Fat Acceptance Movement / Fat Girlcows

[Nicotine Fetish]

I mean, it's kind of a catch 22. There are shitty doctors. They can make mistakes, and they can be lazy. "Lose some weight" is kind of a lazy, easy answer.

But I wonder why. Maybe because obesity predisposes you to, oh, almost everything that can go wrong with your body?

I agree that it's shitty for a doctor to not do a thorough job, or diagnose base on presumptions. A lot of people (of all sizes) have had doctors be dismissive of their symptoms. But not being fat is an easy way to up your chances of having a doctor take you seriously (among the many other advantages.)

Not to excuse malpractice and shitty doctors. But can anybody blame a doctor when telling a patient to lose weight..... when a house is on fire - some practical advice would be to stop adding logs.

 

[Occam's Epilady]

Not sure how I feel about this. Doctors are human, not infallible. Do any of our medical spergs know if high protein in the urine can be related to obesity in postpartum women who had preeclampsia, or did the doctor really botch this shit?[/SIZE]

Proteinuria can be caused by any number of things, including diabetes and high blood pressure. It's also associated with obesity ("obesity-related glomerulopathy," if you want a search term), even in the absence of diabetes or high blood pressure. And of course, it can be due to cancer, including multiple myeloma. If this woman's doctor did in fact brush off proteinuria without investigating what was causing it, then IMO he did botch it. It's not as if he missed a giant "CANCER" red flag, but anyone with protein in their urine needs to be investigated for what's causing kidney damage. Hard to say more without knowing her actual labs.

Edit to be clearer with what I was trying to say: yes, obesity and its complications can cause kidney damage and thus proteinuria, but weight loss alone wouldn't solve anything, so on balance I'm going with "this was a shitty doctor." But, as someone said above, doctors are human and they're prone to errors in judgement; "not being fat" is something that makes things easier for everyone.

Not a medical doctor, but a PhD and my field involves medicine.

 

[a bootiful jung woman]

KH Performance Lab reviews Fatopia and also describes how he got into it with a fat activist who censored parts of their conversation to suit themselves when publishing it. He was given the link to the Drive of research that fat activists are relying on and talks about why this research isn't going to be that useful, argues with this person how leptin-resistant people can't possibly eat intuitively with no reply, etc.

 

[weaselhat]

>gyn doctor say she should see a kidney specialist
>she's too cheap and goes to a random primary care doctor near her house
>primary care doctor says "whatever lose weight lol"
>she decides to go to the specialist after all
>specialist says its bone marrow cancer

if she had gone straight to the proper specialist like the gynaecologist told her in the first place, the misdiagnosis would not have happened

This is a good point. She’s the one to blame for her misdiagnosis. Most specialists only take patients on a referral basis and if you are referred to a specialist you are a dumbass for not following through with a specialist. She prolonged her own diagnosis by being stupid but wants to gloss it over as fat hate.

 

[Tesshollidaysflupaknees]

New blog post from, "Your Fat Friend."
Here are some of the highlights:

Your bad body image doesn’t end with you.

"Ugh, I’m so fat.”
The words come to you easily, an oddly comforting refrain.
After a lifetime of training, drills and rehearsals of moments like these, you know your lines, and have found your character.

I sit in the dressing room foyer, watching you watch yourself. A triple mirror reflects your body from every angle, but only sometimes catches my size 26 frame from the bench behind you. Your body is brightly lit, foregrounded, exposed on every side, imperfect in its thinness.

Your eyes catch fire, a spark of recognition when you remember the body behind you. The body you brought along on this shopping trip for reinforcement and moral support. The body with whom you pleaded I just really need you there, never finishing the remainder of the sentence: so that I can compare my body to yours. The body whose existence reminds you that while your insecurities persist, at least you don’t have to look like me. The breath catches in your throat, and you make eye contact through the mirror, your many reflected bodies still blotting out my one.

“I’m so fat,” you correct yourself. “But you look great! Have you lost weight?” You offer up this olive branch halfheartedly, a forced and conciliatory smile blotted hastily across your face.

I shake my head no. In all the times we’ve had this exchange, I have never lost weight. This, though, is your escape hatch, and I can’t bring myself to offer the absolution you so desperately want, but have never earned. Nor can I bring myself to tell you how it feels to hear my body so casually maligned and bemoaned, time and time again. My body is the only home I’ve got, and nearly every time I see you, you so readily and thoughtlessly insult it. And nearly every time I see you, I wonder why I invite you back.

