SCORE!

Not so date, date. - Jo

It's been six months since my surgery, and two years since my turn around, and I was finally content. And there was no looking back once I had agreed to the terms. My life changed the day I agreed to undergo the procedure. For a world wrecking two years, I had worked on my health to the point I was more comfortable. Ther would be times where I had a insignificant hard time breathing, the wind knocked out of me - just from going up two flights of fucking stairs.

I would eat everything and anything in sight for as long as I could remember, and no one was there to tell me, "that's enough, don't you think?" Other days were, "you don't lose weight by not eating. Make a sandwich". But who would really want to be told that when you're already overweight enough, right? Everyone, even family, they just let me go. They watched me eat myself to death. Enough was enough when I stepped onto the scale and was a soul crushing 364.5 pounds. I cried for days. Stuffing my self guilt, I began eating right. Count the calories, taking my own health into my own hands; doctors these days only look for ways to trap you and make you feel like you are less than nothing.

I spiraled down after my parents died in a car accident by a drunk driver. I shouldn't have cared so much, considering the pain and misery I was put through. But they were my parents. I was the youngest and it hurt more than anything. It devastated everyone

            Everyone except my sister Scarlett. She could care less, because she knew how they treated me over the years was nothing but disgusting. She stood by me when things got bad. I was throwing myself at people to get attention. Drinking a shit on, smoking weed with whoever wherever. If people saw me as a good time, so be it. If it was worth it, I brought them home. I felt like nothing. I showed I was nothing. Up until the last one; John was a thing of the past, but the best thing I had. Until I caught him cheating with some red head under him in his bed, and then accused me for not calling. I've been broken ever since. He tried apologizing over and over, sending flowers, calling, texting, it was too much.

John stalked, and followed me everywhere I went. For three months. The cops were called because he had broken into my house in the middle of the night, after finally answering him and telling him to stay away. He of course was arrested, and a restraining order was placed. That was a year ago.

Sure I lost some weight during this time; but I was proven that I was nothing. Just a napkin to be used and tossed out. But Scarlett stayed by me, cleaned me up and got me right. If anything, I looked to her as my mother.

            No one was left to save me other than myself after that. I worked endlessly. Day and night, over and over again, trial and error. I got a gym membership, worked my way through the soreness and aches from moving muscles I never have before. I would spend hours at the gym, staring at my reflection in the mirrors. Swearing off my full name, Josephine - I was going under a new one.

New name, new personality, new person - I'm Jo.

The more work I put in, the harder but easier it got. The skin was starting to sag off of me. My cheek and collarbones were showing more. I could walk up fucking stairs without getting winded. I could see my twd when i looked down, even my breasts were perky! I was winning my own game. And it felt good to be in control of my own instincts.

Here I was. Two years later, stunned and in awe. A shit ton of calorie counting, weight watching and weight lifting, I was here. Excess skin removed, and six months of healing. I was sitting here looking at two indistinct pictures of myself. Then and now. Tears streaked my cheeks, pooling on my thighs, as I sat on the floor, with a box containing the memories. Sniffling, I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, picking up the picture again. Glancing from my phone to the digital picture, I sighed, wailing in happiness.