Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body

by Roxane Gay

fiction is about desire in one way or another.

life is generally the pursuit of desires. We want and want and oh how we want. We hunger.

it’s a shame that the measure is what is not so bad instead of what is thriving and good.

I have had good relationships, but it’s hard to trust that because what I consider good doesn’t always feel very good at all.

Part of the reason relationships and friendships can be so difficult for me is because there is a part of me that thinks I have to get things just right. I have to say the right things and do the right things or I won’t be liked or loved anymore. It’s stressful, so then I engage in an elaborate attempt at being the best friend or girlfriend and get further and further away from who I really am, someone with a good heart, but also someone who may not always get things right. I find myself apologizing for things I shouldn’t be apologizing for, things I am not at all sorry for. I find myself apologizing for who I am.

I inhabited a butch identity because it felt safe. It afforded me a semblance of control over my body and how my body was perceived. It was easier to move through the world. It was easier to be invisible.

I

am working toward abandoning the damaging cultural messages that tell me my worth is strictly tied up in my body. I am trying to undo all the hateful things I tell myself. I am trying to find ways to hold my head high when I walk into a room, and to stare right back when people stare at me.

I am using my voice, not just for myself but for people whose lives demand being seen and heard. I