Forever Widening

ONE

I'm turning into a human blimp. I can't stop eating I love that I can't stop inflating. I want my hips to swell, my thighs and cheeks to budge. I want my neck to be a thick and bulging ring of fat. I want my hips to be so wide that they hang off of 3 chairs. I want to completely fill up a loveseat with my enormous hips, ass and thighs. I want my stomach to budge out and hang out and over my overly inflated thighs. I want to waste my days stoned and stuffing my face. Overfeeding myself with every passing hour. An endless flow of calories that I dearly don't need. My arms are beginning to grow heavy with fat, squeezing out of my t-shirts. They're starting to dig into my flesh. I think I've developed a thick layer of cellulite. Purple and pink stretch marks are beginning to decorate my ever wobbling thighs and upper arms. My hips are riddled with deep celulite and stretch marks.. My belly oozes everywhere when I attempt to bend over.

I want to see my hip rolls billowing over the top of my jeans that I outgrew two sizes ago. I don't know if they make them any bigger than this. I didn't think I'd ever blimp out of them, but here we are. My hips having deep gouge marks in them where the waistband is cutting off the circulation in them. I really shouldn't have inhaled those 12 tacos with extra cheese, that pound of nachos and that giant chocolate cake. I knew I was making an enormous hog out of myself, but then again I was high. I just need that escape. And I like to use that high to stretch myself to new limits. I love being able to glut and gorge myself to new extremes. I love when my fat cheeks are full to the brim with calorie laden treats.

I knew it was all over for me when I started to eat gallons of ice cream mixed with double cream and icing. It started out as a once a week treat. Then a twice a week treat. Soon it was an every night expense. I was ingesting thousands of calories that I really didn't need. It wasn't any surprise when I soon outgrew my 3x tees and my size 28 jeans. I was becoming supersized and I didn't know how to stop it. I wasn't really ashamed that I was gaining weight. I actually liked how I looked. I was excited that I was now wider than the mirror. I loved that my stomach bulged our three feet in front of me and that I sometimes had difficulty waddling and carrying things at work because of my enormous thighs and gut. I was enjoying the fact that I was becoming too fat to work. I was out of breath waddling from the break room to my station. On summer days I found myself red face and gasping for breath, having to pull my mask down to breathe. My heartbeat out of control and I felt dizzy. I needed to sit down.

Thankfully my job was understanding about my worsening obesity. They noticed my rapidly increasing waistline and expressed concern to me. They were worried that I was experiencing some kind of health problems when I glutted myself up from a starting weight of about 240 pounds to nearly 365 in a little over 8 months. They offered me a special double-wide, reinforced chair so that I could take my ever-increasing weight off my feet. They understood that it was hard work hauling around all this blubber. My co-workers were understanding too of my forever expanding waistline. They knew that becoming a blimp on purpose. They also respected my choice to overindulge and overeat at every possible turn. No one laughed when the chair I was sitting on collapsed under my tremendous weight as I passed 400 pounds. I wasn't exactly how sure how much over 400 I was, as I hadn't braved stepping on the scale in a while. But I knew I was gaining as the custom ordered six 6x scrubs were struggling to contain me at work. No one was surprised that by my second, Christmas working there I was well over 460 pounds and there was talk of me taking a leave of absence while I struggled to get my weight under control. But did I really want to get my weight under control?

All of my friends and admirers on the internet are telling me I look great. A lot of them are even suggesting that I aim for 500 pounds. I think I'd look great at 500 pounds, personally. I'd certainly be starting to stretch out those custom size 42 joggers that I bought not too long ago. Why not aim for 500 pounds? I'd rather collect while I can and then collect disability. I didn't ever believe that I would be daydreaming of the day that I'd be too obese to work but here I am, it is actually within reach. It's only 40 pounds away. I can do that. I have plenty of time to snack and catch up on shows that I want. I need to take some time off. My back is starting to hurt with all the tonnage that I'm struggling to carry around. I need to have the shower re-sized as I no longer fit in it. I have to take both the shower doors off to be able to step inside the platform. It grown beneath my weight. I'm worried that it might cave in on me.

I have a check up in a few weeks. My doctor wants to check in on my weight loss progress. He wasn't happy when I tipped the scales at 460 pounds the last time he saw me a few months ago. I know that I haven't followed his diet plan. It didn't include macaroni and cheese made with cream and double butter filled with fried chicken, garlic bread and vanilla cupcakes. I had that more than a few times over the past few months. My mobility was starting to decline. I was relining on a scooter to cart myself around the store while I shopped for other calorie-laden treats and fattening tidbits. Steaks with all the trimmings. Pizza nights. Pasta bowls. Candy. Chocolate. Chips and all sorts of frame-widening snacks. I knew my weight was well beyond my control. I was addicted and blimping fast. I found myself gasping for breath at the slightest movements. My friends were worried about me. They'd never seen anyone so big. When they came to visit I was spilling out of the largest size Walmart had to offer. I never looked bigger in my life. I was well over 500 pounds. I never thought I would be. I was almost wider than I was tall. I've just about outgrown the enforced loveseat. I feel it struggling to support my massive frame. I wonder just how big I am and how much bigger I'm going to get.

I waddle into the doctor's office, huffing and puffing. I'm red-faced and sweating by the time I make it to the receptions window. It takes me a few minutes to catch my breath before I can give her my name. She checks me in and directs me to a bench that will support my weight. I'm relieved to take a load off. It's not long before they call my name and I have to once again struggle to my feet. I waddle through the double door, my hips almost brushing the sides of the door. The nurse's eye bulge when she sees the size of me. I'm beyond enormous. I'm straining the seams of super jumbo sweat pants and a t-shirt that could clothe three men. I struggle up onto the platform scale. It takes a few minutes before the scale flashes my weight. 540 pounds flash before my eyes. The nurse shakes her head. I've gained almost another 100 pounds. Constant fast food will do that do you. I'm constantly bloated, but reaching for that little something more every time. My wrists and cankles are bloated. My forearms are getting so thick, I can't believe they're forearms. My stomach hangs down to my knees and wobbles with every slight movement. It looks like someone stuck an air hose in me and let it run for a little while.

My neck is wide and puffy. My head looks out of place swollen and pink. No wonder I need the CPAP machine at night. I really look good at this size. I'm even thinking about gaining a little more. I mean, with the holidays around the corner there is no way I can resist all the festive treats. 600 pounds here I come.