Though I've inhabited its skin, existed beneath the protection of its layers for the better part of 25 years, my body is foriegn to me. I am surprised each time it triumphs, amazed at the limits it surpasses. I treat it as a seperate entity, my skeleton and its flesh dwell in a space that I cannot control.
This body defied me. It spoke when my lips were silent, its gestures deafening, consuming space. It asked to be nurtured, demanding acknowledgement and attention. It hungered for consolation, for connection, for answers to its questions, companionship, and empathy.
I have been at war with my body for fifteen years. That number terrifies me. One and a half decades of battles, arms crossed over my chest, shoulders hunched beneath draped fabric, desires cloaked by denim, cashmere, by anything. Constantly in motion, competing in an endless race to run away from itself.
Even if you don't want to be in the moment, you're here.
Today I choose the moment. I am here. Present. I lay myself bare because I am all that I have. I am vulnerable and needy and I am alive.