Today, strangers and friends alike will look at me and assume I've been "skinny" my entire life.
And they are absolutely wrong.
I grew up with empty chip bags flooding my bedroom trash can, their contents sitting heavily in my stomach and slithering into my bloodstream. Chips were my favorite snack and I could devour an entire family sized bag by myself in one sitting. At 16 years old, I weighed over 200 pounds and by 18, I reached an personal all-time high of 220. A number of things may have led me to consume food past any points of comfort my body and mind have established, and re-established: a broken family, coming to terms with my queerness, navigating my life as a black male, and depression. Being the only child of my family meant that the only "people" I could talk to were either the characters I fabricate in my mind or the people I saw flickering on my T.V.
I was lonely. And food became a temporary cure.