Backlog 2

[adrienmundi]

My body betrays me. I want to punish it for its betrayal, but I know too well the futility of that urge. I can suffer, or I can suffer; my body will work its pain on me in one form or another. It mocks me, it says to me, “You are trapped in me, you will never be free. You will always be that which you are not.” My body laughs at my discomfort, my futile but endless struggle, because it knows it has won; it always wins. “Believe all you want that biology isn’t destiny”, it tells me, “but I am proof that it’s inescapable. Live in the land of make-believe, if you like, but out here in the real world, we know the score, and you lose again.”