The One About Body Image

Oh dear, seems like everyone has something to say about this topic, don't they? Well now it's my turn. *cue dramatic music*
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Okay, since my sound engineer quit because I forgot to pay him, we have no dramatic music. So we'll just settle for a few gasps of surprise. *cue horrified gasps*
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...well since I'm the only one here, I guess I'll just gasp and ask you to gasp along. Don't be afraid of looking like a fish out of water, it's for the good of interactive reading!

Well all right, that was a pretty good horrified gasp. Try and put a little more emotion into that inhale next time, but it'll do for the moment. Now where was I? Oh yes... body image.
*cue horrified gasps*

This is a topic people seem to have a lot of opinions about. And even I myself used to say things like "I don't understand [insert name/random passerby/whoever here], they're so pretty. How can they be so insecure about [insert random physical characteristic here] when they look so good?"

I've started to shy away from that though, because I've begun to see in myself how there is much more to body image than just how you actually look. Body image is about your own perception of yourself, and as the old saying goes: "you are your own worst critic."

Let's take myself as an example. It makes sense, since this is my blog. (haha, see how I managed to grammatically include both 'since' and 'sense' in the same sentence? I love being a nerd...) Recently, I've had the unfortunate displeasure of a horrid outbreak of adult acne. I never really had acne even through high school, and the only time I "washed" my face was when shampoo got on it in the shower. So when this acne decided to interrupt my life about midway through 2010, I did my best to ignore it. Unfortunately, acne doesn't take that attitude well, and I've spent the last few years figuring out how to deal with these pimples that seem to have taken up permanent residence on my face.

While I can keep them somewhat under control, using makeup only exacerbates the condition, which means if I try to cover up the existing acne I will only be creating more acne. Talk about unhelpful. So I've learned to cope and wash my face twice a day and use toners and anti-acne moisturizers and all those other things that I didn't even know existed before suddenly they became essential. From what I understand, my acne is caused by stress. Which basically means my life gives me acne, because when was the last time going to school away from your family wasn't stressful?

But I'm not writing this to complain about my acne. (Okay, maybe I am, a little.) What I didn't realize was how much acne would affect my self-esteem. (woo-hoo! another hot-button topic! I'm just throwing these words around like confetti!)

See, before my acne, I'd considered my face my best feature. I've never been particularly skinny, and in a world where supermodels are practically all anorexic and it's a cardinal sin to have an above-average BMI (I'm within the healthy weight range, but I'm nowhere near skinny), I'd found that the best way for me to feel beautiful was to "rest in the knowledge" that I had a nice face.

Cue acne. Suddenly, I felt like everything beautiful about myself was gone. I'm still not skinny and probably never will be. But now I also had a face with puffy red marks on it that wouldn't go away. How was I supposed to live like that? Some days, even if the acne's bad, I still feel okay. Other days I just want to wear a Burqa (or a giant burlap sack over my head) and be done with it.

And it's funny, because every morning when I look in the mirror, I have a different idea about myself. Some days, I look at myself and think "Oh hey, you don't look half bad. You have a nice body shape, even if you're not a twig." And other times I look in the mirror and have to walk away, because all I can see is this hideous thing staring back at me. And there's no real rhyme or reason to it. I suspect it's part hormones, part sleep deprivation, and part moods in general.

Thinking back, I realize it's always been this way. And I suspect I'm not the only one. Why do we as people place so much value in the physical? Because it can be seen and heard and felt. But what amazes me is how little value we place on the spiritual. Ultimately, the one who made us, God, knows us best.

And he loves us. Even in our sin: weakness, selfishness, foolish pride, and so much more, he still continues to love us dearly. And in his eyes, we are exactly what he made us to be. God doesn't want cardboard cutouts, so why should we? Our culture places so much pressure on men and women to conform to  "ideals" that have no place in God's kingdom. What a blessing to know that when I get to heaven, I won't ever wake up, look in the mirror, and think "Ugh, I'm hideous."

Instead, each day, I'll wake to the sound of an angel choir (singing perfectly and in perfect harmony -- how fantastic does THAT sound?), and when I look in the mirror, I will see a perfect and holy child of God.

