i laid awake glued to bed covers in my childhood home. my body frozen as my energy moved towards calculating the answer for the equation circulating and consuming my mind.
could what i was about to do ever be undone? should i do this if i am thinking of ways to undo it? do i hate myself this much? will i ever be the same again?
when the moon and sun swap places and the rest of the world awakes my body will be mutilated. as the rest of society sips their coffee at the kitchen table, my body will lay flat on a steel table; served up to be carved. my body will be drugged to a state of numbness. anesthetic will transport me somewhere safe, sacred and away from the screams of my scared cells. my bodies young and fresh unscarred skin will be degraded and dragged with the sharp scalpels. my body will be invaded and taken over, the new place of refugee for a foreign and unfamiliar substances. my body, the one that i was born with, will forever be ‘enhanced’.
my eyes rolled upwards and onwards as i looked above at the bedroom window filtering the midnight moons mystical blue beam. i needed the reassurance of the blue beams because i was scared of darkness. real and perceived.
as scared as i was to have my chest capacity cracked open with knives i was more terrified of living in an imperfect body for the rest of my life and as i thought of being stuck in this body. my ex-boyfriends words ran through my mind faster than fear, “it would be so nice to fuck something that had some tits”. my emaciated body and his inability to be monogamous were mentally fused and fucked together. i knew it made no sense but if my body had been more beautiful, curvy, feminine maybe he would have never fucked her? maybe he would have loved me?
i wanted my emaciated body to have some resemblance to the feminine shape… to be sexy. i wanted to please and appease him. more than that i wanted to give that to the world because my personality and presence had no effect.
the voice told me that having the perfect body would make me worthy of connection. allow me to love myself. if having the perfect body through the eyes of the voice and society couldn’t give me happiness then what other chance in the world did i have. the surgery would get me closer to that perfect. because despite diet pills, laxatives, starvation, exercising to exhausting there was nothing left that i could think of to try. so when my agent told me that the procedure would enhance my body, i had to. perfection cannot be enhanced. meaning i must not be perfect yet.
the red lights on the clock flashed; seven hours, twenty seven minutes between now and the moment of transformation. and as i thought about what would happen in my near future i began to question everything i believed, because underneath the voice, my body whispered a truth; “being externally more beautiful will not lead to internal beauty”…
but the rest of the world told me the opposite. the voice in my mind told me the opposite. but my body softly spoke otherwise. my body wasn’t loud enough to drown out the voice that continued to desire a more beautiful exterior. a voice that made me believe that one day what people saw on the outside would change how i felt on the inside. the voice forced me to agree and i tried to convince my body that stuffing my chest with silicon would open the space needed for the the pain deeply nestled in the spaces between my ribs and chest to float away.
if i could float back to the night before the surgery, i would tell myself that a body isn’t an experiment.
a body is not something to be injected, chiseled, sculpted, sucked from and stuffed with silicon. a body is our deepest and most potent resource of knowing and knowledge. it has been with us longer than anything else, it will continue on after us. how dare we say that the stardust of our bones needs to be sculpted by a scalpel.
but i didn’t know that then, that this thing, this body, this thing that contains every experience and moment of our life within its cellular tissues does not need an architect because it was always and will always be a temple. but i was too perplexed looking at the mirage on the horizon created by societal standards of beauty to see the temple i lived in.