Body

Corrin Bronersky
2 min readNov 5, 2018

Today I left my body. Skin, bones, scars, fat, hair, nails, all of it. It lays rumpled and disheveled where I’d slept, almost unseen. Camouflaged with the blankets I had used to wrap up and hold myself together; like bandages pulled tight around a mummified corpse.

I see myself there, the physical form of me, and blush in disgust. That body was heavy, flabby, ugly; things I had affirmed to myself in the mirror every morning. The mirror always agreed.

I stretched my new form, let it fill the room and I rejoiced in the freedom of it. My obligations had already been forgotten. No longer would I have to rise in the mornings and shovel tasteless, mushy oats into my mouth. Wouldn’t have to let the few spoonfuls sit in my stomach so I could pretend they satisfied me until my small work lunch that I’d scarf down in private. No more job that forced me to strain my cheeks in barely believable contentment which was only relieved when I could show my detest to everyone else trading their time for survival. No more skipping dinner under the guise of “forgetting” or being “too lazy”, but really having an underlying hatred for food that my mother taught me. A hatred her mother taught her, and one day I would teach my own daughter, not through lesson but action. Whenever I complained about my weight, skipped a meal, or mentioned not looking quite right; her young mind would conform, and she too would teach this hatred.

No more seeking validity in my body through someone else’s. No more letting my value be decided by who and how many people would fit their body to mine. My body no longer needed others to feel like its own because I no longer was confined, defined by it.

No more…beep,beep,beep… my eyes open. I unfurl myself from the blankets I had become one with. I stretch and float on the mood of a forgotten good dream. I walk past the mirror. I eat my oatmeal with blueberries and brown sugar and spend an extra few minutes in the shower. I pack a lunch and grab a book to read on my commute. I believe that today will be different from yesterday.

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