Eating to Death - SSBHM

Life for me is a serious of constants. It never changes for me.

I wake up early, I don't know the time, in my bed. I use the remote to raise the bed up a little bit and take off my C-PAP mask. I switch over to my nasal cannula, to help with my breathing. My heart thumps away inside my chest, much faster then it should. I am starving, my massive stomach growls.

I don't know how much I weigh, I don't really care anymore. Somewhere over 800lbs. I was 780 when I left the hospital after my last heart attack. It had been my third. The next will probably kill me. I don't walk anymore, my hearts too weak, and I don't have the energy. I can't even raise myself into a sitting position anymore. I've got high blood pressure, heart failure, aggressive diabetes, and fatty liver. My body is failing me. My organs are overloaded with fat, my legs and arms swollen with fat and lympodema, and my massive belly covers everything in an ocean like layer of adipose tissue. Buried inside a huge fatpad is my penis which I haven't seen or been able to touch for years. I'm dependent on oxygen, but even with it I'm constantly panting.

None of that really matters to me. If it did I would've gotten healthy a long time ago. I need food. Constantly, I'm an addict. The unhealthier the better. Burgers, pizza, cake, ice cream, fries, sugary soda ANYTHING. I'm craving all of it all the time. Thankfully my feeder left me a box of donuts and a 2liter bottle of coke. I polish off the donuts and half the bottle of soda.

My feeder comes in with my breakfast, mounds of eggs, bacon, sausage, and biscuits. I plow through them, gasping and wheezing from the effort. After breakfast I get cleaned, with my waste cleaned from me. Usually the catheter gets emptied first, then I get rolled onto a bed pain and poop, then roll back to be wiped clean.

My bowels, like the rest of me, are destroyed. My dysfunctional digestive system can't keep up with my diet, and the result is disgusting. Flatulence that adds to the already putrid B.O. of my body. Usually I have a normal shit like everyone else, but sometimes I'll get runs of diarrhea that will last for days, or I'll get constipated and have to be administered an enema. My constant high blood sugar and high fluid intake leads to me urinating frequently so they used to install a foley catheter up my penis. But as I gained weight finding my penis became so difficult they went under the fold of my belly and installed a suprapubic catheter, through the skin and fat of my abdomen and into my bladder.

I usually snack my day away. Around dinner I start anxiously listening to the kitchen. Then I hear a cart. That means I'm going to be stuffed. I feel my buried dick get hard. My feeder comes in and the cart is loaded with foods. All fattening incredibly unhealthy food. I feel the sharp prinprick as they poke me with a dose of insulin and then I see the burger rise towards me.

During these stuffing sessions it's too exhausting for me to lift my heavy arms from plate to mouth so my feeder does it for me. Bite after bite, I feel the delicious food pour down my throat. It's washed down with sugary soda, both to bloat me, and hydrate my throat for more carbs. The main course is soon finished and then the massive pile of desserts. After nearly 40 minutes I gasp "I'm stuffed."

"No" my feeder replies "There's still some food." They edge a cookie towards my mouth, the smell and sight makes my mouth water. "There's not much, you're almost done." My stomach feels like it will burst but I continue to eat. Then it's gone.  My dick is rock hard inside my fatpad and I can hardly bear the pain in my stomach. My breathing is short, hard pants. My naked body quivers in agony as my abused stomach and intestines struggle to digest away the nearly 4000 calories. My heart pounds in my chest and I wheeze with the effort of breathing. I look up at my feeder, "One... Of... These... [Gasp] days... [wheeze] you're going... to kill me with that."

"It would be a wonderful way to die though." They don't wait for an answer knowing that I'll be unable to talk for quite some time. I lie there, stomach aching, trying to prevent my ruined body from failing, collapsing under the massive amount of food I just consumed. Deep inside I love the feeling and hope I can do it again tomorrow.