One of the first concerns that most anyone has about gaining weight to the point of obesity is their health and well-being.  In this society, fat pretty much equals death.  I know that that is a phobic reaction, but the truth is being fat does carry its share of risks.  Sometimes thoughts of that can be exciting.. gaining weight is doing something dangerous and naughty.  Other times the thoughts can be frightening.  The thing is, although this activity can be seen as self-destructive, I don't wish to die.  The attraction is in being totally transformed in a way that most others would see as being ruined, and the loss of self-control, even in the addictive aspects of it.  My acceptance of the inevitable consequences swings back and forth. 

    It's something that I've been trying to come to terms with it over the years.  I've gradually come to the conclusion that it's not something I should be too concerned about.  Some fat women are in perfect health, and others not.  It's all kind of a gamble.  If the feeding is done halfway sanely, then I wouldn't gain fast enough for rapid gain to become much of an issue.  Long term problems might arise from just being large, yes, but I could also die in an accident tomorrow.  I started smoking while knowing full well of the risks involved with that, and continue to in spite of everything because I still enjoy it.  And some people engage in extreme, risky sports and activities.  I suppose gaining is similar to that.  The possibility of health problems is just an unavoidable part of gaining and becoming morbidly obese.  In this force-feeding sort of situation, since I'd have no choice except to get fat, I'd have no choice but to accept the risks as well.  If I gave up all control over my weight, I'd be giving up all control over what happened as a result of it.  I'd see it coming, but I wouldn't be able to stop it;  I could only either lose weight or relax and let it all happen.  Of course, it's easy to think of it in these terms while I'm still small.  It's all theory and conjecture.  I mean, I know that at some point I'll have trouble walking long distances, or discomforting standing for too long, or even have trouble finding a seat that would fit me, but that's not like actually experiencing it day after day.  Once I was fat and the reality hit me, I might not be so agreeably fatalistic.  I might panic, but it would be part of my feeder's job to soothe my fears, help me adjust to the changes, and work to keep me from calling it quits and stop growing.

    There is a way to look at this in a positive light, I suppose.  To me, the fascination of being fattened up is not just the weight and fat and eating but the whole package, everything that comes with being supersized, even the ordinary or annoying things.  I want it all, the whole experience of being fat, not just the size and joy of eating.  I don't fantasize that I'm somehow special and will live a life free of difficulties.  I look forward (though not without some fear) to becoming a real life supersize woman, not just some fantasy mental image, and I know I'll have to endure the things that every other very fat person does, even if it ends up more than I bargained for.  I look forward to having my body start to interfere with everything I do and having to learn to go about things a different way.. the difficulties inherent with being a very large size:  more effort to tackle stairs, trouble getting dressed, needing suitable furniture, having trouble standing up out of a low chair, being hot all the time, walking becoming a constant balancing act, or even going to the bathroom a chore, requiring dressing and hygiene aids.  Strangely enough, in a certain way I even look forward to the possibility physical infirmities, like having aching feet and joints from the weight, edema, roll rashes, circulation trouble, getting winded easily, and other problems that extremely supersize women have to cope with on a daily basis.  I don't actually want them, mind you.  If I got fat and I never had a problem, I wouldn't be complaining.  Not having problems isn't realistic, though.  So I'm not eager for those things to happen, but I'll know that if they do start to happen, being huge will no longer be a fantasy but will have become a day-to-day reality, and sometimes an uncomfortable burden.  It's all just a natural part of being that fat.  When I hear of a woman who is coping with these sorts of things, I actually feel a sort of envy.. desiring, at least momentarily, to be in her place, to be able to experience what it's like.  Even if something is alarming at first, I'd just have to get used to it and eventually accept it as a normal part of my life.  No more wondering what it feels like to be that big, but instead truly being that big and whatever comes I'll just have to deal with it, and that's just how it is.  In time, my feeder could even get me to anticipate these things, embrace them, celebrating them if and when they occur.  My weight interfering and making things difficult would be a part of the bondage imposed on me by becoming fat, part of the submission.  Being obese will be a reality that's sometimes good and sometimes bad, but always inescapable.  I like the thought of being slowly convinced and prepared by my feeder until I began to eagerly look forward to them as part of my journey;  being told, "It's good to have your size get in the way.  It's good to have knees that ache beneath your weight.  It's another sacrifice.  You should be happy to accept these burdens for the sake of your fat.  It will mean you're the right size when it happens, just the way I want you."  In time, it might be possible. 

