Big Girl

Posted by Anonymous.

I wonder how I got here, and what is going to happen.

We started out as friends, talking for hours on the phone, until the sun came up - countless times.

You would stumble home from the bar, and speed dial me, realizing the cruelty of 20-something girls in university, and falling in love with the voice on the other end of the line - I accepted you and loved you just the way you were, your goofy laugh, your silly ego, your big dreams. You told me I was different, I was beautiful, I was ALMOST everything. My biggest problem was MY bigness. Over 200 pounds was too much to love. I promised to take care of it. You supported me.

We got past all the silliness and secrets, and were each other's firsts. It was memorable. Our physical relationship continued to be amazing. We learned it all together. It was incredible.

We became a couple - I eventually moved to your city, immediately lost 50 pounds. Despite the hardships of the first few months, we grew together, with passion and love and innocence. I worked at an awful job and survived for years. I made sure you finished school on time and succeeded. Your parents did not know about us. They still don't. Mine do, and they adore you, and even respect the mystery surrounding our secret. They don't know the reason I am a secret is because I am fat, and that your family's leash of money has kept me a secret.

My weight didn't budge past that first milestone. We were poor, the gym was too expensive, it was too hard, I gave tons of excuses. We kept it going because it was meant to be. We had time.

The time we spent was always quality - reading newspapers, discussing politics and world events, teaching each other and enlightening our minds in our spheres of influence. We were silly. We could act silly, you admired my love for animals and kids, I loved your passion for sports, your knowledge of what was happening in the world. I even indulged your delusions and comparisons to new heroes you read and learned about. I allowed you to believe their plight was similar to yours, every time. I forced you out of your comfort zone - took you on grand adventures and shared my useless knowledge of trivial things.

You eventually got into grad school, and had to leave our city, our country. You asked me to stay here, hold down the fort. Things changed, but we managed to survive all the obstacles. I saved your ass countless times. I got you through grad school. I sacrificed so much and came to visit as often as I could. Sometimes I spent the whole time cooking and cleaning and "making love." I didn't care. I would leave my whole life behind to do that forever. I love you that much. You make me that happy.

We were together or on the phone almost every night for nearly eight years. We shared every secret and fear and hope for the future. But the elephant was still in the room. Time was passing.

My inability to shed the weight has destroyed our future. It may be too late, but I am working to get rid of it now, for ME, for my health, for my own future. And now you're off playing with bleach blonde girls whose names end in "y" and "i". Because you are less goofy, more fit, and have letters behind your name, they want in your pants. And you have become vain and superficial enough to believe these college-age girls actually care.

I'd love to say that they can have you. But I can't, even though my heart has shattered in a million pieces, I won't give up on us.

Something this special doesn't happen twice in a lifetime.

That's why you still call me, for a week at a time, needing my voice as reassurance to get you to sleep at night.

That's why you still fantasize about me. You call me and I indulge you.

And I haven't told a soul the whole truth - that the love of my life has left me because I am too fat.

I haven't shared that shame with a soul, because I know that they will judge you, and some will blame me, call me a fool, or worse yet, not say anything but judge me.

Our dirty secret looks me in the mirror every day. It makes me crop photos, ashamed of how I look. It makes me head to the gym, and try not to cry, thinking about the bitch with caked-on makeup flirting with you, or worse, on top of you.

You may think you have changed, but you are still the scared goofy kid I fell in love with.

Every time I think I can move on, my heart stops me.

I am wonder how I got here, and what is going to happen.