Interview: The Making of Matilda - Part 2

“One… week… turned… into… three… then four…” Matilda wearily gasped, cheeks flushed and brow still glistening from her continuous five hour feeding session. She was exhausted, but still seemed eager to talk - perhaps relishing the company of a new face, or someone who would actually listen without a biased ear. 

“I couldn't help it, I really couldn't; the nice accommodation, that incredible food, and all I had to do was just have a good time and eat. Heck, I was supposedly getting paid, so even my money worries melted away. The only thing I had to worry about really was, well, my weight, but without the critical gaze of my friends and family, that too seemed like something I could deal with at another time. That was future Matilda’s problem, y’know?

Week by week, I was pretty sure that the portions were subtly beginning to increase, but it was hard to be sure. I guess it was a test of sorts, and greedily I would continue to indulge myself, just to unlock the next course. Whatever they were trying to test, I'm pretty sure I passed, whether I liked it or not! I just couldn't help myself. 

Even with the nice apartment and friendly staff, homesickness was beginning to gnaw at me. I'd been away, and out of contact, for four weeks at that point, and I just wanted to let everyone know I was okay. However, I had also gained at least another twenty pounds in just one month, and I was getting ever more anxious about returning home. Everybody expects you to put a few pounds on during a vacation - but not that much! My phone was still surrendered, but I was allowed to make a few calls using the department's landlines - although, due to the ‘secrecy of the project’ I wasn't allowed to say what I was doing - although I’m not sure I realistically would have done. The calls were monitored, and they threatened to null any pay I had accrued if I did - although, again, that doesn't seem to matter now, it was a very real threat back then. I was still technically out of work, and as far as I was aware didn't believe these trials were such a permanent solution! 

That was the last time I spoke to my family, as far as I can remember. I miss them dearly, but I wouldn't want them to see my like… like this. My mother disliked me being chubby, so I dread to think of her reaction to me being this big. I'd rather she didn't know if I'm honest. Thankfully, the staff at the department are incredibly friendly, and I made friends here from the get-go, pretty much. There was always someone to talk to, or hang out with, or have food with. After a while, I didn't even miss my phone that much. Having plenty of people around and things to talk about beat doom-scrolling, alone in my room, any day. So, when given the option to continue, I did - even though it meant signing up for a minimum of three months. As far as my family were concerned, I was working away - which wasn't a complete lie - and well, I'd have to worry about the extra weight when the time came to leave. Besides, I reassured myself, how much weight could I really gain in just three months? 

It turned out to be quite a bit, actually. However, three months seemed a long way off, and that greed that I tried so desperately to suppress, just took over. I felt like a dog let off of its leash, and I began to indulge just for the sake of it. With it came gushing praise from the nurses, many of whom I began considering friends, and they would encourage my overeating and commend me on my results - which were for science, of course!

The weeks just rolled by in a blur, and with it my waistline ballooned. I'd been so lost in my new little world, I had lost track of time, and now that three month extension was almost up, and I was seventy-five pounds heavier. None of the clothes I had arrived in still fit me, so I was relying on the soft, loose clothing that the department provided. I just couldn't go home looking like that, and at over 330 pounds, I really didn't want to face my family, or friends!

So, I begged. I actually begged to stay, and do another extension, or some other testing - anything that would buy me some time to lose at least a little bit of the extra weight. They told me I didn't qualify for any other tests, ironically due to my obesity levels, and they had nothing short term, but they did have a one year extended trial they ‘needed’ to start, and that I would be perfect. 

I didn't hesitate, however, I vowed to regain some control and try to get back to a state that I felt comfortable returning home in. To my shame, two, maybe three days is what I managed to last, before I crumbled and gave in, glutting myself and, quite honestly, enjoying it. A year was also a long time!

With a year stretching out before me, I began saying yes to everything, I just couldn't contain myself. It was all so good, so delicious, and with encouragement and positivity from my nurse friends, I found myself eating to please both myself and them. Soon, mealtimes went from being something that fitted around other activities, to actually becoming the activity, and I found myself eagerly waiting for whatever treat came next.

In the first six months I managed to crest 500 pounds - I felt enormous. None of my own clothes came close to fitting anymore. I began to waddle, and to get out of breath easily. The task of trying to lose a few pounds had risen to now trying to lose a few hundred, and I just couldn't see how that was going to happen. Not here. I had to accept that I was here for the long run, and so I decided to just make the most of it, and let myself go. After all, just how fat could they actually want me to get, right?

I have asked that question to myself many times over during my stay, and I still don't have an answer. I just keep on getting fatter, growing bigger and bigger, heavier and heavier, and somehow it is never quite enough. 

At the end of that year, I was beginning to wish that I had exercised at least some self control. Weighing in at around 700 pounds, give or take, I'd been burying my fears under a constant barrage of self-indulgence, and it showed. You get to a point where you're so fat, so big, that each individual pound doesn't seem to make a difference. The only way I could tell my weight was really soaring, was as my mobility started to dwindle. Walking any sort of distance was exhausting, and even standing began taking some serious effort. I began to enjoy staying in bed. Even back then I could see that this was becoming a very slippery slope, but what could I do, really? 

By the time the trial ended, I think I weighed just over 730 pounds. I say think because it didn't really end. Things just seemed to carry on, and with it they gained momentum. That's the first time I remember seeing a feeding machine…”

Once again, I began to feel the platform below me start to retract, and a gentle hubbub of activity took place around Matilda’s massive body. As the basket reached the ground, another nurse took my place, once again carrying the hose of the feeding pump.

“Another feeding so soon?” I questioned.

The slight, five-foot-nothing brunette nurse smiled with a tilt of her head, “Matilda is on a light schedule today, due to your visit.”

“Light?!” I spluttered.

“Sure. Every other day she's hooked up to the machine pretty much none-stop…”

Before I could decide upon any one of the dozens of follow up questions running through my mind, the nurse gradually began to move away on the platform, and focus on attending to her gigantic feedee.

I knew my place this time. Smiling politely and nodding in recognition as I passed various members of staff going about their duties. My visit so far had been comparatively brief, but already I felt as though I were an old hand in this department. 

With the now almost familiar sound of the feeding pump whirring to life in the background, I once again made my way back to the canteen for more coffee and contemplation, eager to learn about the next step in Matilda’s journey…

Continued in Part 3...