I always like your writing! It amazes me that you're so young and so deep - I hope you'll make something of it, you has talent! ^^
Ah, body image, yes. This will be considerably less well written then your entry, but let's do this anyway.
I think I gave up on my body many years ago. I'm proud. I'm even a bit vain. I like to be extraordinary, to stand out. My body never permitted me this. My mind, yes. I'm always satisfied with my mind, I live really well with it: we get along superbly. Of course, from time to time I think that it wasn't what it used to be, that I used to be sharper, more imaginative, with a lot more vocabulary... my mind allows itself self-deprecating moments like these, but it doesn't wallow in them, fortunately.
I gave up on my body - no that's wrong. Not my body, its appearance, actually, when I realized that it couldn't compete. I don't know when I started to think I was too fat. I don't know who implanted that propaganda in my head. If I ever find out who they were, I owe them a good punch in the guts. Looking at the pictures of when I suppose that thought occurred, I wasn't fat. Tall, strong-built, not like the other children - I stood out alright - but not fat. I always like the appearance of my past self in the photos. The problem was that I never liked the appearance of my past self when I was my past self.
So, I gave up. I don't try to make an effort on my body appearance. I don't embellish it, put it forward. I know how to, but I "choose" not to: the rare times I do, I get problems. I don't think I'm particularly attractive, in fact, far from it - but why is it that every fucking time I wear a dress some moronic fucker thinks he has the right to put his sticky, digusting hands on any part of my body, or comment on it with slimy words? My conclusion is that it's because they think I'm desperate - because I'm not attractive, thus I don't have a boyfriend, ergo I must have an absolute need of cock in my life - and easy - why the fuck else would I be wearing a dress, I ask you? Fucking phallocratic society. Women think they're fat because of men, and the day they try to tame the monster that is their body appearance, they're harrassed by men. There's just no escaping them, is there?
My mind gets praised when I polish it, sharpen it and flaunt it around. My body gets soiled if I do the same. I can use my mind as a weapon, whereas my body can't even protect itself. I consider it as a mere practical tool these days. An operating shell for my mind, nothing more. That's the image I have of it. I'm a living Platonic cliché. Except I don't attach meaning or judgment to its curves and planes, I don't care anymore. I cover it with whatever clothes I find lying around - fortunately, they're only jeans and t-shirts.
It's sad, but these days, my body inspires me indifference.
"I gave up on my body... when I realized that it couldn't compete." I completely understand where you're coming from. Sometimes it's easier to just BE than try to conform into a specific body type/image. And the whole looking-good-then-without-realizing-it? That's me! When I gained a lot of weight (darker time in my life), that was when my cousin decided to tell me that I looked good before. I thought, "Gee, thanks for telling me now, almost one hundred pounds later." But enough woe-ing and lingering on past things I can't change, haha.
"My mind gets praised when I polish it, sharpen it and flaunt it around. My body gets soiled if I do the same. I can use my mind as a weapon, whereas my body can't even protect itself. I consider it as a mere practical tool these days. An operating shell for my mind, nothing more." That's a sad, but blunt way of describing yourself. But you know what they say--brains over brawn (or beauty that never seems to be enough), right?
A body's only a body, and if people can't look past an outer appearance (no matter how one looks) to see the personality, the mind underneath it all, they're not worth it.
Ah, body image, yes. This will be considerably less well written then your entry, but let's do this anyway.
I think I gave up on my body many years ago. I'm proud. I'm even a bit vain. I like to be extraordinary, to stand out. My body never permitted me this. My mind, yes. I'm always satisfied with my mind, I live really well with it: we get along superbly. Of course, from time to time I think that it wasn't what it used to be, that I used to be sharper, more imaginative, with a lot more vocabulary... my mind allows itself self-deprecating moments like these, but it doesn't wallow in them, fortunately.
I gave up on my body - no that's wrong. Not my body, its appearance, actually, when I realized that it couldn't compete. I don't know when I started to think I was too fat. I don't know who implanted that propaganda in my head. If I ever find out who they were, I owe them a good punch in the guts. Looking at the pictures of when I suppose that thought occurred, I wasn't fat. Tall, strong-built, not like the other children - I stood out alright - but not fat. I always like the appearance of my past self in the photos. The problem was that I never liked the appearance of my past self when I was my past self.
So, I gave up. I don't try to make an effort on my body appearance. I don't embellish it, put it forward. I know how to, but I "choose" not to: the rare times I do, I get problems. I don't think I'm particularly attractive, in fact, far from it - but why is it that every fucking time I wear a dress some moronic fucker thinks he has the right to put his sticky, digusting hands on any part of my body, or comment on it with slimy words? My conclusion is that it's because they think I'm desperate - because I'm not attractive, thus I don't have a boyfriend, ergo I must have an absolute need of cock in my life - and easy - why the fuck else would I be wearing a dress, I ask you?
Fucking phallocratic society.
Women think they're fat because of men, and the day they try to tame the monster that is their body appearance, they're harrassed by men. There's just no escaping them, is there?
My mind gets praised when I polish it, sharpen it and flaunt it around. My body gets soiled if I do the same. I can use my mind as a weapon, whereas my body can't even protect itself. I consider it as a mere practical tool these days. An operating shell for my mind, nothing more. That's the image I have of it. I'm a living Platonic cliché. Except I don't attach meaning or judgment to its curves and planes, I don't care anymore. I cover it with whatever clothes I find lying around - fortunately, they're only jeans and t-shirts.
It's sad, but these days, my body inspires me indifference.
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I completely understand where you're coming from. Sometimes it's easier to just BE than try to conform into a specific body type/image. And the whole looking-good-then-without-realizing-it? That's me! When I gained a lot of weight (darker time in my life), that was when my cousin decided to tell me that I looked good before. I thought, "Gee, thanks for telling me now, almost one hundred pounds later."
But enough woe-ing and lingering on past things I can't change, haha.
"My mind gets praised when I polish it, sharpen it and flaunt it around. My body gets soiled if I do the same. I can use my mind as a weapon, whereas my body can't even protect itself. I consider it as a mere practical tool these days. An operating shell for my mind, nothing more."
That's a sad, but blunt way of describing yourself. But you know what they say--brains over brawn (or beauty that never seems to be enough), right?
A body's only a body, and if people can't look past an outer appearance (no matter how one looks) to see the personality, the mind underneath it all, they're not worth it.
Thank you for adding your input, lovely. ♥
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