As a kid, I was a picky eater, like I assume most children are.

As my parents tell me, my eating habits transcended normal childhood proclamations of, I don't

like broccoli, and evolved into a refusal to eat absolutely anything of substance.

Things other children might eat and enjoy, like chicken nuggets, spaghetti, or even hot

dogs, were shunned by toddler me.

It got to the point, and they say, where they and my pediatrician became concerned for

my health.

I stopped growing properly, falling well below the typical percentiles for children's

height and weight, and the rest of my development seemed stunted as a result.

Frazes were tossed around, like failure to thrive, and tube feed.

In the end, my parents were forced to feed me calorie-loaded milkshakes, made with

nutrient-enriched formula every night in a bid to get me to gain weight.

Honestly, I don't know why they put up with it, I sound like I was a little shit.

The milkshake regime extended past toddlerhood and into my childhood.

At five years old, I was still refusing to eat food, despite the countless nights my

parents sent me to bed hungry for refusing to even try my dinner.

I was still small for my age, and spent more than a little time in the hospital due to

the starvation of my body.

My parents would later tell me that they were sure I was going to be taken away by the

state because of how emaciated I appeared.

Thankfully, they were in constant contact with doctors who monitored the situation, so

there was undeniable proof that my case wasn't due to neglect.

...