I was thin until the third grade when I started to develop breasts. Then the fat packed on with no noticeable changes in anything I was doing. It did not help that I did not know how to cook, and my mom's idea of a gourmet dinner was what came out of the microwave. At about age 15, when I got my driver's license, I started driving myself to the National Military Park and walking the three mile loop at least once a week. The new activity sped up my metabolism and I got down to about a size 14. Since I tend to wear my weight well, I was actually starting to look good. Then my stepfather hit on me. I completely freaked out. I went suicidal for a while and stayed out of the house unless I could not help it, or I was sure he would not be there. When I got to college, the suicidal and cutting behaviors continued, so my GP put me on Paxil. My body responded to it almost immediately, and I was functional for the first time in many years. Unfortunately, instead of having the side effect of an appetite suppressant, the medication along with the college lifestyle ended with me packing on about 75 pounds.
Fast forward to graduate school in washington DC. I was doing well, and beginning to take public transportation and walking rather than driving everywhere. I still was eating unhealthily, but things were getting better. Then, as I was crossing the street one evening after night class, I was hit by a car. It is one of those beautiful and rare times where being fat saved my life. It kept my hip from being shattered and significantly cushioned my fall. After that accident, I could not walk distances or up stairs for several months. All the time, however, I continued to eat the same types of convenience food (I was living in someone's basement and really did not have a kitchen--it was a microwave and a hotplate). Now there are no excuses. This is my life; I've made it what it is, and I can change what I need to.
Thanks for asking and giving me this opportunity to remind myself of where I've been and where I'm going