    Of course, there are more serious health issues than just aches and inconveniences.. things like cholesterol, arthritis, blood pressure, heart problems, diabetes, cellulitis, etc.  There's no way to get around the fact that I would be eating my way, bite by bite, into a high risk group.  One can only hope that these things can be avoided.  I certainly wouldn't want to be sick.  I'm not sure what would happen if something serious developed.  Would I freak out and stop?  Would my feeder want to stop?  Would my feeder help me adjust to it as a part of life, treat the symptoms, and not have me lose weight if possible?  In theory, I would like to think that my surrender of control over my weight would still apply even in extreme circumstances.  I would hope that my own dedication to that submission would be strong enough to weather such things without me wresting control away from my feeder.  As long as a condition could be lived with via diet changes or medication without requiring weight loss, then my feeder would keep me fat:  even if a problem could be cured by my simply losing weight, I wouldn't be allowed to lose weight so long as the problem wasn't life-threatening.  Again, in theory.  Lots of things can change unpredictably if medical problems start cropping up.  It would be best if these problems didn't have to be dealt with in the first place.  Hopefully the risks the can lessened with care, preparation, and forethought.

    Then there's the concern of immobility, which I have expressed as a limit.  Sure, the fantasy of it is cool... stuck in place by my own fat, growing nonstop without limit, utterly inundated by billowing rolls of lard, the ultimate in bondage and not even requiring restraints.  I'd love to be able to experience that for a little while.  In reality, though, it's not for a little while.  Once you're immobile, you're likely to stay that way, and I don't think that would be a pleasant way to live for the rest of my life, health issues aside.  Lots of people say they'd like to make someone immobile, but I don't think they've considered all the ramifications.  If you have an immobile person to take care of, it would be like having a 700 pound baby.  They would need constant care and attention, unable to do the simplest of things on their own.  They couldn't even get to the bathroom, and you'd have to take care of that, too.  You could never take a vacation from the 24 hour care, even for a weekend, unless you hired a nurse to tend to them.  And imagine the feedee's point of view.. if something happened to their feeder (became ill, got in an accident, get fed up and left for good), then they'd be stuck on their own, utterly helpless and alone.  And if there was some kind of medical emergency that required a quick trip to the hospital, an immobile person is pretty much outta luck.  Not to mention never being able to get up and go outside, or even into another room.  I don't think I'd be very happy like that, not at all.  And if I did get to be that size and changed my mind, it's not like I could wake up one day and decide to no longer be fat.  It's hard to exercise and lose weight when you can't move.  Pretty much the only option would be weight loss surgery, and that's scary all by itself.  The reason this is a concern, even if I wasn't actually made immobile, is that I might be left so close to it as to make it inevitable from slow gaining, an accident, infirmity, or age.  So, there would need to be a large enough buffer zone there so that it wouldn't be a constant anxiety. 
   
    Even with a buffer zone in place, I realize there's still a risk that immobility could happen anyway due to an accident or even an out-of-control appetite (being left without the ability to stop my eating).  Since there's no way to predict accidents and since losing self-control is part of what I'm looking for, that scenario is less of a concern, as opposed to intentional immobility.

    I also realize that it's a possibility that my feeder could take advantage of my vulnerable state and manipulate me into believing that I needed to become immobile, even though that would go against my limits as well as my own best interests.  That might have even been their secret intention from the start.  They might convince me that I should never be allowed to stop eating to gain, getting me to believe that I wouldn't really be a food addict until I let my appetite have free reign regardless of all consequences.  They might convince me that letting myself become immobilized by my feeder was the ultimate act of submission, the ultimate sacrifice... or that I couldn't call myself a true fatslave until I continued to gain even after I was too fat to lift myself out of bed.  They might say that I wouldn't be a real feedee unless I was willing to gain without limits.  They might get me to a point of desperately begging to be made immobile for my feeder, even if I knew they had no intention of taking care of me after I got there.  I would regret it later, but by then it'd be too late.  They might have me believing that I shouldn't experience life as a 'regular' supersize woman, but rather that I needed to experience having the consequences of gluttony follow their natural course by becoming a perpetually bed-ridden woman who needed home nursing assistance.  The odds of that sort of thing happening are slim, but it is a possibility.  Still, it's a risk I'd be accepting by letting myself become so large and dependent on a feeder.  I could only trust in my feeder not to manipulate me into something along those lines.

