Reminding myself: what I hated about being obese

nehushtan

Though my recent conquests have dulled the sting, the remembrance of things past still haunts me so, and while the memory be green it doth behoove me to contract my brow with former woes and weep afresh years lost to a dark cavernous dungeon of waste... and thus instruct the present so that the future resembleth not the past.

So now, more matter with less art.

What did I hate about it?

I hated the feeling of hopelessness
that I was doomed to be obese
that I had to just get used to it
that I had tried and failed before and so I was probably going to fail again
that I had tried and succeeded before but it didn’t last
that the statistics were against me
that I would probably need cholesterol meds one day
that I would probably die of a heart attack or end up with diabetes
that my belly finally lopped over my belt buckle after having been simply round for a long time
that a side-view of said belly greeted me each morning (thanks to a sliding mirror closet door in the master bathroom of my house)
that my belly was a shelf for small plates and my crossed arms and other items
that other people had flat stomachs but not me
that I was wearing XXL in some clothes
that I was on the edge of the "big and tall" boundary in some clothes
that some of my polo shirt buttons wouldn't stay buttoned
that my polo shirts and t-shirts had a stretch bulge in the belly region after I took them off
that I resorted to wearing black shirts and vertical stripes (along with other gimmicks) to hide the prominent protruding gut
that when I put on a black shirt or vest and looked in the mirror I wished that people would only be able to see me from the front, not from the side
that I could not wear a shirt with horizontal stripes
that there was a category of men's clothes called "tailored fit" (or "slim fit", or "modern fit", or "trim fit") that I would never be able to wear
that my necktie had to follow the contour of my big ol' gut
that I couldn't use a full knot for my necktie because there would not be enough material for the rear blade
that I could not look down and see my belt buckle
that I had to wear oversize t-shirts at the beach and the pool
that I ripped the crotch seam of my pants one day simply by stepping in to my car
that I had to laugh along with others when they made comments on my weight
that I felt dumb because in spite of my advanced education I couldn't solve this problem
that I had moobs
persistent discomfiture
that I had heartburn most nights
that every so often some bile would back up into my upper esophagus while I slept so that I would be kept awake for while by a persistent rancid taste back there
that I couldn't sleep on my stomach without discomfort or without fear of inducing that eruption of acid
that I couldn't bend over to tie my shoes without wheezing
that I couldn't climb a flight of stairs without heaving
that I couldn't control my eating and constant snacking and large meals at restaurants with bread or chips and appetizers and large entrees and desserts and at home eating everything off my kids' plates after finishing everything on my plate and then snacking like a madman until bed time

Can I get a witness?