What would people think of me if I told them that I wanted to be fat? Say, fatter than I already am?

Would they judge me and shake their heads? Why would I want to do something so harmful to my health?

Fat is bad. Fat is lumpy and unbecoming. It must be true, it’s on the television, and the internet.

Fat bashing is part of the menu, right next to the fried onion rings.

I have had this crazy notion in my mind for awhile now, and today I found a website devoted to gaining weight on purpose. I think that I might give it a try.

This isn’t a funny post, my friends. It runs deeper than just wanting to see my belly jiggle.

The truth is, I have been having passive suicidal thoughts. I feel that I am just going through the motions of living. Each day is a painful reminder of the person I once was. I have limited interest or passion in anything. I awake each day to a blank, bleak canvas. My paint supplies have gone dry.

I admitted this to my husband, that maybe if I reached 300 pounds, I wouldn’t live a very long life. Obviously this upset him greatly, but holding onto this poison in my heart has become far too difficult to bear alone.

I write it down for myself, to release my darkest thoughts. This is what this blog was originally made for.

I try so hard to regain my health, both mental and physical. I don’t think that I want to continue to plug away at redemption. I just want to, as I love to say, let it be.

Just screw it and give in to the inevitable.

I am afraid to publish this post. I don’t want to frighten anyone. I just needed to admit to this rancid garbage, my little plan that I have concocted.

Give in to a body that has given up on me.