family’s money, time, and effort. I felt bad for disappointing everyone.  I stuffed a handful of cookies in my mouth to seal in that hatred and hurt.

I looked around the apartment; the only light coming from the porn on my computer. What a dump. It looked like a war zone. I have been collecting the mail for over a month and didn’t feel motivated enough to open a single piece of mail: I didn’t want to see any bills or ads. Laundry was about 2 weeks over due and there were small mounds of clothes leading from the front of the living room to my bedroom. I didn’t know anymore what was clean and what dirty. I knew the clothes in the washroom were dirty. The smell of dirty clothes and overflowing garbage suddenly permeated my consciousness. I looked into my kitchen and in the shadows, could make out a pile of rotting junk.  I finished the bag of chips and carelessly threw the empty bag on the floor. I couldn’t be bothered to get up and walk all the way across the room to the garbage pile. It was too much of an effort. My eyes were burning and I was excruciatingly tired, but unable to sleep; i had been surviving on naps for months. They were more like short sleeps. Well, maybe they were just sleeps. I was sleeping a lot.  I had started this cycle of hopelessness and couldn’t pull myself out. There was no one to care. I was single, friendless and on the brink of being jobless. I had this bizarre notion that fat people didn’t deserve to cry, to feel bad, to be cared for. But it’s exactly how I felt. I wanted to cry, I wanted someone to care and hold me and shush away all the hurt. I wanted someone to tell me I was worth it. I was worth saving. But I couldn’t save myself. This thought made me feel so bad, I needed more food. It was a vicious cycle, but it felt right at the moment. When the moment passed, it was like someone had turned the lights on while I was naked taking a shit. I was alone and embarrassed and full of self hate. Reluctantly and against my better judgement, I got up and went back into the kitchen, it was almost 4 am. I got 3 cans of pop and another large bag of chips and sat to watch more porn. I couldn’t feel more pathetic if I tried...