Yup, I'm fat

Deal with it.

Actually, you don't have to deal with it. I do.

You didn't have to deal with the medications for the disease that kept me from feeling hungry, or made me vomit when I ate, or worse...
You didn't have to deal with the massive surgery that cut me in two and removed a lot of one internal organ; the surgery that cut and scarred every single muscle in my belly, that if I turn wrong sends me into a sudden seizure of pain that makes it impossible for me to even scream. They don't give physical therapy for belly surgery. You should see the muscles when they seize, too; pretty amazing. They don't go criss cross; some actually go up and down, and one takes a 90-degree turn when I do situps.

I'm HAPPY I can eat now. Happy, happy, happy. Food tastes soo good when you've lived on crackers and tea and coffee for several years. Lord, yes, pass the butter for that big baked potato - and the cheese and the bacon and the broccoli can go on top too. Lovely.

Yes, yes, I know it's all bad for me. No I do not care. No, I'm not going to get much fatter; I've been trying to exercise and slowly build up the ripped and shredded and scarred muscles. It hurts but I'll get there.

Do I care about your snide comments? No. You are an idiot, with an overblown idea of perfection. To me, perfection is being able to eat at last without spending six hours on the toilet later. Perfection is not being rushed to the ER again for a massive internal infection, because I had no immune system, because I could not even eat or take in vitamins.

But, but, but - you didn't know all that? Well, of course you didn't. You damned fool, neither my fat nor my disease is any of your business - and obviously didn't concern you at any point in time. I'll never be svelte, but at least I won't starve to death.