Am i an anarchist when it comes to my own body?

i’ve been thinking more and more about what are my, like, core values and beliefs as an anarchist? How / do i enact them daily? What am i leaving out and when? Whats changed over the years?


One of the core things i believe strongly in is my autonomy (and that of anyone), and i will defend it til the day i die (and probably beyond). As an anarchist, as a survivor, as a gimp, as a person who has struggled my entire life to understand my body; struggled to make sense of it, of it’s shape, of it’s geographical location, of its relationship or lack thereof to family and home, and to ultimately be ok (as much as possible) with the inevitable utter senselessness of it; to do what i believe is right; to contemplate; to take action.


So i was laying on the couch in the dark the other night listening to very loud punk music on headphones (maude that’s such a cliche lol) and thinking about where i am as an anarchist. What does it mean to call myself that, like, in my body?


And one of the things that really struck me is how i so often am not an anarchist when it comes to my own body. i am so stained by (and staining) this society. by its cruelties, hypocrisies, its embarrassments, histories, its constant shutting-out of people like me, even by people who talk a streak about inclusion and community. And when it comes to taking care of my own body, it’s like all that good shit i read about and talk with others about and believe in my gut… well it kind of goes out the window. i would march in the streets for days on end, i would run in front of a police bus for my comrades, but what would i do for me? What sorts of risks will i take for myself? What am i going to do to keep me going?


There are things i can be doing in my life that will -for example- make my body hurt a bit less than it does, but i am so often filled with fear of what it takes to do it (a fear i would never give quite so much power if it were in defense of someone else) that i freeze. i want to find ways of feeling the fear about my body – a fear that is intrinsicly tied up with being all of those things that i am – and doing anyways.


i wonder if 42 will be the year i give myself permission to throw myself in front of a bus for myself**? .

**(don’t worry, im not going to actually throw myself in front of a bus, im speaking metaphorically)


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