I’ve been trying to run back in time, searching through my memories, trying to get a glimpse of the exact moment in which I experienced anxiety for the first time. I think it was during sixth grade of school. I was twelve years old and the morning break was too long for me. I used to get easily bored during those recesses (I didn’t have many friends since we were only five classmates in total); therefore, I started eating to kill time. I asked Clarita, the coffee shop owner, to hand me a pack of Chicky cookies and a Coke. Soon after, I asked for more. Two more. Four packs of cookies in total and I still wasn’t able to stop. I could feel my body screaming and begging for more, yearning for that weird feeling of being stuffed with chocolate until it couldn’t be fed with even one more crumble.
