I’ve been challenging to look at myself for 30 seconds without being overcome by nausea and/or looking away at disgust. My record stands at 5 seconds.
I’ve had a draft on bodies and regimes of surveillance imposed on them, space and privacy that I’ve been trying to write for over a year now, but the words keep escaping me. My lack of proficiency in the norms and forms of academic language turns into doubting whether I hold sufficient knowledge and legitimacy to write about my lived experiences.
I try to write on the worst days when I’m acutely aware of every inch of space I occupy; every cubic metre I breathe
(we survive with, through and despite our bodies)
I try to draw connections
(is this desire to starve, to shrink, to disappear an actualisation of structures and policies that want to render me invisible?)
I try to write on days when I need an affirmation
(but who decides what constitutes a healthy relationship with one’s body?)