Somehow, this vision gives whole new meaning to that verse in 1 Corinthians.  Specifically that verse that says "now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face-to-face." It's such a beautiful thought. (Even better that this verse begins the wrap-up of 1 Cor. 13, otherwise known as "the Love chapter".) God knows and loves us, and when we have been made perfect in him, when we reach heaven, we'll see ourselves the way we were always made to be. And I don't know if that means I'll be skinny or just that my size won't make people see me as someone headed down a diabetic path, but I know that it will be beautiful, and more wonderful than I can possibly imagine right now.

That last bit of 1 Corinthians 13 gets me every time, so I'll put it here in case you don't know it:


¹⁰ But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away.
¹¹ When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. ¹² For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.
¹³ And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
  
It just makes me want to cry in happiness. "When I was a child...I understood as a child". All these physical characteristics we put so much stock in here on Earth are truly childish things! When we become the people God calls us to be, we will put aside foolish things. (Now I'm not saying we shouldn't be healthy, our body is a temple of the Lord's. I'm just saying that starving the body or running it into the ground is no better than overfeeding it and never exercising.) 

"Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known." There's something truly beautiful about this picture. Right now, we can catch little glimpses of the beautiful person God's made us to be, broken and cursed as we are by our sin. But one day, we will know as we also are known. When God looks at us, he doesn't see the flaws, he sees us as we will be. He sees us, covered with Christ's blood, his beautiful child who is reborn, redeemed. And he thinks we're beautiful. One day, we too will know the beauty in us that God already knows.

I guess that's what it boils down to. I hate myself some days. I hate my body some days. I hate my sin when I'm not in the act. (which happens more than I'd like to admit)

But God? He loves me. He loves every last piece of me. He sees me as I should be, not broken and destroyed by this cruel, sinful world.

And now abide faith, hope, love, these three;

but the greatest of these...

is Love.

I write, just not here

SO I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON... and not just because I'm inherently sinful (though I'm sure that has something to do with all this madness).

I can't seem to keep myself accountable with much of anything. I don't write regularly, I don't exercise regularly, I don't eat regularly, I don't blog regularly, I don't even do my homework regularly (I tend to put it off to the last minute and then beat myself up for not doing it sooner)!

So. Hello again. It's been too long. (No seriously though, the last time I blogged was before Christmas, right? So it's been more than two months.)

Why am I writing today, then? Because I'm on caffiene and can't bring myself to write fiction so I thought I'd post here.

To be more accurate, I've been looking at my stories and having fun picking them apart and realizing how terrible I am and crying with happiness at the tiny pieces of gold I sopmehow managed to eke out of my writing. I live for the day I actually manage to write something valuable, as currently I'm pretty much just writing stuff that barfs out of my brain and onto a page. Yes. Basically my stories begin with a "stream-of-consciousness-oh-hey-lets-just-vomit-on-a-page-until-something-makes-sense" sort of aesthetic. they then graduate to "this is total crap" and eventually reach the pinnacle of "I just need to re-write this whole thing and start over". That's pretty much where I've been for years now.

Someday I hope to write something that reaches out and grabs the reader and wrenches hearts and makes a difference. In the meantime I find the little chunks of my work that keep me going amidst the "GAH THAT IS SO CLICHE WHY" and the "WHY DIDN'T I THINK THIS THROUGH" or the ever-famous "Wait, why are you doing that, character? I thought you were doing this...?"

Novel writing is murder. So are short stories, mostly because it's hard for me to develop a concept that can be effectively portrayed in 5,000 or so words. 50,000 words or more tends to come easier (if longer), though I'm beginning to suspect that part of that is my inability to utilize an economy of words. But yeah, an abundance of plot and too many characters probably help that along.

But today, instead of talking about my life and everything that has been happening (or not happening, or trying to happen), I'm going to talk about my stories. Because despite the endless hours of pain and frustration they cause, I actually love them all dearly. Specifically, there are parts of each story I've written that just make me happy to be a writer: when I feel I've captured the emotion, when I write a fantastic fight scene, when characters interact in a realistic way... there are so many moments I adore.

So I'll share a few of my favorite with you. Let's start with some of my older stuff, and work my way up:

 1. from the story tentatively titled Rise of Invectus (I rarely 100% decide on a title).

