Fat Gregg is dead.

I've been two things as long as I can remember: fat and gay. And when I say fat, I mean fat. At my peak I weighed nearly 400 pounds. I was one cheeseburger away from someone tying ropes to me and floating me down New York City's Fifth Avenue during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

And I've learned the hard way that fat and gay go together about as well as Barbara Walters and Star Jones.

I've spent the last few years living and socializing in the gay capital of Southern California--West Hollywood. Needless to say, I do not fit in. But I am surprised at the outright hostility, heartlessness, and viciousness I've experienced from my thinner peers.

I have been mooed at, pointed at, pushed, called every name in the book, and basically treated like a terrorist in my own city by members of my own community. A bartender at one prominent club called me "fat ass" when taking my drink order. Another refused to serve me at all. I stood there for nearly a half hour while he helped all the pretty thin people. But I was invisible to him. Humiliated, I finally had to ask one of my thinner friends to get my drink for me.

That was one of the few times I was glad fat people get so sweaty--at least I could play off my tears of humiliation as perspiration running down my face.

After years of such abuse I decided I'd had enough. On May 10, I declared "Fat Gregg" to be officially dead. It was on that day that I had gastric bypass surgery. In the four months since then I've lost more than 100 pounds.

I could lie and say the decision to undergo life-altering surgery was solely for health reasons. But that wouldn't be the whole truth. Deep inside, I just want to be thin.

I want to walk down Santa Monica Boulevard without getting insults hurled at me from strangers in passing cars. I want to be able to go to a gay bar and order a drink without being hassled. I want to be treated like a human being in a city that claims to promote acceptance and to embrace differences, but apparently draws the line at fat people. I want to be accepted for who I am, not how I look. I want to be respected.

I want to stop being invisible.