there’s a reason they call it a die-it

I can’t deny it. I’ve gotten fat.

Very fat.

I can’t even remember how I got to this point, but all that matters is that I did. I’m a mountain of sweaty, wobbling rolls, pockmarked with cellulite, my copious flesh oozing ingloriously between any gap in my ever-tightening clothing. My body takes up my entire bed - which is now more of an enormous, reinforced hospital bed than anything meant for comfort, complete with a motorised section to raise up my upper body into a position resembling sitting up at the push of a button. Lord only knows I couldn’t sit myself up if I tried, with what little was left of my atrophied muscles.

I now share my home with a live-in doctor, too. I have for a long time, but before now they were always changing around - I never could get along with any of them. They were always so… well, clinical. So cold and distant, and always trying to get me to change my lifestyle and lose just a bit of weight, so I could get back on track to maybe, someday, living an ordinary life. But I never could. Maybe I’m too entrenched in the idea that my weight is out of my hands, maybe it’s my unhealthy relationship with food - hell, maybe I enjoy being so massive, and all the attention it nets me. Whatever the case, I would never cooperate with their requests, and they’d always leave in frustration - and they’d always be replaced, and the cycle would repeat.

Only, this newest doctor is different. Sure, they do all the same jobs as the ones before - making sure all the medical instruments in my room are working fine, carrying out regular checkups and weigh-ins, helping out with the everyday complications and emergencies that come with my weight - but never once have they seriously brought up the idea of my losing weight. Sure, they might have me try out some kind of diet, or help me get out of bed and use my walker or a wheelchair to get out and about, but I can always decide to stop, and they listen to me. Sometimes, they even enable me, and feed me whatever it is I’m craving. Maybe it’s because we both know I’m not going to stop, and we’re both at peace with what this diet is going to do to me.

It’s going to kill me.

If anyone wants to rp this send me a message:3