I was a fat child, it was around middle school that I realized and started to realize it. I wasn’t very athletic just squeaking by in gym class, I was terrible at baseball, football and the like. My mother had to by me “husky” sized clothes, but I mostly got hand me downs from my two older brothers. We moved from our quaint cape cod style home to a bigger colonial house across town, I was thirteen years old and loved the life I was living. I had a great group of friends and spent a great deal of time with them, but we moved and I lost all of them. We moved closer to the city, a bigger and busier area with a more diverse population. That was the first time I saw a black person, at the new school there were kids from many different cultures, I learned early on to just keep your head down and mind your own business, much like prison. I would spend the next six years like that, not being able to fit in anywhere, I did find comfort in the arts drawing, painting, music and the like. Anything that I was able to do alone I would do. I lived in my own world and didn’t let very many people in, oh, I tried many times, but the people who called me a friend hurt me the most and I wasn’t prepared to deal with that and neither were my parents. I took quite a few years after school to begin to fit into my new neighborhood. My first job was at a gas station that was right down the street, close enough to walk every day. I was sixteen and struggling to find myself, the people I met working there helped shape my life.