Object and Subject

I have treated my body like an object, a thing. A life-sized doll to shape, pluck, wax, exfoliate, moisturize.

I wonder about the consequences of my objectification of me. I have often bragged about my super-human pain threshold. Not a tolerance of pain but actually not feeling pain. I once put off going to the hospital for so long that, when I finally went to emergency, I was rushed into surgery with major internal bleeding. I’m relatively immune to food cravings. I can enjoy a great meal but consistently manage my diet to sculpt my body. I wonder if one of the consequences of my objectification is desensitization. Insensitivity to my body's pain and its pleasure.

I wonder why I do it? To be desirable? To be loved? To protect myself against judgement? I think it doesn't matter why. I believe that the best part of my body is experiencing it. Inhabiting it. My body as subject. Human. Alive.

My Grandma had two blue velvet couches which she left covered in plastic for over a decade. I was not the only one in the family who questioned that design choice. When she finally took off the plastic, we all fell in love with those blue couches. You've never sat on something so luscious and comfortable. Sensual, if a couch can be sensual.

I do want a beautiful body. Like I want a beautiful house. To live in.

Hello body. I'm takin' off the plastic and movin' in.