I tell you that I don’t want to hear about how fat you think you’re getting, how no one will want you if you gain another ten pounds, how this is probably why your ex lost interest. I tell you that so many other friends would certainly be happy to listen to your complaints about your body, but that I am both insulted and hurt to hear such vicious things about a body less than half my size. I know well the obsessive contours of body dysmorphia and restrictive eating. Still, I ask you why you feel compelled to voice your complaints so loudly with the fattest person you know. You have yet to answer me.

I tell you that, when you wring your hands about gaining what you consider to be a cartoonish amount of weight (one hundred pounds!), you would still be significantly smaller than me.

I wonder if the sacrifice of my body at the altar of yours is a conscious decision, or a thoughtless one.

They come to me, the fattest person most of them know, brimming with insecurity and lack, because they assume I will understand. I do not.

I understand the Sisyphean task of dieting, an unending quest to complete an impossible mission. I understand the ways in which our own bodies bend like light through the prism of a constant assault of diet talk and weight loss mandates.

But what I do not understand is expecting endless and unreciprocated emotional support from those whose bodies are unquestionably more demonized than yours. I do not understand expecting fatter friends to hear you talk about how disgusting your thighs are, and then being shocked when they ask you to stop. I do not understand seeking out fatter friends specifically to prey on the insecurities that you assume they have, and expecting them to reassure you that you don’t look as disgusting as I do. I do not understand seeing that as anything short of insulting and callous.

I do not understand the impulse to build a friendship solely to assuage your own insecurities, and not out of a sense of mutual respect I do not understand choosing to ignore the eating disorders you may be triggering, the trauma you may be unearthing, the harm you have been told you are causing.

I do not understand ignoring a good friend’s clear request to stop berating my body and yours. And I do not understand ignoring that giving voice to your ceaseless grievances about your own body, without your listener’s consent.

Disappointed and overtaken by embarrassment more than guilt, you reach for other halfhearted compliments. Did I change my hair? Maybe it’s my skin care. Have I been working out more?

I do not respond. I wait for the moment to pass. And as I sit in that dressing room, in a store that doesn’t carry my size, I decide to stop returning your calls. The virus has overtaken you, and my sickness will not save you.

Link to blog post: https://medium.com/@thefatshadow/your-bad-body-image-doesnt-end-with-you-6014f03746d0

 

[clusterfuckk]

New blog post from, "Your Fat Friend."
Here are some of the highlights:

Your bad body image doesn’t end with you.

"Ugh, I’m so fat.”
The words come to you easily, an oddly comforting refrain.
After a lifetime of training, drills and rehearsals of moments like these, you know your lines, and have found your character.

I sit in the dressing room foyer, watching you watch yourself. A triple mirror reflects your body from every angle, but only sometimes catches my size 26 frame from the bench behind you. Your body is brightly lit, foregrounded, exposed on every side, imperfect in its thinness.

Your eyes catch fire, a spark of recognition when you remember the body behind you. The body you brought along on this shopping trip for reinforcement and moral support. The body with whom you pleaded I just really need you there, never finishing the remainder of the sentence: so that I can compare my body to yours. The body whose existence reminds you that while your insecurities persist, at least you don’t have to look like me. The breath catches in your throat, and you make eye contact through the mirror, your many reflected bodies still blotting out my one.

“I’m so fat,” you correct yourself. “But you look great! Have you lost weight?” You offer up this olive branch halfheartedly, a forced and conciliatory smile blotted hastily across your face.

I shake my head no. In all the times we’ve had this exchange, I have never lost weight. This, though, is your escape hatch, and I can’t bring myself to offer the absolution you so desperately want, but have never earned. Nor can I bring myself to tell you how it feels to hear my body so casually maligned and bemoaned, time and time again. My body is the only home I’ve got, and nearly every time I see you, you so readily and thoughtlessly insult it. And nearly every time I see you, I wonder why I invite you back.

I tell you that I don’t want to hear about how fat you think you’re getting, how no one will want you if you gain another ten pounds, how this is probably why your ex lost interest. I tell you that so many other friends would certainly be happy to listen to your complaints about your body, but that I am both insulted and hurt to hear such vicious things about a body less than half my size. I know well the obsessive contours of body dysmorphia and restrictive eating. Still, I ask you why you feel compelled to voice your complaints so loudly with the fattest person you know. You have yet to answer me.

I tell you that, when you wring your hands about gaining what you consider to be a cartoonish amount of weight (one hundred pounds!), you would still be significantly smaller than me.

