Two hundred and twenty one pounds, wow that’s a lot of pounds.  That’s how much I used to weigh.  How on earth did I get there?  Although there are multiple answers to this question, the main answer would have to go back to the beginning (which is where all problems begin).  I can sum it up on two words:  my mother.  I grew up in a very unhealthy environment.  My parents ate awfully and taught me nothing about nutrition or health.  My dad’s mealtime motto was “take all you want, eat all you take.”  He was more concerned about not wasting food than his child over-eating and gaining weight.  Looking back, I now realize that my mother’s main concern was keeping control over me, her only child, her supposed “reason for living.” She used any means she had to keep me under her control:  unhealthy diet, money, and lack of teaching me skills to allow me to be independent.  For example, I was not taught about taxes, how to pay bills, or support myself.  I was given no tools for the future, only “help” from her. 

 Back to my childhood, I rarely remember being told “no” when it came to food:  KFC, McDonalds, pizza, ice cream, popsicles, donuts, whatever.  I was a little kid with little self control and my mother provided none for me.  You may be wondering why my dad didn’t step in and take control of the situation.  Well, a few answers come to mind.  One, he worked nights and slept during most of the day, so he wasn’t highly involved in my life.  Also, he and my mother didn’t have a very good relationship with eachother or regarding my upbringing.  At one point, she told him “you just let me worry about raising her.”  Fine job you did, mother.  Now, thanks to you, my overly-numerous fat cells blow up like a balloon if I look twice at something fatty or sugary.  My skin is stretched and damaged and will eventually need surgery for repair, but it will never be as it would have if I hadn’t spent my life in this prison of obesity.