Read through these both staggered by the honesty and insight, and laughing out loud at the wickedly funny wit I saw here. It's too good to leave lurking in the archives, so bumping this up.

I will also attempt to add my own .02 to the thread, but these posts are hard acts to follow. Wishing the very best to everyone who posted here.

My turn:

I can't do it. I can't call you dear fat. You have been the kudzu vine of my existence--here to do a not-so-simple job, and vital to my life. Without you, I would have been the bird that eats 24-7 to keep from starving. We had a good working relationship. Yet without my planning it or wanting it, you stealthily took over my world and affected every aspect of it, slowly crushing the life out of me.

It's gotten so skewed over the years that it's hard to say when things went wrong, but it seems that for most of my life you've been there. You've been the voice in my ear that says, "Feeling stressed? Eat that." "Feeling sad? Have a piece of this." "Lonely? Have I got a pizza for you . . ." AND I BELIEVED YOU!!! I BELIEVED YOU! I thought that food was the solution to every problem.

Now I see that you were the biggest problem that I faced in my life.

And damnit, I am facing you down now. You have a job to do. Get back in the f******g corner and do it, and don't lie to me, don't steal from me, don't tell me that you will be my friend.

I LOOK IN THE MIRROR NOW, FAT!!! and I like what I see. How many years did I avoid them? Never mind, I'm moving on.

You didn't just hurt me, you hurt the ones I love, and for that, I will never forgive you, never trust you, never believe you again. Okay, I know that's unhealthy and extreme, but I want to hurt you back. I want to restrain and restrict you the way you restrained me in the past. Every time I roll over in bed, every time I sit down gracefully and get up without wheezing, it reminds me of how good my life is without you running the show.

All those boxes of clothes I had packed away for someday? Remember them? They didn't weigh quite as much as you did, but they took up a lot of room, just like you did. And now? I wear them. They're not just hopeful symbols of someday--I put on the pleats and the plaids and the little clothes, and I walk out into the world.

Fat, it was me, not you. I let you get out of control, and I relinquished far too much of my life to you. You're like the tenant that doesn't pay rent and refuses to move. You've gotten your eviction notice now, and I am turning up with strong-armed friends to help me pack your junk and haul it away.

See this one, the one with the strong lean leg muscles? That's my pal exercise. Don't mess with her. And over there, the one with the healthy glow to her skin and hair? That's nutrition. And the one in the lab coat and the stethoscope? That's my body chemistry getting itself set right, because I plan to be around a long, long time now. I didn't used to want to be. Three years ago if I'd gotten a fatal diagnosis, I think my only question would have been, "How much longer do I have to wait?" And now I want to live forever. That was you, fat. That's how I felt when you were my primary relationship. Guess what? You're not, anymore. I have friends in me that give back instead of just taking away.

See those ones? the musician? the artist? the linguist? Those were old, dear friends whom I lost track of over the years, but they give me every bit as much joy now as they once did.

This one? Special. This is order, organization. She's the clean freak of the crew, and finds it easy and even fun to hop up and grab a broom. We all remember what an effort that required 120 pounds ago. And now she dances like Cinderella and enjoys the freedom of movement, and we all enjoy the way the place looks now, and it's just going to get better.

Between all of us, fat, you don't stand a chance. We have our eyes on you, we don't trust you. We will use you, because you are necessary to our vital functions. You just don't get to grow all over our life again. Back down, shut up, and do your job.

You are a liar and a thief and an abuser.

I don't always understand this new life. Sometimes it's scary to me. But what scares me most of all is the idea of you coming back and stealing my joy. I don't know my way through this way of living--sometimes it feels new and overwhelming, but I have been developing some amazing skills, things I should have learned decades ago, and there is only one way to go: forward.

I chose this life. Whatever becomes difficult in it, you are not the solution. Don't offer. Remember that scene in Walk the Line, where the dealer came by with junk to sell to Johnny Cash when he was kicking heroin? Remember how the Carter family met him with shotguns and said they'd kill him if he ever turned up there again? That's how serious I am.

This is the watershed, and I am turning into this unfamiliar land and walking into the sunlight.

Don't follow me.