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a Memoir of (My) Body
Roxane Gay

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Reading this book brought up emotions that I can not explain. It's an unexplained emotion that comes out not too often.   

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Reading this book brought up emotions that I can not explain. It's an unexplained emotion that comes out not too often.   

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Not every story is a triumph story. Everyone has their own story that breaks them down in different ways. Seeing how Roxane describes her need of help as "hunger" seems different and interesting as to how she describes the way shes hungry for help. 

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Not every story is a triumph story. Everyone has their own story that breaks them down in different ways. Seeing how Roxane describes her need of help as "hunger" seems different and interesting as to how she describes the way shes hungry for help. 

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I write around what happened because I don't want my family to have these terrible images in their heads. I don't want them to know what I endured and then kept secret for more than twenty-five years. I don't want my lover seeing only a moment from my assault when they look at me. I don't want them to think me more fragile than I am. I am stronger than I am broken.I don't want them, or anyone, to think I am nothing more than the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I want to protect the people I love. I want to protect myself. My story is mine, and on most days, I wish I could bury that story, somewhere deep where I might be free of it. But. It has been thirty years and, inexplicably, I might be free

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I wish I had the kind of strength and willpower to tell you a triumphant story. This is a memoir of (my) body because, more often than not, stories of bodies like mine are ignored or dismissed or derided. People see bodies like mine and make their assumptions. This is not a story of triumph, but this is a story that demands to be told and deserves to be heard. This is a book about my body, about my hunger and ultimately, this a book about disappearing and being lost and wanting so very much wanting to be seen and understood. This is a book about learning, however slowly, to allow myself to be seen and understood.

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So many years past being raped, I tell myself what happened is "in the past." This is only partly true. In too many ways, the past is still with me. The past sometimes feels like it might kill me. It is a very heavy burden.