I have a body.

I don't have a perfect body.

I have a body that has been hurt. By myself. By others. And by processes and procedures in an attempt to make me better.

I have a body that's scarred. When I look in the mirror that's what I see. When I look at other people--in the store, when I meet them for the first time, whatever it may be--that's where their eyes are, too. Not meeting my eyes. Looking at my scars. "What are those?" "They're just scars. I had surgery there." "...oh."

I have a body that continually malfunctions. One way or another. One part or another. One organ or another. Without warning. Like it doesn't remember what it's supposed to be doing. Like it doesn't remember which way is up. Like it doesn't remember how to be a body anymore.

I have a body that I can't trust. A body that doesn't let me make plans for the future let alone get through one day without throwing me off my path.

I have a body that is scared. Scared that it isn't good enough. Scared that it isn't strong enough. Scared that it can't handle what's next.

I have a body that doesn't feel like I belong in it. With skin that feels too tight some days and too loose others. Like I'm going to pop out of it one minute and then like there's water under it and I'm floating ten minutes later. A body that doesn't even look like mine when I look in the mirror. A body that doesn't feel like mine either. Like I'm always either two steps ahead or behind it.

I have a body that has been taken apart and pieced back together. Things have been added to try and help me. Things have been taken away to try and help me, too. I've been a pin cushion. A puzzle.

I don't have a perfect body.

I just have a body.

I have a body that's hanging in there. A body that is trying. A body that never could have imagined being this body. A body that gets lost in a world that isn't what it imagined for itself.

A body that is fighting anyway.