Member-only story
Cry. Then Try Again.
It has been eighteen days since I came here and my body has felt every single day.
Here, hours feel like endless days stretching lazily before me. I have tried to convince my self and my body that this place is our new temporary home but they have both refused to find home here. You know how I said our bodies know when we move? Well my body surely knows and she is not happy.
My body does not like it here and she has shown me in so many different ways.
I usually have soft, supple skin. I have many things to be proud of regarding my physical appearance and the skin of my body is right up there. Smooth like velvet. Soft like freshly baked bread. This is the first thing this place has taken from me. I cannot recognize the skin on my body anymore. What was once supple and smooth is now papery, scaly, with flaking bits falling off. This has never happened before. Even when I lived deep in the frigid winters of Northern England, my skin never got like this. I joke to my boyfriend that when next he touches me, it would feel like caressing sandpaper. On some days, I feel like this outward drying only mirrors what is going on inside.
I do not like it here. Full stop.
It’s not all bad. The landscape here is oddly beautiful.
