Dear Body Image,
It’s a Monday morning and thin fingers of sunlight are drifting across my cheek. The alarm set in my phone is chiming, alerting me of a new day. Once I force myself vertical and trudge into the bathroom, it’s another test: how am I going to feel about my reflection today?
I used to be so much worse than in this scene. There were mornings I would cry just at the sight of myself. Other days I would stand in front of the bathroom mirror for large blocks of time, examining the parts of my body I took issue with. It was an ordinary gamble. After several years, it simply felt normal. There was constant duality between wanting to emulate the men in my favorite books and shows/movies, and an unconscious battle of wanting this scrawny, towering form to be feminine. I hated my face, but it was because I wanted the soft curves and edges of a female. I wanted to be pretty, beautiful even.
I think you’ve even plagued my views on sex. For years I have wondered what the hell is wrong with me and my sex drive, or at least the lack thereof. Why was it so hard for me to desire sex, or adequately perform? How was it that despite obvious attraction and connection with people I cared for, I couldn’t find pleasure? I felt as though there was a wall in my mind I just couldn’t dismantle and it was affecting my relationships and my state of mind. Suddenly I would feel myself withdrawing from the people I cared for, thus destroying the relationship. This was insanity.
Thankfully, last year was when these issues began to clarify for me. In facing my dysphoria head on, I unmasked the monster and revealed the “old man Smithers” underneath. While this realization in no way vindicates me of my actions in the past, it has offered me important insight. The toxic standards to which I held my body and external image seeped into my personality. I couldn’t see a handsome man, let alone a beautiful woman. My body felt inadequate and wrong. Instead of searching for the cause, I continued to harbor hate toward myself and lay waste to the pillars of support around me.
Once I unmasked the monster, I started my work of healing. I instantly felt ten times lighter and more free. I was able to pinpoint the moments I acted most vicious to my body and how my attitude affects my loved ones and partners. I thought back to every instance I said “sorry” but couldn’t grasp onto why I was apologizing. I could hold myself accountable and became cognizant of what I needed to do to foster change within myself.
Change is going to be hard. Every morning is another in which I conquer the nausea I once felt when facing the mirror. I hold my head higher and try to keep the hair out of my face. I use Instagram, not as tool of narcissism, but to explore what I love about myself and my complexion, the contours of my face. I take a moment to count something I appreciate instead of supporting self hatred. I’ll probably write many more letters to you, but may this serve as a warning of sorts: I will no longer abuse this body. I will no longer abuse my emotional and mental health. You have no sway over me anymore and I will do everything in my power to make sure you never control me ever again.
Sincerely,
-Tyler