Before I was born, I fought. Bands of metal held me down for five long years to help straighten me out. Breaking from the bonds of such hardware to being placed in many disparaging situations and then finally getting positioned in a silent, metaphorical box makes for a difficult journey towards individuation. The torture continued on a daily basis. I blinked in hesitation with every decision; I doubted myself to the point of disdain. Yet somehow I gained courage. I grew up. Standing up for my marriage, supporting my son, demanding and denying access to my daughter is how I have spent my adult life. I fear my world cannot be complete without some semblance of conflict. There are times I feel the same as the “Anorexic”; I do get weary of the fight. The adage that fighting makes us stronger is but a nuisance to my brain. Supposedly, the strength within is what gets us through our difficulties! I am strong. I have fought the hunger of love, the malnourishment of touch and I am still here. …show more content…
Boland starts off with so much force the same as how I came into this world. Fighting against her body, I fought for my right to live. She struggled to separate herself from her flesh and her body. I struggled to separate myself from the medical labels, the stares of being the one who was different and the unidentified thing that made me unworthy to be alive. I hated myself for so long that I do not remember a time when I liked myself. I lied to myself and to others if only to please or entice my way into being someone who could be appreciated and equal. I starved myself to get a taste of life. “Anorexic” tried to punish herself to the point of “slipping back into him”. I regurgitated everything I thought I should in order to become perfect in the sight of others. I, like the person in Anorexic, resigned myself to the fact that I could never be pleasing. Then I met my husband and found my self-worth. It was an arduous battle for both of