Dear Body,

You have been my vessel for nearly 24 years.  I'm sorry for letting you be violated and abused for so long.  I'm sorry for neglecting you for many years and causing irreversible damage.  I feel so disconnected to you.  I always have.  Ever since I was a child, especially since "those particular incidences", I thought of you as a target of pain, something that never goes away and is an unwanted reminder of something horrible, like bedbugs or herpes. I marvel at others' bodies and others' abilities to accept and show off their bodies.  How can some people carry themselves so elegantly through this world and place themselves in social situations so gracefully.  I see you as the product of 2 people who, I would like to believe, loved each other, but I don't want to fool myself.  You are a physical, tangible representation of the ugliness of my parents' relationship.  You're nothing but a shameful object to me.  But you have protected me from diseases and cold weathers, although poorly.  Slowly but surely, I'm entertaining the idea of your physical fluidity.. your malleability.  And I'm starting to take better care of you.  I'm nourishing you with food - something I have deprived you of for nearly half my life.  I've taken away harmful substances and I'm not hurting you as much.  I feel like I'm just getting to know you, the real you, without the misinformation my malnourished brain has been giving me.  My eyes, which I consider distorted, conniving lenses, are not kind to me.  I wish I could replace them with those who tell me, "I wish you could see what I see in you."  I'm stuck with you.  Unless I do some morbid limb/boob/skin/eyeball transplant.  But that's highly unlikely.  I need to be comfortable in you, or at least be comfortable in my dissatisfaction with you.  This is as good as it's gonna get.

Sincerely,

Me