I wonder if the sacrifice of my body at the altar of yours is a conscious decision, or a thoughtless one.

They come to me, the fattest person most of them know, brimming with insecurity and lack, because they assume I will understand. I do not.

I understand the Sisyphean task of dieting, an unending quest to complete an impossible mission. I understand the ways in which our own bodies bend like light through the prism of a constant assault of diet talk and weight loss mandates.

But what I do not understand is expecting endless and unreciprocated emotional support from those whose bodies are unquestionably more demonized than yours. I do not understand expecting fatter friends to hear you talk about how disgusting your thighs are, and then being shocked when they ask you to stop. I do not understand seeking out fatter friends specifically to prey on the insecurities that you assume they have, and expecting them to reassure you that you don’t look as disgusting as I do. I do not understand seeing that as anything short of insulting and callous.

I do not understand the impulse to build a friendship solely to assuage your own insecurities, and not out of a sense of mutual respect I do not understand choosing to ignore the eating disorders you may be triggering, the trauma you may be unearthing, the harm you have been told you are causing.

I do not understand ignoring a good friend’s clear request to stop berating my body and yours. And I do not understand ignoring that giving voice to your ceaseless grievances about your own body, without your listener’s consent.

Disappointed and overtaken by embarrassment more than guilt, you reach for other halfhearted compliments. Did I change my hair? Maybe it’s my skin care. Have I been working out more?

I do not respond. I wait for the moment to pass. And as I sit in that dressing room, in a store that doesn’t carry my size, I decide to stop returning your calls. The virus has overtaken you, and my sickness will not save you.

Link to blog post: https://medium.com/@thefatshadow/your-bad-body-image-doesnt-end-with-you-6014f03746d0

oh STFU fatty. Be thankful you have friends that want to spend time with you.

 

[Tesshollidaysflupaknees]

Fatgirlflow posted a new picture onto Instgram. It seems like Corissa just keeps getting fatter and fatter.

 

[Francis Dollarhyde]

Fatgirlflow posted a new picture onto Instgram. It seems like Corissa just keeps getting fatter and fatter.

View attachment 893883

As we all knew she would. Which will be an issue because she is the more mobile one of the 2, Comfy J the infinifat can barely walk.
This must be why Corissa made her ex husband stay and sleep in the garage. He can help his ex and his female cucker wipe and put on socks. If he is not paying 100% of the costs of the house I will be very surprised.

 

[Piga Dgrifm]

New blog post from, "Your Fat Friend."
Here are some of the highlights:

Your bad body image doesn’t end with you.

"Ugh, I’m so fat.”
The words come to you easily, an oddly comforting refrain.
After a lifetime of training, drills and rehearsals of moments like these, you know your lines, and have found your character.

I sit in the dressing room foyer, watching you watch yourself. A triple mirror reflects your body from every angle, but only sometimes catches my size 26 frame from the bench behind you. Your body is brightly lit, foregrounded, exposed on every side, imperfect in its thinness.

Your eyes catch fire, a spark of recognition when you remember the body behind you. The body you brought along on this shopping trip for reinforcement and moral support. The body with whom you pleaded I just really need you there, never finishing the remainder of the sentence: so that I can compare my body to yours. The body whose existence reminds you that while your insecurities persist, at least you don’t have to look like me. The breath catches in your throat, and you make eye contact through the mirror, your many reflected bodies still blotting out my one.

“I’m so fat,” you correct yourself. “But you look great! Have you lost weight?” You offer up this olive branch halfheartedly, a forced and conciliatory smile blotted hastily across your face.

I shake my head no. In all the times we’ve had this exchange, I have never lost weight. This, though, is your escape hatch, and I can’t bring myself to offer the absolution you so desperately want, but have never earned. Nor can I bring myself to tell you how it feels to hear my body so casually maligned and bemoaned, time and time again. My body is the only home I’ve got, and nearly every time I see you, you so readily and thoughtlessly insult it. And nearly every time I see you, I wonder why I invite you back.

I tell you that I don’t want to hear about how fat you think you’re getting, how no one will want you if you gain another ten pounds, how this is probably why your ex lost interest. I tell you that so many other friends would certainly be happy to listen to your complaints about your body, but that I am both insulted and hurt to hear such vicious things about a body less than half my size. I know well the obsessive contours of body dysmorphia and restrictive eating. Still, I ask you why you feel compelled to voice your complaints so loudly with the fattest person you know. You have yet to answer me.

