By Odera Ohuruogu
My love for cereal is quite great.
It started even before I was eight.
But one day it became more than a normal love.
It became a comfort and a way to cope.
I was in seventh grade and came back home crying almost every day.
I was in a season of depression but didn’t even realize it.
It felt like nothing was going my way and like no one was there for me.
I was close to failing math-it was my first and only ever D.
I was in the midst of my parent’s divorce.
All my friends seemed to be in their own worlds and bubbles.
It felt like it was just me and my cereal.
Some days it was Honey Bunches of Oats.
On other days it was Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
I would come home, sit on my bed, and eat a big bowl of cereal.
I savored every bite and let the sweetness sink in.
I drowned in every bowl as the sugar helped me forget the dreariness of the day.
After finishing the bowl, I would try to use that energy to carry me through the rest of the day.
Cereal is good but relying on it isn’t.
Now when I eat cereal I remember that time and am grateful.
I’m grateful that I don’t have as much of a dependency on food as I used to.
I’m grateful that I don’t feel the same way I used to back in seventh grade.
I’m grateful that I can enjoy a bowl of cereal without wanting to cry.