Dear Fat,

You used to be my protector, but you sneakily became my jailor. You were my first addiction, and you're my last and most tenacious, too. I've read self-help books about how to break up with you until my eyes were blurry, but all that got me was a shelf full of self-help books I was ashamed to even lend to people, because then they'd really know just how neurotic I was (you told me they couldn't tell, while I wore you around like a fur coat in the summer). I only went through the motions of asking you nicely - not demanding - that you leave (because YOU told me early in my life that I wasn't worthy of demanding anything). I lost a good bit of you a few years ago, and started to feel superficially good about myself (and fit into some cute clothes even), but you didn't really go away. You were waiting for me to meet a man, so you could come back to me to offer protection against that uncomfortable feeling of even the idea of being lovable. As it turns out, I didn't really even like the guy, and you were right there to whisper in my ear that you could help push him away without my having to say anything and risk hurting him. Instead of hurting him, you offered to HURT ME!! What a thing to offer!! You are a schmuck!! And I accepted your offer!! It was so familiar being with you again. When you and I got back together, all that old familiar regret, self-loathing and self-pity came along with you. But I wasn't as happy being unhappy as I used to be.

Well, Fat, the good doctor (RIP) has once again saved me. The more fat I eat, the less of YOU there is on me!! HA!! The joke's on you! I'm meeting new healthy people in new healthy ways, and my ever-increasing sense of worth is really squeezing you out, isn't it? How d'you like me now?

You are such old news. We are so done. Don't call, don't write. We were never good together. You never pleased me, you were barely something to do.

I feel lighter already!!