How Does 'This Is Your Brain On Food' Address Depression Through Nutrition?

A parent in my son's preschool group chat tagged me out of nowhere. "Theo's dad, your son's lunches always look pretty nice. Starting tomorrow, pack one for my daughter too." "I'm not asking for free food. I'll give you ten dollars a day. That adds up. You can make a little extra on the side." I stared at the message, almost laughing from how absurd it was. My son has severe food sensitivities and a fragile stomach. Every ingredient in his meals is specially sourced, and a single lunch costs far more than five hundred dollars to prepare. And this man thought ten dollars could buy it? I replied with two words: "Not happening." The next day, my son came home crying. His lunch had been taken by another child, and the teacher had scolded him for being selfish. Fine. Since they wanted to push this far, I would show them exactly how far I could go.

When my wife's childhood friend's depression flared up again, she handed me divorce papers. I signed them without a fuss and told her I was leaving the country. She looked surprised, then seemed to figure it out. "So you're finally behaving? Realized your little tantrums won't work, so now you're trying something new to get me back? Fine. Go abroad. Stay out of Asher's sight so you don't trigger him. When he gets better, I'll come get you." I slipped off my wedding ring and handed it to her. My gaze fell to the jagged scar on my wrist. "No need," I said. "Let's just let each other go. Stop holding on."

Dr. Brandon Johnson is one that most people would describe as a cold-hearted man, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He is really a kind man who cares deeply for those closest to him, and he is passionate about the work that he does as a bioengineer. He has seen things that changed him, and not completely for the better. He has lived with heartache and regret since he was eighteen. Fifteen years later, Fate gives him the chance to fix the heartbreaks he caused in the past and have the life he should have never given up in the first place. Dr. Alexia Montgomery became a microbiologist after losing her dad to cancer. She is an ambitious woman who has a lot of things that she wants accomplish in life. When she finally gets the chance to work at her dream Research and Development company, she finds that the job may actually be more of a nightmare, than a dream come true. Can she forgive the man who first shattered her heart? Will it be in time for him to help her get through finding out her life has been a lie and saving her from the monster of her past?

My mom is a retired supermodel. She's added a monitor to the weight scales at home so that she can monitor my and my sister, Abigail Teller's perfect body weight. If my data goes up by 0.1%, Mom will ban me from eating for the next three days. But the thing is, Abigail keeps eating fried chicken every day, yet her monitor's light is always green. Mom claims that Abigail's still going through puberty. I defend myself, saying that I've gained weight because of the bloating caused by my period. As Mom points at the red light emitted by my monitor, she exclaims, "The data is never wrong! If you've gained weight, that means you've been snacking far too much!" After getting punished many times, I begin believing that being fat is a sin. On the night of my 20th birthday, the long-term diet I've been placed on has triggered my kidney failure, which causes me to bloat up everywhere. I kneel on the floor and plead to Mom that I'm seriously ill. But that's when the monitor lets out a shrill alarm. When Mom sees the 5% increase in my body fat data, she puts me through a devillish punishment. I can feel the electric currents jolting through my body. "It's bad enough that you've secretly snacked on cake, but to even lie in my face about your illness? I'd like to see how long you can stay stubborn for!" Having said her piece, Mom locks the door and takes Abigail out to celebrate her birthday. I guess Mom is correct. Monitors never lie. I'm the one who's at the wrong for being a glutton. That's why I've transformed into a monster who doesn't deserve any love at all. I'm sorry, Mom. I'll only drink water in my next life.

At our company dinner, my girlfriend, Katherine Hale, makes a detour to get some treats. She hands a glass of juice to my childhood friend, Mark Langley, who is sitting opposite us. Then, she sets down a cup of yogurt in front of me. Mark thanks her with a smile. "How thoughtful of you! You remembered I can't have iced drinks because of my gastric issues." I stare at the cup of yogurt with mango bits in it. Then, I nudge it further away from me, my expression blank. "What's the matter?" Katherine asks casually. I respond, "I'm allergic to mangoes. Did you forget that again?" She freezes for a moment. Then, she smiles and shrugs. "Come on, it's no big deal. Just pick out the mango bits." But she never forgets that Mark doesn't want any cilantro or onion in his food. Also, he only accepts chilled juice without any ice or sugar. Meanwhile, I have difficulty breathing if I take even a single bite of mango, but she thinks it's fine as long as I pick them out. Turns out, if one is biased enough, they can overlook even matters of life and death. On our way home, I sit in the back seat as usual. I look at the two people in the front, who seem perfect for each other. All of a sudden, I feel relief washing over me. Katherine can't even remember my allergies, so what am I holding onto this relationship for?

My 20-year-old daughter was obese. She started gaining weight in middle school, and now she weighed 200 pounds. I worried about her health, so I prepared nutritious meals for her and encouraged her to exercise every day, but she didn't take the problem seriously. "I was born weighing 7 pounds. It's your fault for making me so fat when I was in your womb." For eight years, every time I urged her to lose weight, that was her reply. Just as I was losing hope and considering giving up, I received a FaceTime call from my daughter 10 years in the future. "Mom! Please help me one more time!" My daughter cried on the phone. "I now weigh 500 pounds. I can't even leave home, and I struggle to breathe every day. I feel so miserable!" My heart softened, and I spent $30,000 to send my daughter to a weight loss camp. However, in the camp, my daughter indulged herself and even started a food vlogging channel. "Eat as much as you want, drink as much as you want. Don't take life so seriously. We only have about 80 years to live, so enjoy your food!" I was completely disappointed and chose to respect her decision. My daughter from ten years later cried hysterically on the phone. "The doctor said I don't have long to live! Please stop feeding me!" But this time, the FaceTime call was made to my daughter's phone.