(escapril, day 17: body as friend (or foe))

I don’t think about my body until it’s all I can think about.

Sick fascination with every rounded edge and soft corner.

Poking and prodding as the peach skinned alien, blurry around the edges.

If I can just get small enough, I’ll deserve a little space to call my own.

I am this height, so I must weigh this many pounds.

I must stay acceptable, desirable, healthy.

I don’t want to be stared at on the train, the victim of silent judgement, the butt of jokes.

It’s self-defense, really.

I can tell myself that, but it’s only a half truth.

I can eat what I want and never get to the point of ridicule.

Others are not so lucky.

Others are healthy as the sun shines and called disgusting, lazy, fat.

Fat.

The worst possible insult in a world where energy must be minute to minute.

Where you must scrape by on crumbs,

And always with a smile.

You’ve got it good!

Go to bed hungry, wake up hungry, live hungry.

Convince myself I wanted this all along.

Make a list of what I can cut out,

Learning to convince my stomach it doesn’t need to be filled.

Life is not a privilege to be earned.

I am a person.

There are certain inalienable rights.

This is something I must convince myself before anyone else.

This body lasts only a lifetime, my soul forever.

I think it would be wise to keep peace with her.