All of my life I have struggled with personal image. Too ugly, ears like a monkey, stick legs, fat legs.... you name it and I have thought it about myself.
Then this disease started battling with me and it robbed me of the few things that I actually liked about myself like my long slim fingers, my hair, my boobs.
Recently I had a minor op and I have had to use a special cream. One day as I was using the cream it just struck me that in actual fact... my body wasn't me.
I know this sounds daft and crazy but my body really isn't me. It's a house for my soul and it allows me to live on this mortal plain.
I am the caretaker of this house which works very hard to serve my soul and the least I can do is love, admire and respect it.
My poor body has been hated and disliked for so many years and yet it's fought incredibly hard to keep functioning for my sake.
I must have business to deal with on earth before my soul is set free.