April 21st, 2015


(no subject)

We sat on facing chairs in her office, and I shared my state of mind. "I am a f*king goddess," I said in almost-protest, while stifling tears, after recounting the things I felt I was doing right. But how do you own that when it seems that all about you is disdain? No one would ever lust after my body, I said, even as I hated myself for merely wanting such a thing.

My body, even as it increasingly converges with the one I was sure right along I belonged in, feels as though it's creating a palpable tension around me. And so even as I am offered both love and acceptance, I feel hurt, raw, exposed, ripped off, alone. And the recognition of the pure selfishness of those feelings merely compounds the pain. For all my progress, I am still excessively fragile. I am still damaged goods.