I have to say, there is something incredibly inspirational about some of my classmates. A majority of them seem to be very comfortable and open with talking about bodies. It’s amazing how some people have this ability to say what they feel, and not only that, but say it in such a way that is full of sincere conviction.
This is not something I have, which is why these posts are such a nightmare for me.
I am the internalized body. I am the churning and stewing of the abstract held together in skin. I’m bad at voicing things about bodies at all. Who am I, anyhow, to even have an opinion on someone else’s body? Or to have a general thought at all? The internalized body doesn’t think this way, no, it is far more concerned with eating away at its own guilt.
The good thing about the internalized body is that it can live off its own energy. Far too concerned with the inner demands of self-regulation, constant calculation and extreme analysis, this body comes off aloof and unaware to other bodies. Unless, perhaps, this body dares to compare itself to another body leading to a subsequent re-analysis.
The internalized body is a shell that doesn’t leave room for leakage. It’s a product of its environment, no matter what the substance is inside. This body is never going to let you in on a fear or a worry. No, this body is wound snug. If one thing gets out, the mess will follow, so its better to keep it all in. This body is here to please and protect. It’s a paradox of looking the part on the outside while keeping the true body on the inside safe.
I wish I could be that true body. That fearless, open, wonderful body. I wish I could be the body that moves and shakes, dances and achieves, doesn’t aim to please and doesn’t mind to offend.
Alas, I am the internalized body. And I need to keep it all in.
