The Body

On Control

I don’t remember when I started viewing my body as an enemy, but it was pretty early on. I resented my body because it stood in the way of my happiness. It felt wrong. It was not fast enough or strong enough or coordinated enough for me to have the joy of being respected and revered by other boys. My body betrayed me by having a small bladder or slow hands, or by being uniquely susceptible to pain. One of my early body memories is of the time we were playing wiffleball in my half-brother’s back yard and I fell into a bush of thorns. My skin ripped; I was afraid to move. I screamed and cried. My…