Okay, let's get mushy . . .

College was a miserable experience for me. I felt entirely unnecessary and unfulfilled in the last few years especially. If I had pursued some wildly different experience: studied in Spain or joined Americorps or explored some other mode of servitude, I may have found the significance I seemed to have lost. But I sank deeper and deeper into depression, a petrifying depression that ground any budding ambitions to a complete halt.

As a result, I gained 90 pounds over the course of my college career. When I first crossed my school's threshold as an eager and curious "freshwoman," I was a size 8/10. By the end of my senior year, I was 240 pounds.

I am pondering that today because 240 is the most I have ever weighed, and I have now visited that weight twice. The first time I felt dismally ugly and repulsive. I felt like the fattest person alive and I was revolted by my body.

I could not feel more different today. I know I am fat, I know that I could accomplish more and feel more comfortable in my body if I was carrying less fat and more muscle, and I actually enjoy exercising. However, when I really look at my body, I sort of love my abundance. I feel like a cornucopia of good things. I know in my head that the ripples and bulges and the extra sway in my hips are supposed to be unlovely, but when I really look, I feel comforting and glorious and, well, womanly.

I suppose T-Bone is to thank for that. He really appreciates my body at whatever size and in whatever condition he happens to find it.

We are told that we are supposed to love ourselves regardless of what the culture tells us but let's face it, that is only intermittently possible at best. Some days you wake up and you can ignore the clamor, other days you have to dress yourself in clothes that are only okay; you squeeze uncomfortably into a seat, bathroom stall, hospital gown designed for "normal-sized" people; you see a glamorous screen siren and think you could look like that if you weren't so fat; or you try some physical exertion that "shouldn't" be difficult and you end up sweaty, panting and ashamed. Playing the cheerleader to your bludgeoned self-image then isn't so easy.

So to find someone like T-Bone, to make him my only culture, my own stagehand, photographer, and audience, is both a blessing and a relief. And although I am looking forward to some serious shopping once I get down into some smaller sizes, I know that no matter what size I happen to be, he will always love me for the person that I am and for the man he sees reflected in my eyes, because I know his true worth and I find him unsurpassable.