Depression and Malted-Milk Balls: Thinking It Through
I have a friend who loves malted-milk balls.
The girl can eat a half-gallon carton of Whoppers and not gain a pound. Me, I eat Whoppers and you can literally see my butt expand: Whopper size fat dimples all over my hind quarters.
She tells me she has always been this way – able to eat anything she wants without gaining weight. 
A perpetual size 2. She says she has a fast metabolism. I don’t know what it is but she doesn’t have to work at it. Me, I gotta work at it and work at it and work at it.
I realized yesterday – while staring at the muffin top puffing over the waist of my jeans – that some of us have to work just as hard at our mental health as we do our physical health. Other folks are lucky. They don’t have to work at it – just like my friend who can eat Whoppers with muffin-top impunity. Stress, anger, sadness, jealousy don’t trigger a chemical reaction in their brains that makes them curl up into a fetal position or rage against the machine. They deal with it and get over it.
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