We All Have a Beginning...

For every beginning there is an end.  When I was first clinically diagnosed as being morbidly obese I was warned there would be an end.  Sadly, I think the diagnosis was a relief; a burden finally lifted; the years of pain ********.  My sentence here on earth would finally be come to an end.

I know many of you here know the pain I speak of.  For those who do not, please come with me as I relive the agony I have had to call my life.  As I stroke each key and recollect the syllable of each hurtful word said to me, think of my pain.  Instead of being reduced to a timid person lacking confidence I became a morbidly obese woman who is all alone.

My years under the age of five are very unclear to me and my embryo cooker changed her story often.  I do know I was born in Newark, New Jersey and my father was for sure Italian.  From the sounds of things I highly doubt he and the embryo cooker ever got a legal divorce.  As a kid I heard over and over how she married the only poor mobster in Jersey and I was his midget.  I cried often about the fact I looked like him for it was and still is true - the embryo cooker still has a firm proportioned body and blonde hair.  By the time I was 13 I had a hairy upper lip, nice furry rear neck line, and a good 15 pounds riding under my chin.  I was clearly the spawn of a fallen mobster dago who was a stand in for jabba the hut.

During the first year of kindergarten the embryo cooker packed me up and we moved to Michigan.  I supposed you really could not get any worse than Newark.  I remember the bus ride being cold and me crying a lot because I had to leave most of my things.  All the things said about my father I still do not believe.  Why I cried so much was because I remember wanting to stay with him and being scared of not seeing him again.  I remember him coming home from work in the morning, spinning me, reading to me, and just me being so excited.  He ran a club in the city where he met and married the embryo cooker when she ran away to the city out of high school.  To this day I truly believe he was the one person who loved me.  When things turned very difficult for me around the second grade I was determined to go and live with my father.  I cried for at least a week when she told me he was killed leaving the club one night.

LovelyLori LovelyLori
31-35, F
Mar 19, 2009