I’ve never felt like I belong. I’ve always felt like an alien. As a child, I used to stare into the sky, at the sun, knowing it hurt me. I couldn’t risk looking away in case the aliens that dropped me off were wanting to find a way to send me a message. Reading that back, it’s the most insane thing I’ve ever shared on this blog, but it’s the truth. Living with Congenital Erythropoietic Porphyria is an isolating, unique experience I have trouble explaining, so any way I can express myself, I’ll try it.
I am a nudist, and last week I modelled nude for a life drawing event for the first time.
Being allergic to sunlight, the world would have you believe that if you’re a naturist not being naked outdoors, then you’re just being nude at home and that disqualifies you from being a nudist! I’m here to tell you that’s not the case. Nudism, naturism, whatever you want to call it, what it means to me is the freedom to express myself in a body which for many years (and still to this day) I have felt a prisoner inside of.
We all have our prisons that we may not even realise we’re living behind, but mine is more physical than it is mental. I’ve spent all my life with hospitals as my second home. And for as long as I have known hospitals as my second home, I have known being looked at.
Not as human, but as a patient.
A thing to be studied, to be exposed in front of doctors, nurses, poked and prodded, put inside of machines, having machines attached to me, put inside of me. Surprising as this may be to read, that’s still the case. It’s become a lot more familiar and less dehumanising, but there’ve been no advances in treatment, no improvements to my health, I’ve just somehow managed to keep on living well past what doctors expected me to.
With my body at a disadvantage, all I could do for many years was focus on making my mental aptitude stronger. When it came to exploring my physical attributions… well, that seemed like a path I didn’t have the liberty to take. As I transitioned from teenage, to young adult, and into adulthood – even typing that word “adult” doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel like an adult, because any time my illness has taken a turn for the worst, coming back from that is like hitting a reset button and starting off from your last save point. Truth was, I never used to plan for the future. I expected to be dead. Ageing just isn’t something I ever thought I’d do, okay! I don’t want it to sound morbid or godlike, but I am a realist as much as I am a fantasist, and I assumed I was going to die young. It’s taken many years for me to feel balanced, to feel any sense of confidence, to feel that I’ve reached a point where I can start picturing myself in the future, to start planning ahead. But also feeling I’m at a point where I won’t be setback by the unexpected. The more time I have, the more I realise how things we perceive to be important are actually of little importance. What’s important to me is to live a life without regrets, because the reality of never getting a second chance is more apparent.
Which brings us to being nude. In a room full of people. Some who knew me, some who didn’t. I actually find myself more confident and talkative being naked (as you can see in the pics). On the surface, people see my face first, and they might make preconceived judgements. But with everything on show, they might make those same judgements, but I think it forces those people to humanise me. It actually forces me to humanise myself, and I don’t feel like an alien when I’m naked. I feel like any other normal, attractive guy.