I tell you that, when you wring your hands about gaining what you consider to be a cartoonish amount of weight (one hundred pounds!), you would still be significantly smaller than me.

I wonder if the sacrifice of my body at the altar of yours is a conscious decision, or a thoughtless one.

They come to me, the fattest person most of them know, brimming with insecurity and lack, because they assume I will understand. I do not.

I understand the Sisyphean task of dieting, an unending quest to complete an impossible mission. I understand the ways in which our own bodies bend like light through the prism of a constant assault of diet talk and weight loss mandates.

But what I do not understand is expecting endless and unreciprocated emotional support from those whose bodies are unquestionably more demonized than yours. I do not understand expecting fatter friends to hear you talk about how disgusting your thighs are, and then being shocked when they ask you to stop. I do not understand seeking out fatter friends specifically to prey on the insecurities that you assume they have, and expecting them to reassure you that you don’t look as disgusting as I do. I do not understand seeing that as anything short of insulting and callous.

I do not understand the impulse to build a friendship solely to assuage your own insecurities, and not out of a sense of mutual respect I do not understand choosing to ignore the eating disorders you may be triggering, the trauma you may be unearthing, the harm you have been told you are causing.

I do not understand ignoring a good friend’s clear request to stop berating my body and yours. And I do not understand ignoring that giving voice to your ceaseless grievances about your own body, without your listener’s consent.

Disappointed and overtaken by embarrassment more than guilt, you reach for other halfhearted compliments. Did I change my hair? Maybe it’s my skin care. Have I been working out more?

I do not respond. I wait for the moment to pass. And as I sit in that dressing room, in a store that doesn’t carry my size, I decide to stop returning your calls. The virus has overtaken you, and my sickness will not save you.

Link to blog post: https://medium.com/@thefatshadow/your-bad-body-image-doesnt-end-with-you-6014f03746d0

It's incredible narcissism to make someone else's self-image problems about you.

 

[12 Inch Taint]

Fatgirlflow posted a new picture onto Instgram. It seems like Corissa just keeps getting fatter and fatter.

View attachment 893883

You're not fooling any body, flubster. That panniculus/fupa/whatever you wanna call it would be slapping on your knees as you attempted to ride that bike. Good choice, though, on the reinforced frame & more stable weight bearing of a 3 wheeler.

 

[HamFan]

New blog post from, "Your Fat Friend."
Here are some of the highlights:

Your bad body image doesn’t end with you.

"Ugh, I’m so fat.”
The words come to you easily, an oddly comforting refrain.
After a lifetime of training, drills and rehearsals of moments like these, you know your lines, and have found your character.

I sit in the dressing room foyer, watching you watch yourself. A triple mirror reflects your body from every angle, but only sometimes catches my size 26 frame from the bench behind you. Your body is brightly lit, foregrounded, exposed on every side, imperfect in its thinness.

Your eyes catch fire, a spark of recognition when you remember the body behind you. The body you brought along on this shopping trip for reinforcement and moral support. The body with whom you pleaded I just really need you there, never finishing the remainder of the sentence: so that I can compare my body to yours. The body whose existence reminds you that while your insecurities persist, at least you don’t have to look like me. The breath catches in your throat, and you make eye contact through the mirror, your many reflected bodies still blotting out my one.

“I’m so fat,” you correct yourself. “But you look great! Have you lost weight?” You offer up this olive branch halfheartedly, a forced and conciliatory smile blotted hastily across your face.

I shake my head no. In all the times we’ve had this exchange, I have never lost weight. This, though, is your escape hatch, and I can’t bring myself to offer the absolution you so desperately want, but have never earned. Nor can I bring myself to tell you how it feels to hear my body so casually maligned and bemoaned, time and time again. My body is the only home I’ve got, and nearly every time I see you, you so readily and thoughtlessly insult it. And nearly every time I see you, I wonder why I invite you back.

I tell you that I don’t want to hear about how fat you think you’re getting, how no one will want you if you gain another ten pounds, how this is probably why your ex lost interest. I tell you that so many other friends would certainly be happy to listen to your complaints about your body, but that I am both insulted and hurt to hear such vicious things about a body less than half my size. I know well the obsessive contours of body dysmorphia and restrictive eating. Still, I ask you why you feel compelled to voice your complaints so loudly with the fattest person you know. You have yet to answer me.

I tell you that, when you wring your hands about gaining what you consider to be a cartoonish amount of weight (one hundred pounds!), you would still be significantly smaller than me.

