Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever liked my body. In the 46 years, eight months and nine days I’ve been on this planet, how many of those moments have I not had some fleeting or crushing thought about how I look? I know the answer is very, very few. My life, for as long as I can remember, has been a constant comparison between how I look and whomever I am looking at, be it a real person, an air brushed model in a magazine, a mannequin, a drawing… The external object of my gaze as it compares to my own body has consumed so much of my mental time…