    On the far end of the health spectrum is the likelihood of a shorter life span.  There's no way to avoid considering that supersize people just don't live as long, as a rule.  Many might consider gaining as a sort of slow suicide, but that's not how it is for me.  I don't have a deathwish, despite the fact that risky behavior can be exciting.  A feeder has to be aware of this consequence of their actions.  Although, since I'm still young, things like that are almost beyond concept.  It's still something I haven't fully come to grips with yet.  It's scary to think about, but it would be silly to pretend it wasn't the case.  It's something one can only ignore for so long.  One could say that people do risky, unnecessary behavior all the time, like skydiving for example.. just in this case the goal would be to get very fat.  And I have seen some dedicated feedees/gainers saying how they have accepted that a shorter life was just the payoff for being fat, and that they would rather live a pleasurable, shorter life that was full of food and fat instead of a longer, unfulfilled one without it.  I can certainly understand that way of thinking, even if I don't fully embrace it yet.  I'd like it if that became my mindset, as it's the proper mindset for a feedee to have, but that's still a ways off.  I know that in order to be a good fatslave and feedee, it's something I must come to accept.  Again, it's one thing to say it and another thing altogether to experience it.  It's just something I may be able to come around to with a feeder's guidance.  It's hard to say if I'd feel the same way twenty years down the line and the consequences of my fattening were staring me in the face.

    Money can be an issue when one is very fat.  Frequent snacks and meals large enough for three can get expensive and grocery bills can become prohibitive.  Higher medical bills, while undesirable, would likely have to be factored in as well.  Even large-size clothes typically cost more than normal sizes.  It's all quite literally the price of being fatter.  Hopefully a feeder would be able to chip in, but there would probably come a time when I had to take the full burden upon myself.  The food expenses might lessen after I was finished gaining and switched to a maintanence diet in place of a gaining diet, but even then it would still be drastically higher than it is right now.  With no chance of eating less, I would just have to figure grocery bills as making up a large part of my budget.  Strangely, this doesn't bother me as much as it might otherwise.  While it's a concern, it also has its own slight appeal.  Having to pay more for excess food could be another sacrifice to feeding.  A sort of financial submission on top of a physical submission.  I am willing to have to pay more for plus-size clothes, just like every other fat woman.  I might have to forego other luxuries just to pay for an increased appetite, but when it came down to a choice, my stomach would always win.  There's some part of me that likes the thought of having to write a large check at the grocery store, knowing that it would all be going towards filling my belly and possibly making me even fatter.  Every time I had to give something up for more food, it would be a reminder of the sacrifices I was making to be fat.  I would be paying to keep myself in fatty bondage for life, which in itself is kind of humiliating.

    I'm also worried about what friends and relatives would think of my massive weight gain, the old 'what would they think?'.  It might seem like a small thing, but it's daunting to me.  I don't even want to think about it.  Having people who know you see you 'change for the worse' is a whole lot different than strangers seeing you.  It would be embarrassing and impossible for them to understand.  I know for some people that sort of humiliation/attention is part of the fun, but I don't know if I could ever enjoy that.  I can only assume that if I had the right feeder, I would be more interested in gaining for them than in anyone's opinion of me.  Still, it's hard to imagine what it would be like coping with it and the emotional effects on me, so it's a valid concern.

    One of my fears with gaining weight is the likelihood of having to remain single for life.  Naturally, the thought of always being lonesome is scary.  The majority of very fat people out there are single.  Being TG, I have enough trouble finding relationships without adding being middle-aged and obese into the mix.  Honestly, I am no model.  I'm only barely attractive now, and there's no point in deluding myself into thinking that a couple hundred pounds of fat will improve on that.  I know I will never become a pretty bbw, like some are.  Not trying to insult myself, just being realistic.  At the absolute best, I might turn out average.  That's the best I can hope for, to be an average fat woman.  And even so, I'll have to deal with it if I turn out below average, ending up downright ugly.  I haven't had any facial feminization surgery, and I'm not sure it would even be worth it if my face was just going to get covered in fat, anyway.  Also, counting on a feeder to stick around forever would probably lead to disappointment.  A feeder might not stay long after I've reached their goal and they can't fatten me anymore (without breaking limits), if fattening someone is their driving interest.  They'd move on to skinnier, more fattenable pastures.  Even if they did stay, how long do most relationships last?  A few years?  Sooner or later, I'd end up single and fat, which is not normally an enviable lot.  I'm used to being alone.. I almost always have been.  I've learned to deal with it okay.  Yet, one always assures oneself that that will someday change.  It's a worrying prospect to know that after I got fat, that would probable never change. 

    But that provides an example of how my thought process works, and how something negative like the fear of remaining alone can be almost a positive.  For instance, perhaps it should not be something feared, but rather anticipated?  Since most overweight, middle-aged women are single and are able cope it with, why shouldn't I?  I shouldn't expect to be special or deserve more than any of them.  If I so strongly desire to be like other fat women, should I not accept this as part of it?  I would simply be experiencing the same thing that other obese women dealt with- the possibility of growing old fat and alone.  Having to remain single is just an possible side-effect that comes with being fat, the same as developing aching knees, having large grocery bills, or health issues: not something that's desired but simply stuff that comes with the package.  Part of the payoff, the consequences.  If I want the pleasurable aspects and joys of being fat, then I have to embrace everything else- the difficulties and sacrifices- that comes with it.  If looked at from that point of view, remaining single would be the same as the fat-induced celibacy mentioned elsewhere.  Even though it could sometimes lonely and frustrating, if I reached a state where being fat kept me single then I would know I was truly no different from the rest of the fat women out there (except in that I became one intentionally)- which is how I want a feeder to make me. 