I wonder if the sacrifice of my body at the altar of yours is a conscious decision, or a thoughtless one.

They come to me, the fattest person most of them know, brimming with insecurity and lack, because they assume I will understand. I do not.

I understand the Sisyphean task of dieting, an unending quest to complete an impossible mission. I understand the ways in which our own bodies bend like light through the prism of a constant assault of diet talk and weight loss mandates.

But what I do not understand is expecting endless and unreciprocated emotional support from those whose bodies are unquestionably more demonized than yours. I do not understand expecting fatter friends to hear you talk about how disgusting your thighs are, and then being shocked when they ask you to stop. I do not understand seeking out fatter friends specifically to prey on the insecurities that you assume they have, and expecting them to reassure you that you don’t look as disgusting as I do. I do not understand seeing that as anything short of insulting and callous.

I do not understand the impulse to build a friendship solely to assuage your own insecurities, and not out of a sense of mutual respect I do not understand choosing to ignore the eating disorders you may be triggering, the trauma you may be unearthing, the harm you have been told you are causing.

I do not understand ignoring a good friend’s clear request to stop berating my body and yours. And I do not understand ignoring that giving voice to your ceaseless grievances about your own body, without your listener’s consent.

Disappointed and overtaken by embarrassment more than guilt, you reach for other halfhearted compliments. Did I change my hair? Maybe it’s my skin care. Have I been working out more?

I do not respond. I wait for the moment to pass. And as I sit in that dressing room, in a store that doesn’t carry my size, I decide to stop returning your calls. The virus has overtaken you, and my sickness will not save you.

Link to blog post: https://medium.com/@thefatshadow/your-bad-body-image-doesnt-end-with-you-6014f03746d0

This just sounds so made up. Why would someone want to talk to her about their fears of becoming fat? For advice?

Usually everyone avoids body talk around the fat friend. Sure, maybe she has one loony asshole friend, but why hang out with someone so hurtful and insensitive? No other options?

But the conversations sound made up. Who would drag someone too fat to shop even the plus size department in most stores along on a shopping trip? Then turn to her and say, "you look great, have you lost weight?" It's like approximations of how she thinks friends talk.

So many of these stories seem like YA-level fantasies spun to "prove" victimhood and pontificate upon their FA cult.

 

[Pineapple Fox]

I took a bunch of screenshots from Lilith's Twitter because why not. She constantly retweets herself so I skipped a ton.

I guess the troon father gets the kid when she ded

She hates her mom

Just fat or thin, thats all there is

I'm beginning to think her diet consists of spite alone

Says the person constantly whinging about thin privilege

lol

Self paid but can't pay rent.

Sure it doesn't

 

[eternal dog mongler]

I took a bunch of screenshots from Lilith's Twitter because why not. She constantly retweets herself so I skipped a ton.

An interesting pairing.

Yep. Shame people with mental illnesses because you can't stop shoving food into your face. Says a lot about you, indeed.

 

[Wyzzerd]

This just sounds so made up. Why would someone want to talk to her about their fears of becoming fat? For advice?

Usually everyone avoids body talk around the fat friend. Sure, maybe she has one loony asshole friend, but why hang out with someone so hurtful and insensitive? No other options?

But the conversations sound made up. Who would drag someone too fat to shop even the plus size department in most stores along on a shopping trip? Then turn to her and say, "you look great, have you lost weight?" It's like approximations of how she thinks friends talk.

So many of these stories seem like YA-level fantasies spun to "prove" victimhood and pontificate upon their FA cult.

She uses so much projection we could stick that bitch in a movie theater and save money on electricity.

I love reading all these stories. They are either blatantly falsified or they take someone simply looking in their direction and blow it massively out of proportion as they can suddenly read their mind, know how they are judging them, their entire history of why they judge, and how this is just another consequence of the fascist diet industry that rules our lives.

The mental gymnastics people do to get out of a little bit of responsibilty for their own actions always amaze me.

 

[lamp shade]

MamaHorker: so strong, so confident so...

Oh.

 

[Dog Prom 3D]

Lilith Fury's hepatic encephalopathy is a puzzler. I am not a medical professional and my experience with hepatic encephalopathy comes from dealing with a deathfat, not a person with hemochromatosis as a result of iron accumulation due to blood transfusions. But...

I've never heard of hepatic encephalopathy being the primary causation of shortened life span. If you have hepatic encephalopathy so bad it could kill you, that means you have end stage liver disease or cirrhosis and will be dead shortly because your liver is shutting down. The liver is the big issue - hepatic encephalopathy is a syndrome caused by the liver failure or cirrhosis.