“Yeah! What he said!” I cried, whirling on baldy. Why was he yelling at me anyway? I was hungry, tired, sore, and extremely confused. Honestly, I wanted my mother, and I wasn’t ashamed to say so.  “Get my mom in here and leave me alone!” I screamed, sitting straight up. The restraining straps around my chest and stomach snapped. I glanced down, staring at the bands in shock. A moment later, I felt the burning sensation on my skin where I’d shoved against them, and my muscles twinged painfully. So that’s why I hurt, I thought to myself. Then I frowned. How did I do that?

 So basically we've got a kid who was infected with a virus that gives him super-strength, but it's involuntary. It only flares up when he's angry. But unlike the Hulk, he doesn't turn into a big green rage monster. So at least we've got a little bit of originality. This bit was written about two to three years ago (hard to pinpoint exactly as the document was viewed and edited for typos recently)

2. Another excerpt, from Cyborg Wars - Book 1: Soldier (again, tentative title for both series and book)

For nearly six hundred years, the bold and proud Laham’rhi family had ruled the planet Gaal’ver’diitron from the great imperial city of Gaal’lyn. Wars, famine, constant flooding and poor soil had done little to shake the foundations of these proud rulers, and nothing could take the people of Gaal’ver’diitron from their home among the stars.

I like this excerpt because you kind of get the sense that this family whose name people can't pronounce (I can, but I'm the author, so that makes me exempt from this) rule a planet with a name that you also can't pronounce. Yet despite these unfamiliar words, the concepts of "pride" "strength" and "determination" are universal concepts that ring true with me (and hopefully others), creating a sense of familiarity despite the strange names. You can feel the struggle of these people and you're already rooting for them, even if you can't pronounce their names. This was probably written about a year ago.

3. This bit comes from The Academy Chronicles - Book 1: LX-2, one of my most recent stories. It's a bit long, but I really love it.

Squirt and Jayden exchanged glances again before deciding to make their escape. “Well, I think I’m going to go play some more video games,” Jayden said, gathering up his food tray.
“I’m going to go… not be here,” Squirt said. “You two look like you have a lot to talk about.” He too left with his tray, leaving Matt and I sitting and staring at each other.
“So, when I said bruise collection, I didn’t mean it in a life-threatening way. More like a ‘clumsy so I fall down a lot’ way,” I said softly.
“No, Alex.” Matt looked me in the eye. “You meant it in a ‘Scott freaking beats the crap out of me on a regular basis and you can’t do anything to fix it’ way.”
I looked away. “I’m not blaming you.”
“I don’t care,” Matt said. “I’m blaming me.”
I didn’t know what to say. I never know what to say. Staring down at my food, I pushed it around my plate a few times before taking a bite to avoid answering him.
Sighing, Matt grabbed his tray and stood. “I’m going to work out,” he said, leaving abruptly.
I pushed my food around my plate a little more, knowing that he’d be late to bed because one of the supes would find him in the gym with a punching bag and bleeding knuckles, and send him to the med center. I hated knowing that he was so angry because of me. I hated that these self-destructive acts were my fault. And some days, when I had the energy, I would contemplate the irony of Matt blaming himself for my injuries even as I blamed myself for his.

In this excerpt, we've got two friends and two brothers. The younger brother is being bullied, and the older brother feels responsible for it, even though he can't really do anything about it. The awkwardness of the two friends trying to give the brothers a chance to discuss, the tension in how the two brothers relate to each other and how they talk about the bullying, and the internal turmoil the main character feels, the guilt that his brother hurts himself because he can't help... I just really like the tension and awkwardness and unspoken pain that builds this scene and it's probably one of my favorite scenes. I'd say it's the best I've ever written, but I don't know that. Other people might hate it. I personally just love this scene and everything that goes unsaid along with what is said.

So yeah.

I've been having fun with my stories lately. And writing makes me happy. When it doesn't eat me alive and demand answers for why I haven't been doing it more frequently.

Anywho. Here's my lovely update, that technically hasn't told you anything at all about what's going on with me or where I'm going. More babbling to follow, I hope. Because otherwise my next blog post will also open with "I AM SUCH A TERRIBLE HUMAN BEING," or something to that effect.

In the meantime, enjoy my post and don't be too quick to judge my writing inabilities. I'm still learning. and growing. (I hope).