Fuck you, let people be happy! https://imgur.com/gallery/lw348 I saw this ignorant reply and wanted to share some of my personal experiences. Fuck you, let people be happy! This is a fat people story, but it is not a typical fat people story. It's not funny. There is no punchline. If anything, it's a warning- a warning to stay the course and never to get romantically involved with a fat person, no matter how desperate you become. I did not know, and I ended up making one of the worst decisions of my life. Trigger warning: fat sex, fat relationship shit, fat logic, general fatness See that guy? That was me not too long ago. Out of shape, resigned, and attached to a woman he's not attracted to. He's not happy. He's trapped. I know this because I was in his position, and it made me miserable. So what kind of guy, without a drug or alcohol problem, finds himself in this position? An inexperienced, hurt man. A vulnerable man. A man who's down on his luck and finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. I spent my early 20s steadily increasing my body fat percentage. I hovered around 20% for most of that time, but after an illness and some gaps in my employment, my weight shot up until I was closer to 40%. I was also a virgin due to my religious upbringing and subsequent shitty attitudes about sex. So there I was, a fat, depressed, sexually frustrated virgin man at 25. Quite the catch, right?  I knew I needed to change, to lose the fat and start having healthy sexual relationships. I got a stable job, scrounged up enough money for a car, and set about fixing my shitty life. Change was gradual at first, cutting out energy drinks and fast food, jogging occasionally, and going out to socialize more. I had kind of dropped out of the party scene for a couple years, but I was welcomed back in as soon as I started going out again. I'd hit up house parties, have drinks, go to the bar, chat with people, and I even had a few drunken hookups. That's when the problem started. The problem was a perfect storm of inexperience, nervousness, alcohol, and being so out of shape. I couldn't get it up. Even when I could, it wouldn't stay up for long. It was humiliating. I knew that if I got some more experience and had sex sober, I'd be good to go, but between my stressful job with its abysmal work schedule, and my constant insecurity because of my impotence, I couldn't seem to manage anything beyond banging these party girls who didn't want to stick around and have the kind of relaxed, healing sexual relationship I needed.  Time passed. I moved around between jobs until I found something with less stress, more money, and a better schedule. I started lifting weights. I started counting calories and macros. The weight came off. A visible abdominal outline began to form. I was running longer, lifting heavier, and stretching further than I ever had in my life. I felt good. I loved my new body! Something was still missing, though, and I knew that the longer I waited, the worse it would get. Random occasional hookups, mostly with a different woman almost every time, with it generally going poorly, were not going to help me get over my nervousness. I knew I needed to get some real experience with a consistent partner.  Enter the fat lady. The fat lady didn't drink much or do drugs. The fat lady was down to keep trying when I couldn't stay hard the first few times. She was exactly what I thought I needed, and maybe at first she really was exactly what I needed. I wasn't really attracted to her, but I wasn't repulsed by her, either. Plus, she had a lot of things going for her that the party girls didn't. She had a car, a job, she wasn't an alcoholic, and she didn't act like I was personally insulting her when I couldn't stay hard. After a couple weeks, I was able to stay hard consistently. I fucked a couple other girls and stayed hard no problem. I was cured! I was normal!  But I didn't do the sensible thing. I should have broken things off with the fat lady, moved on to having sex with attractive women, and continued my exercise regimen, but I did not. After all, she promised that she was losing the weight. Having lost a lot of weight myself, I knew how fucking easy it was to lose weight (just eat less and move more, do some simple back-of-the-envelope math to make sure calories/macros were correct), especially for someone in her position with a chill job, stable life, and membership at an amazing gym. She also said she used to be pretty accomplished in her weight training, squatting  about 150, so I knew she already knew how to track her food and workouts. 150 is not powerlifting meet level, but not bad, either, if she could get back to that. Plus, she lavished me with gifts and praise. My battered ego, still cut and bruised from years of being a fat virgin, fell for the bait. As things got progressively more serious, I rationalized "This is good practice for when I want a real relationship with somebody I actually like. I won't let it get much further before I cut things off." Weeks turned into months. Months turned into a couple years. Of course, she stayed a fat fuck. Of course. All that stuff she told me about losing the weight? Fat lies. All fat lies. That thing about her squatting 150? Also a lie, as it turns out. She never squatted shit.  Being fat is a warning sign of other problems. It does not exist in isolation. If someone is fat, there is going to be a host of other shit wrong with them that makes them impossible to have an adult relationship with. She hid these problems at first, but as we were together longer, the crazy shit started surfacing. The temper tantrums, where she literally threw herself on the floor crying. The shitty way she guilted me when I told her I needed time to myself. The gross habits like smoking and not keeping her house clean. Oh, and as soon as I agreed to be in an exclusive relationship with her, she completely quit going to the gym (of course). I'd suggest we go together, really trying to get her in there to be at least a little active, but she'd usually refuse. Even when we did go, she'd have a shitty attitude the whole time and barely exercise, if at all. Actually, she had a shitty attitude the whole time we were together, no matter what we did. Everything was "I'm so miserable. Life sucks." Not at first, of course, but over the first few months it seeped in a little at a time.  I tried to leave after the first year. I had it all planned out, exactly what I'd say. I'd let her speak her mind, remain unreactive, not try to justify myself, not try to argue. I'd not list off grievances or tell her how much happier I'd be without her. I would just state calmly and plainly that I didn't want to be in the relationship anymore and then leave. It was a great plan, except I wasn't anticipating the suicide threats, the fact that's she'd start cutting and choking herself right there in front of me, begging me to stay, telling me I was a horrible person, calling me the worst things she could think of, telling me that she was going to die and it was my fault, threatening to hurt me, threatening to hurt my friends. I caved. I stayed with her. I stayed for a long time after that, trying to make it work. I resigned myself to the life of a man trapped in a bad relationship with a shitty person. I resented her. I hated the way she treated me, but I was afraid of what she'd do if I left. Meanwhile, she wondered why I never wanted to have sex anymore. Finally, I'd had enough. I formed a plan, but this time I knew I'd need to be smarter about it. I was not dealing with a normal human, I now knew. I slowly moved all my valuables out of her house. I made sure she didn't have any access to my accounts. I changed my passwords. I changed the lock on my door. This time, I made sure someone else was there when I delivered the news. I knew she wouldn't swallow a bunch of pills and slice up her ham hocks if another person was there. It worked! I was free! I immediately went no-contact with her. Every day, she'd send me long crazy Facebook rants. Every day, she'd try to call multiple times, even though I wouldn't pick up, even once. She kept trying, day after day with multiple calls and crazy rants. Then, it would be 2 days between calls. Then 4 days. Then a week, now she still does it, but barely ever. And that's where I am today. I am free. I'm lean, good looking, confident, and happy. I am moving on, having learned an extremely expensive lesson: no fat chicks.  So when I see someone say that couples like that are happy, I know the truth. Unless the guy is a fetishist, which is almost never the case, they are not happy. Even if the guy doesn't care about the fat, which is again rare, they are not happy because all fat people have a myriad of other shit wrong with them. Fat does not exist in isolation.