# Talking Bodies ( explicit )



## Mackenzie27 (Sep 27, 2016)

Talking Bodies


I don't remember the first time I became aware of my body. 
Aware in the ways that a little girl shouldn't be. When you're young, you don't question what you look like. You use your body in the ways it's intended. As a vessel to propel you forward: Hands for grasping the monkey bars. Legs that carry you to the undiscovered corners of the playground. Lungs that gasp as you flee from boys with crushes who are also too young to question the ways in which your body may or may not be quite right. 
That all ends much too soon. I miss those days, long for them with my whole heart, cursing my mind for sabatoging itself into believing I am less than worthy. I try to remember when it happened, but I can't pinpoint a specific day, or month, or year. All I have are moments. Seemingly small but significant moments that paved the way to where I am now. Moments that carved their place into my brain, that snaked their way alongside my most treasured memories and slowly but surely, built themselves a home. 
7: 
My mom and I are walking into the grocery store and as I catch my reflection in the window I unhappily mention how I wish I wasn't so chubby. She responds that I'm not chubby, I'm plump. 
I feel my heart beat a little bit faster and my cheeks heat up as a fire of shame eruptd within the walls of this body that I have just realized might not be quite right.


10:
I'm sitting in my fourth grade class and my best friend mentions that she likes my shirt. It's black and white, abstract and trendy and I beam with pride as I tell her it's new, that my mom bought the same one, but that mine is an extra small. My mind already having begun equating size with worth. 
I'm still smiling when the boy who sits in front of me turns around, and with a knowing smirk only a boy of that age can pull off, he breaks me with seven words. "That's the only thing small about you" 
I never wear that shirt again. 


12:
I'm standing across from him. The length of the gym between us seems infinite as the neon lights create shadows that dance across his face. I watch my best friend swaying to the music and I imagine his hands on my hips in the way his friend's hands fall on hers. 
The song changes, the moment is over. He hasn't moved, he hasn't once looked over. I turn and walk briskly out of the gym, face down to hide the disappointment seeping out of my eyes. 
I return a few minutes later, the song has changed again, I look for him among the streamers and balloons. Catch a glimpse of him holding someone else.
It hurts.
Is it because I'm not as skinny as her? 
My mind has decided yes. 


15:
I'm getting ready, admiring myself in the mirror. Enjoying the way the yellow fabric clings to my hips. The way the deep V enhances my chest, something I've become proud of. 
I walk to meet them. My friends. All boys. I enjoy the way their eyes linger on the curve of my calves, the skin beneath my necklace, the way my hair moves in the wind. I am feeling whole. I am feeling powerful and worthwhile. This body of mine that I've come to know as "good"  : flat stomach with supple breasts, smooth shoulders and straight teeth. This body is mine. I feel lucky, I feel blessed.


16: I
'm angry. The mirror and I have become enemies yet again. I cannot stop the fog of depression that has come over me these past few months. It lingers and seeps into my bones without any promise of dissipating. I sleep a lot. My boyfriend has become stressful, seeing him takes all of my energy. My clothes do not fit properly. I wear baggy sweaters and I hate myself for it. I feel that I need to make a change. But I don't know where to start.


17:
I'm graduating soon. I have renewed energy. I have bought a gym membership, I am eating healthy. I am feeding my body. I am in control once again and it feels wonderful. I love the high I get from a great workout- pushing my legs to their limit - and then pushing them further beyond that. I am enjoying the balance I have created within my life. Friends, family, health, exercise. 
I buy my graduation dress two months before the day. 
 I'm feeling triumphant as the emerald tulle lies flat against my stomach and feign a humble smile as the tailor mentions that I seem even thinner than I was during my last fitting. 
As I leave the shop my smile is as big as it's ever been. 


18:
I start University soon. I have decided to reinvent myself. This new chapter of my life requires a new me. I will be the fittest. I will be the most committed. I will study harder than I ever have. I will be the best version of me- a version I have yet to uncover. 
My workouts have become daily necessities. I cannot focus unless I have completed the requisite 3 hour cardio, abs, weights. I am thinner and stronger than ever, and people seem to be noticing. 
I am getting stares of admiration, and also glares. People I thought were my friends have begun treating me differently. I have a new boyfriend. He cannot stop commenting on my appearance. It makes me feel good, except that I can't shake the feeling that I am becoming my body, that my personality is slowly blinking away, making room for other obsessions.


19:
All I can think about is food. Calories in and calories out. My workouts have begun to take over and as a result my social life is dwindling. My boyfriend is frustrated but he doesn't realize that I'm doing this for him, he loves how I look. He doesn't get it. No one gets it. I am healthy. And yes I am as skinny as I'll ever be but it's a good thing. I'm pushing myself to be better every day. Today my friend told me she is taking me to the doctor. I pretend to agree but in my head I laugh at her. In my twisted mind I am sure she is jealous. She isn't as healthy as me. As fit. She isn't in control.
I am in control. 


