My Body

Isaac stared at his body. It looked fine to him. He was fine with it. So why was every teacher talking to him about positive body image? Why was every teacher telling him it was ok if his body didn't fit exactly what he wanted it to look like. He was fine with it. Maybe he didn't always like the bright color of his hair, but he lived with it. He didn't need a teacher to tell him it was ok to look different. Isaac would be the first to admit how different he was socially, sadly it was almost his defining trait. He cared about that. What he didn't care about was his looks.

He dressed the way he wanted. If his friends didn't accept him because of that then they were never really his friends to begin with. He had friends that didn't care about his looks though. Isabel and Ed and Max would joke about his hair, sure, but they would never suggest he change it. They would never do anything to him because of it. And his body worked how he needed it to. He dodged spirit attacks and ate when he was hungry and laughed when Max made a sarcastic remark. So why were the teachers making him feel bad?

They kept talking and talking and talking. It felt like they were trying to make him feel bad about his body. Like the fact he wasn't having doubts about it was wrong. That he was even more of an outsider and was being pushed to be like everyone else. It hurt. It hurt so bad. He wanted to feel normal. For the fear and anger clouding his mind, telling him how he must be doing something wrong, about how feeling comfortable in his own body must mean he had a disorder, that everything he thought about his body was wrong, for it all to just go away. But it didn't. Just like everything else it sat and stirred and mixed in with his emotions and stopped him from doing anything productive.