Morbidly obese. Here's how it happened.

I was born a chubby baby.

Glancing at the surface of my genetics, a good portion, I'd say 60% of my family members are overweight. However, my mother is bone thin, and my father is of an average size.

My obsession with my chubbiness started in early adolescence. Around age 11 or 12, I would go for days without eating and I would strive on a diet of pepsi and water.

At age 14, I dropped a considerable amount of lbs. My mother and I put our heads together, and she would prepare five meals for me. Two of them consisted of fruit and pudding, and the remainder all rich with vegetables, brown grains and lean protein.

In high school, I was involved with sports and became an avid runner. I thought I was chubby during this time, and desperately wanted to lose weight.

I've put on about 40 lbs since then. My athletic ability has taken a drastic dive. I can not walk up the steps without being winded. Topping the scale at 190, with only 5 feet of height to my frame. And I can't stop stuffing my mouth.

When I was younger, sweets and treats were locked away from reach. I didn't connect with my peers and lived my twelve years of public school in the shadow of bullying. In my grade school days is where I set the foundation for my addiction. My father would sneak home a candy bar, and this candy bar would be the first thing on my mind when I woke up and the last thing on my mind when I went to sleep. Sandwiched between the pressures of an abusive home and bullying outside the house, snacks and food were always within reach. My lunch box was loaded with healthy foods, and I would resort to borrowing money to snag some fries or even steal a twinkie from a neighbor in the cafeteria.

I've always gobbled food when the oppurtunity was present, and the oppurtunity was rare.

Now, as an adult, I have access to obesity-inducing fast food. I stuff my mouth constantly, while my mother throws comments my way such as "Holy cow, she's eating again!" "I'm so happy to be thin, you must be so miserable with your weight, I can see why you argue so much with me." "If you lost 50 lbs, then you can buy that dress." "You're getting wide." She never misses the oppurtunity to treat me like pond scum in regards to my size.

Everyday I move around and feel the excess weight on me. I nearly suffocate myself to retract my stomach, I even duct tape my abdomen on special occasions to present a more shapely facade. I never show my arms, I even wear long sleeves in the summer, and I haven't sported a pair of shorts since early elementary school. My clothes don't fit me anymore. Some days I catch glances in the mirror of myself and burst into tears, other days, I catch a passing glimpse and decide I look regal and ready for a binge.

I'd say 80% of my life has been attempts to diet. I let go of a few lbs, then my primitive appetite raises the scale needle to a new level. I always take one step forward and three steps back. It's not as easy as staring down a nutritional grocery list or attending a few classes at the gym. Most diets mandate that you rush out and buy hundreds of dollars worth of a small volume of healthful foods, but no amount of money, as celebrities like Oprah has demonstrated to us, can erase the weight. Not to mention, my motivation runs on E after the first two weeks, so the apples and pears will serve no purpose other than to rot, anyway.

At 19, my mother mandates that I see a pediatrician. Fantastic. Now I have someone I CAN'T come to about weight inquiries. But there are some nice toys in the waiting room to play with (sarcasm).

I need desperate help. What are your suggestions?