It's not really a secret how fat I am; I mean, how could it be? My size announces itself before I even open my mouth. I can't hide it, no matter how much I try to shrink into myself. I thought certain things in my life might change as I got older, but I never imagined this: being trapped, not metaphorically, but physically.

My weight has reached a point of no return —unless, of course, I opt for some extreme medical intervention. Each day, I feel the walls of my own body closing in, my fat a prison I’ve built brick by brick. My legs swell and chafe with every step, the raw sting m...

It's not really a secret how fat I am; I mean, how could it be? My size announces itself before I even open my mouth. I can't hide it, no matter how much I try to shrink into myself. I thought certain things in my life might change as I got older, but I never imagined this: being trapped, not metaphorically, but physically.

My weight has reached a point of no return —unless, of course, I opt for some extreme medical intervention. Each day, I feel the walls of my own body closing in, my fat a prison I’ve built brick by brick. My legs swell and chafe with every step, the raw sting making me to shuffle or sit instead of walk. I know the couch will welcome me; the bed is my sanctuary. And yet, even lying there, I can’t escape the heaviness.

My stomach bulges, pushing against the waistband of clothes that once fit comfortably. Denim? Buttons? Forget it. I live in stretch fabrics now, the kind that expand without judgment but also without warning. How do you realize you’ve doubled your size when your clothes stretch with you , betraying you silently? I don’t even notice anymore until something mirrors my body back at me—a photo, a glance in a shop window, a passing remark I pretend not to hear.

I can't help but feel disgusted by my reflection: a body shaped by greed, by overindulgence, by a refusal to stop . My brain feels like it’s been rewired, permanently programmed to consume, consume, consume. Food isn’t a necessity anymore; it’s a craving, an obsession, a ritual.

Even writing this, I feel the humiliation flood me. Every word feels like a confession, like stripping myself bare for the world to see. But then again, isn’t that what my body already does? My fat is my truth, visible and undeniable, and I am trapped within it.

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clip includes: fat chat, extreme elements, ruin fetish, humiliation, eating, partial nude