    If I accepted it as inevitable, then I could be made aware that my feeder would be leaving me on my own once I reached their goal and I wouldn't have to worry about it (if that was the intention from the start).  It wouldn't be abandonment since it would be part of the deal.  The feeder wouldn't have to feel guilty about it, since I'd know from the start it would be this way, and I would have plenty of time to prepare for it.  The whole time while I was being fed, my feeder might assure me that I was going to have to remain single once they were done transforming me, that it was just an unavoidable part of the person I was becoming.  With every single pound gained, I would know that I would appeal only to a shrinking percent of the population and that my chances for a relationship would be lessening with every mouthful.. and that's at relatively smaller sizes.  Once I hit my feeder's goal, I would be a supersize, approaching-middle-age woman that only a tiny percent would ever find attractive.  My fattening would have rendered me virtually undate-able; my feeder would have taken me permanently 'off the market'.  I wouldn't be able to do a thing about it even after my feeder had left me.  Ironically, my desire to be made unable to diet and lose weight would also keep my helplessly stuck at a size that would consequently insure that I stayed single.  There wouldn't be too many people interested in me at that size, and fewer still interested after I began to age.  I would be very aware that, with each year that passed, I would have less of a chance of finding romance than the year before.  And every year I spent being supersized would make it that much more difficult to do something about it if I wanted to.  I would be getting increasingly used to being that size all the time; the habits ever more deeply ingrained.  With the passing of each year, the mirror would show that I was becoming more and more the waddling old matron that had always been my fate.  Before I knew it, I'd hit middle-age or older and know that any chance of attracting someone had long since passed, along with any possibility of undoing what had been done to me.  It would eventually sink in that, whether I came to accept it or not, I was going spend the rest of my life alone with only my fat belly, food, and a vibrator to keep me company in bed.

    Not that all this is necessarily a bad thing or would come as a shock.  I would have known all this would happen even while I was still being fattened and would have had lots of time to get used to the idea.  I might even grow to look forward to it.  It could be liberating to never again have to worry if I would ever find the right someone, since I'd never have anyone, right or not.  It might even be comforting to that have that uncertainty removed from my life; a kind of peace in being unable to stray from the path that was laid out for me, and I would strive to find happiness with my lot as a fat, aging, single woman.  I wouldn't have to worry about the stress of dating or the effort of trying to make myself look appealing.  When I got lonely, I could always turn to food or plutonic relationships.  Not only might I be unable to physically pleasure myself, I would be unable to even have someone to do it for me.  My fat-forced celibacy and spinsterhood would keep me in a state of frustrated bliss that I could only relieve with food.  It might even be a part of the submission to feeding and Being Fat;  the knowledge that giving over control of my weight also meant sacrificing all future relationships would make the act all the more precious.  My feeder would've made it so that my private life would always remain free of the distractions of intimate relationships, so that I would have no choice but to focus on the pleasures of eating and being fat, like some kind of nun in a fat-worshiping convent.  The soft bondage of my fat would keep intimacy at bay and isolate me within itself, jealously keeping me to itself, not allowing me to share my attentions.

    From the above example you can see how easily I can eroticize just about everything about being fat.  Even some of the most serious concerns can have a silver lining when looked at from a certain point of view.  With enough patience and the right ideas, a feeder might be able to use that tendancy to soothe all my fears and worries.

    I suppose that the fear of many of these things could be lessened by a belief in fate or destiny.  The belief that whatever happens to me only happened because it was meant to happen.  If something bad happened or serious issues developed, it wouldn't be a case of bad luck or losing to the odds, but simply my destiny fulfilling itself.  Like, if I'm destined to be fat, then it's going happen one way or the other even if I try to resist it.  If my weight resulted in me ending up in a wheelchair, for instance, then that too was meant to happen... that I was supposed to experience life as a wheelchair-bound, obese woman and there was nothing I could have done to avoid it.  Similarly, if I lived a long, trouble-free life, or developed some condition, or became immobile, or was lonely, or even died prematurely, then that was just the way it was meant to be.  Though for what reason, I couldn't say.  It might not all be happy and pleasant, but at least I'd know I was fulfilling my purpose.  That's a somewhat comforting thought.  There would be no point in needless worry or regrets.  My only duty would be to let go, indulge and overeat like I was supposed to, and let my destiny reveal itself.


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