Begin at the beginning.

I've always been overweight.   Well, maybe not as a newborn, but ever since then I have weighed more than I should.  I was cute, don't get me wrong, but I was always bigger than the other kids.

I was never traumatized by my weight.  I DO remember shopping in TSS (a New York-based department store) with my mother when I was little and having to go to the "chubby" section to buy clothes.  I'm sure it wasn't literally CALLED the chubby section, but that's what my mother asked for, and that's what the lady directed her to.

"Oh, you'll need to go to the CHUBBY SECTION for her, ma'am."

Y'all, I could feed a goat with the best of them!

When I was 13, my mother took me to my first Weight Watcher's meeting.  I was so annoyed.  Surely she didn't expect me to join her and my sister on the weight-loss journey when I was perfect as I was?  Was she insane?  I humored her, of course.  I let her weigh my foods and used Sweet 'n Low liberally and attended my weekly weigh-ins.

This was the beginning, you guys.  I spent years after this losing and gaining weight.  I repeated the cycle, got angry with myself, and finally realized I liked food too much to be divorced from it.

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I totally always felt as if I were hot shit.  From my youth into my teens into my young adulthood; I always felt confident and secure.  I was fat, sure, but I was beautiful.  I don't think I every TRULY thought anything else.  I was aware that people made fun of "THE FATS," but I never really felt as if anyone made fun of ME.  Perhaps I was naive.  Perhaps I was immune.  Perhaps I didn't give a shit.  No matter what, I never played myself down.

I dressed up.  I got my hair did.  I put on makeup.  I accessorized.  I was a stone-cold fox.

This went on for years.  Even when someone DID bring attention to my weight, I was almost shocked by it.  I remember being in Kmart when I was around 22 or so.  I was browsing greeting cards and a young teen walked by the aisle and said, "Hey!  I think somebody FREED WILLY."  He laughed and pointed.  I looked around me, horrified for the person he was talking to.  Would he or she be hurt?  It was only as I noticed that I was alone in the aisle that I realized he was talking about ME.  I was taken aback. Is he calling me fat?? 

Well, yes.  How I made it that long without noticing anyone making fun of me is beyond my comprehension.  I didn't get sad, though.  I walked around the end of the aisle and called out to him, "You're an asshole!"  Great comeback, I know.  Pretty sure it made me super cool.  Or something.  You work with what you've got, though, and asshole was it.

Life went on, though, and I got older.  I had boyfriends and fiancees and husbands.  Well, one husband.  I wasn't a whore, you know.  My point is that I never had problems with guys.  I assume it was my attitude.  I thought I was amazing, so why shouldn't everyone else?

Then I had my babies, you guys.

I lost 52 pounds when I was pregnant with Alyssa.  Some of it was the fact that she was a human parasite and consumed everything I put in my mouth.  Most of it was the fact that I threw up constantly and the very HINT of cooking meat sent me to my room for hours.

It was cute, though.  Look at me being thinner AFTER birth than before.  Only, you guys, I still loved food and made up for those nine months by gaining back my lost weight AND a ton (omg pun) more. 

 

Then I had my second parasite and gained even more.  What can I say? I really enjoy the eats.

Years went by and I really didn't give much thought to my weight.  Sure, I couldn't run around a lot with my girls.  Sure, I got tired easily.  Sure, I went through a lot of Doritos. I was still pretty much fine with my body. 

Then, you guys.  Then I found out I was diabetic.  It was November 2012.  I am on a few (ok, QUITE a few) meds for my mental health.  I had blood tests taken every three months to check my liver and kidney function.  This time, my doctor walked in the room and looked sad.  I assumed I was dying.  AS YOU DO.

She sat down, grabbed one of my hands, and said, "Adrienne, you have diabetes."

Again, I was shocked.  SHOCKED.  How could I have diabetes??  That's for fat people, you guys.  I know diabetes can be genetic and it often runs in families and that I DID have diabetic family members, but it still never - in a MILLION YEARS - occurred to me that I might develop it.

Well, I did.  I was diabetic.

 I cried and made an appointment with a Diabetic Nutritionist and went home with two new prescriptions and no clue at all.

I changed the way I ate ENTIRELY.  I watched what I ate.  I took my pills.  I lost 30 pounds.  My A1C went down to 6.0.  I was kicking ass at this diabetes thing!

And then I gained that weight back, plus ten more pounds.  I was horrible at weight loss.  I just lost steam and wanted pizza and GOD DAMN IT, I was going to have it.

And I did.

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This continued until May 2015.

That's when I saw this: 

And I died a little inside.

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