When I was in college, I got sick. I don’t remember if it was the time I had pneumonia or some other time. It makes sense that it would have been when I had pneumonia, but it also could have been the year I spent drunk. Anyway, I was very sick, like I hadn’t been since I was a kid.
And I spent all night in the dark feeling like deathly shit until it got light. And then, I looked down at my body and scared the shit out of myself. I was way, way too big. I looked like a mountain range.
Yep, just for a second, I was imagining myself at six again, and the sight of my grown-up body disconcerted me to the point I almost screamed.
Not that my everyday relationship with my body is much better.
Look here. Brittney has this fabulous picture of herself. You will never see a picture of me like that, ever. I will never be that at ease around one, that trusting that what it shows is worth looking at.
Or look here at Plimco, having her naked superhero contest.
Is that brave? I don’t think either of them would say that it is and yet…
I keep thinking, what if it wasn’t me? If these bits and pieces belonged to someone else, say a friend of mine, would I accept this bullshit behavior from her–never looking at herself and enjoying what she sees?
I would not. I’d be furious.
Fuck it. I would rather do anything than write this post.
I want to see myself as beautiful and worth loving and believe it to be true. When does that happen?
Does it come when you finally make peace with the ordinary or do you begin to see yourself in some new way?