The classification of a lie is made when someone or something hides the truth; or in my case, reveals nothing at all. My body is a liar in every sense of the word. I say this with no humor; my body is a liar. I refrain from saying I myself am a liar, because I do not believe that to be true. I relate my body and myself as two separate beings, each functioning behind a different brain. My body does things I do not wish, and leaves no paper trail behind it. It produces and leaves an inability to produce and more often than not, I am left with unanswered questions. My ragdoll body has been cut and poked and manipulated for study and leaves me with scars that I find difficult to hide because many of these scars are not physical. My body feels separate from who I am. I feel powerless. My body has betrayed me in ways inexpressible, and for that, I feel defeat. In light of all of this, I am happy. However by my appearance you would not believe this to be so. When you look at me you see an inability to control. You see depression and anger and misuse and mistrust. You see hatred and ugly and wild and careless. You see my body and you assume. You perceive me to be a certain way and I am not, and for that, my body is a liar.