How Does it Feel to be Fat and What Does Poetry Have to do with it?

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This was my world for 10 years. 9 of which were an endless series of weight loss failures. My dramatic diet efforts brought short-term results. I always ended up heavier and fatter than before. I was growing desperate with every pound gained back. Yes, I was a nervous wreck on the verge of collapse. A well-fed hippo of a woman frustrated by her giant size, worsening health and severe depression…

All that is the story of the past. 5 years ago I celebrated my first weight loss success ever. I lost 95 pounds in 7 months on cookie diet. And what’s more – I maintain the weight at the same level since then. This is the second greatest achievement in my life. But I don’t want to share with you here how I finally manage to get slim with diet cookies and keep my appetite in check. You can learn all that you want to know about cookie diet on Smart for Life Medical Weight Loss Program web site. I’m bringing back my overweight nightmare memories because I’ve come across my poetry that I wrote in the times when FAT was the king.

How does it feel to be fat? Oh, how easy it is to forget the moment you lose weight. But I never will. The poetry I composed for creative writing lessons is a terrifying record of my state of mind when I was fat and disgusting. My writing is by far the best weight gain deterrent and junk food cravings suppressant. After reading all poems I wrote years of fat ago, I was shocked and speechless to remind myself how bad it was.

I was ugly, repulsive and hardly bore any resemblance to a human being. My body size was grotesque and my face looked bloated. And all those people chasing me with their utter-disgust stares. My self-esteem was zero. I didn’t talk to anyone or even look anyone in the eyes. I avoided people and places. I stopped going out. Only my room was a safe zone. I was lonely. I was a ghost. I was close to madness. I hated myself and my life and I hated others. No one liked me. No one wanted to even approach me. I was bleeding, I was crying, I was dying….

The Cornice

She stood up there - on the cornice
tossed by every wind flurry.

Locked in a passionate embrace of a new vision of herself.

Free and alone soaring in the air,
disobedient genius licking her hands
[like an affectionate dog].

She saw a place sacred to the sun
where roses never fade.

And then everything was still
like the color in a stained-glass window.

The wind-whipped cornice
became a memory to be avoided.

It’s only now that I realize how close I was to end my agony. Hopeless, disillusioned, lethally exhausted with life...and the cornice became my rescue and my consolation. The cornice would save me from pain, from my life, from shame, from my body, from myself… The possibility of the cornice was so alluring and heartening. It was becoming the only option, the way out of my misery. It was a checkmate situation – eating brought me a short-lived relief, and eating was the cause of all my suffering. I ate to feel better at least for one short moment and then hit bottom even harder. I brightened up for just a twinkling to go out like a candle…

Checkmate

With stearin sputters

the candle goes out.

Dusk looms large

flickering its shadows

upon the hope.

Its glimmer dims.

X-rayed dreams

dumped in heaps

of broken images.

Breath hums

its goodbye tune

in carillons of gasps.

Life tethered

in cage of heart –

throbbing drums

beating last bangs,

muffled to stop.

And you are gone.

It was close… I dragged myself from the shadows and came back to life. It’s so good to be here now. It feels so wonderful to be slim, to have the body you like, to be attractive, to see myself in the flattering mirror of people’s eyes. I love every minute of it. I returned to the university and graduated with the second highest mark. Now I’m finishing my doctor’s studies. I play in an amateur theater in my pastime and I’ve just started dancing lessons. I enjoy going out with friends. I love my life!

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