Can’t Eat Right, Can’t Sleep Right


As a small child I had my tonsils removed. Minutes after coming out of anesthesia, a nurse walked into my room and was horrified to see that I was eating a chocolate-covered doughnut.
I remember thinking the pleasure is worth the pain.

Not being able to eat like a normal human being has been a curse.
I have many bad memories, like the time my mom took me to the Sears Husky Department for new jeans. She held up a pair for inspection, and said, “Do you think these will fit?”
The pants were huge, and it looked like she was holding up a big blue square, as wide as it was long. Two girls from my school walked by, looked at the jeans in my mom’s hands, then looked at me and laughed.
“Put them down, Mom! I know those girls,” I cried.

I was heavier than most kids at school. In the lunchroom, I would take my finger and stick it in their cake, and then ask them if they wanted it. I scored a lot of cake this way.
My parents would catch me making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I would quickly stuff them into my pants pockets and run out of the room. I know this was bad for my health, because I ate a lot of lint.
I still cringe when I hear the words “Fatso,” “Tub O’ Lard,” or “Porky Pig.” The mental and emotional damage has been extensive.
I now take sleeping pills. The other night while I was unconscious, I went into the kitchen and ate three sandwiches. The worst side-effect from my sleeping pills has been waking up with crumbs on my blankets and bad heartburn.


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