My Best Friend- And First Love
My Bestie
My best friend was so incredibly sweet. They always knew how to make me feel better and they were always willing to sit with me in my sorrows.
They gave me something to look forward to in the day, and I would day dream about getting to spend time with them. I would plan for it. I prioritized it.
Of course mom criticized the time spent with Bestie. She voiced concerns about the influence my bestie had on me, but did nothing to intervene other than shame me.
Shame only made me want Bestie more. I found myself turning to them whenever my feelings were hurt, whenever I felt low, or was hating myself. Bestie would remind me that they loved me like nobody else ever would, unconditionally.
My bestie never shamed or belittled me. My bestie never chose others before me.
Bestie went to school with me, but I didn’t have to share them with anybody else. We’d sit apart from others at lunch, just me and them.
Bestie seemed so good, so full of life, so perfect.
My best friend throughout my youth was an extended bar of candy jars that my grandma kept well stocked. She had gummy bears and M&Ms, spice drops and Hersey’s miniatures, Hersey’s Kisses and Hugs, and seasonal candies. She had peanut butter cups and all kinds of fun sized candy bars.
The bar was topped with round glass display jars, and Grandma delighted in keeping them fully stocked, and would make sure we all knew if something new was in the mix. There was a second candy bar on the upper level of the house.
She had acquired the glass jars in a promotion when I was younger; they came with donut holes, and I remember going through a lot of donut holes.
Grandma and I also spent a fair amount of time baking sweet goodies, in addition to all of the candy.
Instead of supervision and help creating a healthy relationship with food, I was fat shamed and bullied, not just at school but by my own family.
I could lift and replace the glass lids without ever making a sound. In a single afternoon I would make trip after trip after trip to the glass jars, back to my chair, then to the trashcan before going back to the jars.
I would stock up my pockets to make it through the night or the school day. No matter how much I took, there remained an endless supply.
I ate my feelings.
I ate my grief.
I ate my confusion and frustration.
I ate the soul-crushing weight of conformity.
I ate, and I ate, and I ate.
I was 200 lbs. by 6th grade and 250 lbs. through most of high school. In 2005 I was tipping the scales at 350, which I have now surpassed.
My bestie is hard to break up with. They’re on all TV screens and in so many commercials. They’re in every market and town center. My bestie is every place I turn, and cannot be outrun.
Survivor Literacy 
What do you think?