That dilapidated house in Eastwood made every day feel like a horror film. Its current state more accurately depicts what it was like to live inside. Its paint has long faded. The grass is overgrown and weeds have destroyed a yard that was once so meticulously managed. The windows are permanently shut, with blankets covering them from the inside as not to allow anybody to see within.

The sun hung high in the Bahamian sky, casting a warm and inviting glow across campus. As my partner Mickell and I eagerly awaited the end of our classes, the minutes seemed to stretch on forever. It was one of those in-between moments when time moved at its own leisurely pace, and hunger gnawed at our insides. McDonald's was the natural choice, a beacon of familiarity amongst the student body.

Tiredness had known my mother’s face better than anything and anyone else. A diligent woman she was, always opting to work smarter instead of harder.

In the hushed shadows of remembrance, my life unfolds a canvas painted with solitude’s muted shades. The departure of love left me balancing on life’s tightrope, while divorce shattered the family mosaic I clung to.

It was during May of 2022 that several events took place that would herald the beginning of a new chapter in my life. It was a tumultuous period for me, and my family as well. It all started with the Spring 2022 term ending, and to put it simply, I had flunked it completely.

I always knew the people around me were more aware of my size than I ever was. I don't remember what specific age the shape of my body became the only thing that seemed to define me. But, what I do remember, are the moments that pushed me to become extremely obsessive with my body image.

The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over the crisp white tablecloth, illuminating the half-empty glass of my lemon drop as my plate of seafood alfredo grew cold on the table. It should have been a romantic evening, a celebration of love and commitment, but a sense of unease gnawed at me as I watched D’von across the table.

Where is the perfect place to die? A dog that once had dusty white nylon carpet-like fur but is now furless with blotches on its exposed skin. It belongs to a family that one can say lives in the back of the bush, near dirt road that officially does not exist but has nothing but footprints and tire tracks.

Is this home? I wondered as I stood in the doorway of our new apartment, sighing at the plain sight of the small space; so discolored and cramped.