Sterile Paradise

I've decided to hate my body.

Mostly as a pragmatic choice. I'm way fat. Not, like, "I feel so fat today." At 5'10", tipping the scales at 320 lbs., my ass is big enough to have its own LaGrange points. Where before I accepted my body, if grudgingly, I am now declaring total war. Really, mostly it's the trans thing: it's hard for those with a male phenotype to fit into most women's clothing, but once you get into the 4X territory, the sales clerk just hands you a tarp, some scissors, and a bit of velcro. I shop at Torrid when not thrifting, but they charge boutique prices for department store clothes.

Combine sartorial difficulties with the swarm of body issues that come with being a transwoman, and my odium strategy makes a certain kind of sense. While the object of my scorn is quite corporeal, the hatred part is a bit of an abstraction. I don't hate myself, I hate my body. Now, I have an enemy to work against, a narrative instead of a tally. I guess I'll see how it works.