21: 
I'm in treatment. I had to. The doctors gave me no choice. I was scaring my parents, creating emotional scars within my family that I don't think will ever properly heal.
But now that I'm here, I've learned things about myself. Rediscovered lost parts of my soul that I dropped along the path of obsession. I am learning that my body does not define who I am. That I am worthwhile as a person, despite my appearance. I am falling in love with myself again. Not my body - my body is a tumultuous and abusive relationship that I have yet to understand. I am leaving my body behind for the time being. I am spending my time getting reacquainted with my mind. I had forgotten who I was, in my quest for perfection I let the flames behind my eyes flicker and die. I have started to laugh again, discovering a convoluted sense of humour that reminds me of my Dad's. I take pleasure in these new developments. I am reminded that I have a multitude of qualities to offer others that have nothing to do with my appearance. 


22: 
I have gained weight. Something to do with having starved my body for so long, abnormal eating routine is having a scary effect. My body is holding on to everything it can get, terrified I will begin to deprive it once more.
I am afraid to go out. Afraid to see people I knew before. When I was thin. When I was "perfect". I can't face their looks of shock when they see me. See the space that I take up, I know they won't be able to reconcile it with the me they knew before.
I cry all the time. No longer numb, no longer in control. In a doctor's  narrow terms I am "cured" my body is no longer a danger. I am normal.
I can't stand how it feels to not be exceptional. I do not know who I am in this new body. I have discovered my personality, I am firm in my soul. I just don't know how to do the things I did when I was skinny, now that I am not.







23: 
I start a new job tomorrow. I have been hiding long enough. I am still aware of all the ways I dislike this new body. But I am taking pride in my emotional and external accomplishments. I am throwing myself into the deep end, falling in order to fly, as it were.
As the months go by I begin to feel okay. I meet people who did not know me as a thin girl, who accept me just the way I am. I am making a difference in the lives of the people I work with. I am happy within myself.
I am also frustrated. I go out with my friends and I do not get looked at, I miss the admiration of the boys I walk past. I miss being secure in my appearance.


24: 
 He's  kissing me. His five o clock shadow bristled against my chin as I breathe him in. Taste the air from his lungs and feel his heart beating rhythmically against mine. 
I'm holding his hands - hard. Pressing them against the cool leather of the couch, making sure I am the one who does the exploring. He sighs in pleasure as I move my lips along his jaw, down his neck, tongue massaging his most vulnerable parts. As I pull his sweater over his head, his hands - momentarily free from my insistent grasp rise up to rescind the favour- but I bite his lip, tasting blood. Reminding him that it's me who gets to explore, to chip away at the once unknown plains of him, to delight in the flaws that make him who he is.. To see the parts of him that make the delicate place between my legs wet and feverish with want. 

His pants are off now and as I move my way down his body I can feel his need to touch me- to delve into my most secret parts, the way I am with his.  My hands are still grasping his, I kiss each knuckle, place each finger briefly inside of my mouth, tongue swirling as I give him a preview of what's to come. 

I'm distracting him. I don't tell him but I'm sure he can put the pieces together. It is our third date and I have yet to let him see me naked. 
I can't tell him. I don't know where to begin. How to explain that this body he is so anxious to see, is not worthy of his eyes. 
In my mind I know I am being ridiculous. I know better. I know it all. I feel like I need to tell him my story. The whole thing, and then maybe he will understand. That the me he sees right now isn't really the real me - that I'll be skinny again one of these days and I don't want him to worry, he can see me when that day comes.
But I don't say any of that. 
I don't know how, without sounding crazy.
It is crazy.



I can still taste him after he leaves.
The bitter aftertaste of him and of my reluctance. 
Of regret. 
I don't want to live my life under the pretense of "some day when I'm skinny again" anymore.


Now:
And so I write this. I write this for me.
Not for the Me of yesterday or for the Me of tomorrow, or for the Me of six months from now.
I write this for the Me of today.
She deserves it.


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## Harper J. Cole (Sep 29, 2016)

An extremely frank and brave piece, impeccably paced and with no SPaG errors that I could see. I can only say nice work, and I hope that you get where you want to be in terms of accepting your body as it is.

HC


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## Plasticweld (Sep 29, 2016)

Very well done, at first I was a little put off by the numerical label and each of the feelings and experiences.  As the piece continued I found I enjoyed the numerical label and the time in life that it represented.  It did flow well, captivated me and had me waiting to read the next revelation.   As Harper said it is well paced and cleanly written, the honestly adds real power to the piece, your humility sells it.


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## Bard_Daniel (Sep 29, 2016)

This is a well presented and clear story you've got here. I think you did a great job at showing the real truth, however painful it may be, in your piece. That takes guts. Good on you!

Thanks for sharing!


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## Platoon (Nov 20, 2016)

Nice work Mackenzie27. I'm a guy but I can relate to it. 

I like the way you organize this by years and give us a glimpse of the changing. 

Those early years really are the best, before our minds start corrupting things. And they dissapear not at once but gradually until one day that free part of us has vanished.


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