Dear Fat.

Dear Fat,

You and me need to part ways like whoa. You came into my life when I was a skinny young thing of only 118 pounds, a young whipper snapper college freshmen just 18 years old and ready to take on the world. You snuck into my dorm room during those formative years, always that third wheel wherever I went. Before I knew it, we were inseparable at age 22.

You brought me an extra 22 pounds in just 4 years.

I know, I know – I’m sure you thought it was sweet, just sneaking in gift after gift of pound after pound. And before I knew it, I was 140 pounds heavier thanks to your abundant gifts during college. But now, now it’s just gotten out of control.

When we moved to Maryland in 2004 and I started my first full-time job, you were there for me with all the stress of living on our own. And living paycheck to paycheck – you warmed me up with another 10 pounds. I was okay living on a mac n’ cheese diet for a while (because that’s all we could afford some weeks) because I had that 150 pounds of your delicious Fat to feed off of.

By the time I was trying on my wedding gown at my final fitting, I was up to 185 pounds. In just4 years, you gave me another 35 pounds. I could hardly keep up.

You let me enjoy our newlywed years. We kept a cool distance, because you understood that Larry was the focus of my attention. I won’t lie: I didn’t miss you.

But then as we approach our 4th wedding anniversary this January, you’ve come knocking back at my door. 10 more pounds you’ve given me.

I now weigh 195 pounds thanks to you, Fat.

This is officially the most I’ve ever weighed in my life. 118 feels like a long, distant time ago, like a grainy sepia photo where I should be wearing something akin to Mae West as opposed to the turn of the 21st century Gap and Old Navy I used to sport. (Ok, who am I kidding, I still wear Old Navy.)

Fat, you’ve been hanging around for a long time in my life: 11 years! Breakups are hard, I know. And it’s not you: it’s me. No really, I mean it. I know the only reason you ever hang around is because I keep letting you back into my life. But Fat: this is a physically abusive relationship. I mean, I can’t keep hiding your abuse behind clothes forever.

My back is taking a beating. So are my knees and ankles. I’ve always been a klutz, and never terribly steady on my feet, but all this extra weight just adds to the likelihood of me hitting the ground.

It’s no secret now that stairs make me wheezy, that I can’t jog for more than half a block. Fat, you’re helping to keep the makers of albuterol in business. Sometimes I can’t tell if the wheezing is truly mid-fall seasonal allergies (damn you ragweed!) or something much worse.

And when you team up with Premature Ovarian Failure and Familial History of Type II Diabetes, you can make for a deadly team.

Fat, it’s time to cut you out of my life. Look, I love my curves. But I had plenty when I was a college freshmen and didn’t weigh nearly this much. I love my food too. I’ve always said: life is too short not to eat good food. But I’m realizing it’s about eating well. Subtle but important difference.

I know you’ve got your entourage: Butter, Cream, Bacon and the like. I’m happy to hang out with them, but perhaps in moderation. I’m trying to meet a new group of people, like Healthy Portion Sizes, Yoga, and Eating Breakfast Consistently. I know I always thought I was too good for them, but now I see that these are the folks I should be hanging out with.

So you can see Fat, it’s not you, it’s me. I just need to make some changes in my life, start hanging out with the healthier crowd. Look, I won’t forget our secret late-night snacking trysts, our layered buttered popcorn movie dates, and grandiose 7-course gourmet dinners. We’ll still have our special times.

But I can’t be hanging out with you all the time, Fat. It’s time we start seeing other people.

Me? I’d like to see the healthier, thinner version of myself.

Just once, for the first time in 11 years, I’d like to look in the mirror and not see you hanging around me all the time, Fat.

Nothing personal.

I know this is going to be hard – you’re pretty damn clingy. I’m fully prepared for you to make this a messy, difficult breakup. But you have to know, Fat, your days are numbered and the time is going to come when you’ve got to go. No booty calls, no weekend visits, no showing up randomly where I work.

I know it’s impossible for us to make this a clean break, so let’s just stay civilized about it, okay? If you cooperate, maybe this won’t be so hard on you either. Because I won’t be sad to see you go, Fat.

Call me cold, but this is just how it’s gotta be.

This is the end, Fat.

Peace.