That was the topic or the prompt for today's writing exercise. Obviously you have realized that I am not writing once a day like I am supposed to be so, not only am I not playing this writing game very well, but I am inconsistent as hell.
Imagine my surprise when I looked up today's writing prompt. Well. Here goes nothing.
(Before I get into this exercise, I have been absent from writing period because of a profound sadness, caused actually by an abundance of bullshit from so many different directions, but each day it gets a little bit better...so there's that.)
Anyway, my body...
My first thought? Son of a bitch. (This may be one of my more brutally honest blogs, so if you don't like the foul language and other truths I am about to write, you may want to skip this one.)
I hate my body. I always have.
I learned at a very, very early age to hate my body. 7 to be exact. I didn't hate my body because of the usual society bullshit (too fat, too thin, to tall, too skinny, bad skin, etc.) I hated my body because it didn't work. Not like other people my age. I can remember sitting out of a basketball practice at the grade school in 5th or 6th grade because something just wasn't right. I couldn't keep up. It hurt when I moved. When we finally figured out what was wrong, it still didn't make a whole lot of sense, but I did the best I could. As a freshman I remember one game specifically where I embarrassed my parents to the point that I don't think they even showed up for my game, I think they waited and came to Sisters, later. In order to play, I pretty much had to wrap every bone, every muscle, every joint. Little did I know that a company called Under Armour would eventually corner the market on clothes that did just this very thing. Kept the muscles and joints warm and tight. Bastards made a lot of money, still are. All I knew is that I couldn't move without it. I looked like a mummy. I didn't care I wanted to play. Eventually, I had to quit participating in track, softball, volleyball, etc. I had to pick one sport. I chose basketball. I was never, ever, going to be the basketball player my sister was and in hindsight, I should have chose softball, it would have been a hell of a lot easier on my body, but I never chose the easy route. I guess I liked challenges. Anyway, basketball it was and I played, if you can even call it that, until my senior year. It was my senior year that I had to stop playing everything. They told me I had a prolapsed mitro-valve in my heart...which is harmless really, except when you have dental work done (need to avoid an infection.) It was a few years later when the Mayo clinic determined that yes, I did have that, but it was the connective tissue around my heart that would "flare up" and cause the discomfort, fatigue, etc. Leading them to believe this was more of a connective tissue disease, than a joint issue. To this day, the tests are borderline Lupus.
You should already know the rest of the story, the Mayo clinic said I would never make it with a career in fitness...well, I did and because of it, was in the best shape of my life. Like phenomenal. Like. No words. And then I broke my back. Even when I was in the best shape of my life, I still hated my body. It didn't matter that I weighed the least amount I had ever weighed in my life. Or that my body fat was almost non existent. I never thought I looked good. Never would.
That brings us to today. When I returned home from Hawaii, I had a neuroma in my foot. The following February I had surgery to remove that. That same year, in July, I broke my hand. I still don't know how. (And it is actually better that way.) But of my entire body, the only thing I could tolerate were my hands because they reminded me of my Grandpas and my moms. Now, that hand is crooked...and I hate it. Six months later, I fell and broke my leg and ankle in 3 places. That son of a bitch will never look right or work right again. (Mind you this was after I was 6 weeks into my new health and fitness regimen.) It would be 6 weeks before I could walk again. That was fun. Two steps forward, 18 back. This September, I needed to have my gallbladder removed. Sooooooooooooooooo, with that, I have had 3 surgeries in a year and a half's time. If you thought I hated my body before? I despise it now. D-E-S-P-I-S-E. Will it help if I lost 50#, of course, will I still hate it? Of course. It is forever broken, crooked and scarred.
Yes, I suppose all of those things "make" me who I am today, but in my heart and my head, that is exactly what it makes me...broken, crooked and scarred. BUT, for all of my cup half full friends, I need to be grateful it's still working right? Well hell of course I am. I shouldn't be walking after I broke my back. I don't suppose I should have had such an awesome recovery from my broken leg either, other then I broke it as cleanly as you can. My Gallbladder? I didn't need that bitch anyway. I have felt a lot better after she got removed. My hand? It's my "ring finger" hand, so if someone ever does put a ring on it, I guess I will forever be reminded of that one time I broke my hand, but can't remember how.
Yes, everything is about perspective. The writing topic was not about how lucky I feel to have my body, the topic was simply, My Body. And I am supposed to write exactly what I felt...so there ya have it. I hate the vessel and I always have and I seriously probably always will. We live in a society where we are completely wholeheartedly judged by the vessel we walk around in. Sadly, some people kill themselves over it. I am positive most people would find me overweight and unattractive because of it, but, most people don't know my story. Most people don't want to know the story. Someone will want to know it someday and I will tell them. Exactly what I have told you. But in the meantime, I can continue hating it, because I do and there really is very little that can be done to change that. One person told me I was beautiful every single day. For a long time. And I almost, almost believed her...she meant my body, I knew she thought my heart was, but she somehow was capable of making me feel as if the vessel was too...
And then I woke up...
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