I've only ever heard of hepatic encephalopathy coming in stages or grades, 0-4, and if you have stage 3 or 4 you're not doing much. That being said, if she is "terminal" I can only guess Lilith means she's in grade 3 because grade 4 means you're in a coma, waiting to die because your liver has gone completely tits up. Stage 3 is awful - the patient has no energy to the point of being unable to stand, has difficulty moving, cannot think clearly and cannot speak well. It makes one wonder how someone with "terminal" hepatic encephalopathy is managing a website, blog, IG and Twitter, modeling her fat body and raising her kid with a syndrome that is disabling in stage or grade 3.

If she is this healthy with "terminal" hepatic encephalopathy, mayhaps she should avail herself of one of those fatphobic doctors out there and see if Dr Shitlord can give her advice on halting or reducing liver damage because gaining three times your body weight that quickly can pave the way to hepatic lipidosis - which also can result in hepatic encephalopathy. Weight loss and low protein diet combined with a close monitoring of her liver iron levels could be the difference between living a few more months and living a decade. Iron overload has a tipping point wherein it causes acute cirrhosis - she can't have been in acute this long or she'd be dead by now or it would have corrected itself. So her cirrhosis must be chronic, which means it can be managed. Which means that a healthy lifestyle could mean the difference between seeing her kid grow up and dying ass up in a kiddie pool full of pudding sometime next week.

Seriously, if anyone has the time to look up "terminal hepatic encephalopathy" and can find any study wherein a human being that sick was able to engage in this much activity and create such linear thoughts, I'll eat ten cupcakes in Miss Fury's name.

 

[ThisWillBeFun]

She made a video about someone saying she was too vulnerable and she should not be on Youtube. She claimed it was "a couple of comments" on her channel she deleted but did not screenshot. She also mentions ounces she doesn't log and some of the posting on her FB was done during her depression phase. Then she bought a book Call To Courage by Brene Brown because nothing gives you courage like purchasing a book. May it work as well as her Obesity Code book purchase.
also this comment : I think she's found KF
Michelle James26 minutes ago
Dear Jen, Can we please, please, please MOVE ON from the comments? Stop focusing on others....This is getting so old....I am here to see YOU. I don't give a damn about them...




LifeByJen29 minutes ago
This isn’t just about negative comments and YouTube. This is about life in general, using YouTube as an example. I’m sorry you didn’t see that.

FatByJen isn't vulnerable or sassy -she's a bitch the size of a whale.
Jen also lies -a lot.

Ate herself into a wheelchair while living off the government while she stuffs her face. I remember a while back she was all sweet as sugar to Chantal, probably in hopes she'd get some of her subs, then trashed her on a Zachary Michael live stream.
Every fatty on you-tube is an opportunist & all try to get the most sympathy.
Jen has changed stories about her childhood many times. And since she's a liar, it best not to believe a word she says. Her weight is an excuse for gluttony & laziness. Period.

But now she has competition in the cancer department -Chantal. Weird how both need to lose weight for surgery & only can manage 5 pounds over months & months of diets & Keto. Many have speculated that Jen has lied about cancer for sympathy & this has been said about Chantal too. Wouldn't surprise me a bit. Liars, lie.

 

[eternal dog mongler]

I've never heard of hepatic encephalopathy being the primary causation of shortened life span. If you have hepatic encephalopathy so bad it could kill you, that means you have end stage liver disease or cirrhosis and will be dead shortly because your liver is shutting down. The liver is the big issue - hepatic encephalopathy is a syndrome caused by the liver failure or cirrhosis.

stage 3 HE would kill you in about a year and also at that point you'd have difficulty stringing words together

earlier stages can be "reversed" by (fatphobia warning) losing weight. even a little bit of weight. you're not actually reversing cirrhosis because that's permanent but you're getting rid of the fat deposits around the liver that keep making it angry. and if you stop pissing off mr. liver then he can keep ticking along for a long time even though he's full of scar tissue.

 

[Nicotine Fetish]

So, strangely enough - after pondering on this thread if lifebyjen scrubs her comment section... she admit she does. And gives her viewers head pats for not making her work so hard to censor her comment section on her last couple of videos.

 

[gay frogs]

I took a bunch of screenshots from Lilith's Twitter because why not. She constantly retweets herself so I skipped a ton.

This bitch wrote a Twitter will?