The human body contains two collarbones. The collarbone is also known as the clavicle, which is derived from the Latin clavicula meaning “little key.” Directly above the clavicle, an empty space appears where flesh intersects with bone: an indentation, a cradle. In English, the secondary definition of cradle as a verb is “to hold gently and protectively.” Below the collarbone, the ribs partially enclose and protect the chest cavity where the heart and lungs are located.

The cradle of my clavicle is carved just above my heart. The clavicle is composed of two slender bones. The human body can survive even if the entire clavicle or any portion of it is excised. The collarbone lies at the root of the neck. It provides support to the arms so that they can move and hang freely; however, if the bone endures a fracture, one may be unable to move her arms. I wonder if a fractured collarbone makes it more difficult to push people away.

Few have taken notice of this part of my body. Taken the time to feel the clavicle’s precision, observed its construction into my physical form, its attachment to the tendons and ligaments and adjacent bones, sensed the constant tension present between all my parts.

Fractures of the collarbone are common. Such fractures are easily detectable, and deformities are immediately visible. There are days I’ll think of college. There are days I’ll try to forget college and the people who fucked me up. I was always conscious of when my clavicle was exposed to others. When I gained weight, it no longer held any appeal. I once considered my collarbone to be my most attractive feature. And I believed my failures, my fractures, were always detectable by others.

The shoulder is the most mobile joint in the body, most susceptible to dislocation. Pushing the shoulder forward intensifies the depth of the collarbone’s cradle; the appearance of the clavicle is prominent in those who are thin. When I look at old photos from college, it hurts to see how skinny I was, how skinny I no longer am. How many pills did I swallow to maintain the depth of that cradle? Did I position the shoulder at the right angle so that my collarbones would look best? And did my attire show them off accordingly?

These other bodies will never know that my clavicle was the line of demarcation by which I judged my inadequacies. My collarbones were a point of reference for how fat I was getting. Each day, I took note of my clavicle’s visibility, the depth of the cradle. When I noticed any deviation in my weight, I recalibrated my body to maintain the clavicle’s protruding curvature. I disciplined my body for its transgressions, and I knew my method. I’ve committed all their names to memory, their brand name and generic aliases, and I remember each of their chronological entrances into my life: Strattera (atomoxetine), Concerta (methylphenidate, extended release), Vyvanse (lisdexamfetamine dimesylate), Adderall (amphetamine salts), Dexedrine (dextroamphetamine). I can still identify each of them in a lineup, determine their milligram denotations by shape and color. I’m not sure when I decided to start eating again or if it was the right decision. It holds little weight to be called attractive.

Upon examination of my own anatomy, I know my bones, my skeletons. I’ve classified myself and shaped my worth by my bones, by the skeletons of the people I used to be, and by the bodies of the people who left their marks on me. I know my clavicle in relation to its connectivity and its detachment from my body. But it feels like a sizeable bit of bone marrow is missing. Loneliness has eaten away my insides. Perhaps this is intentional, necessary. I fear someone will sink their fingers into that empty groove, leave their hook in the cradle.

My clavicle provides directions to the paths and tributaries of my body. I hide my secrets in its cradle. It would be a torturous task to have someone excavate through bone—to gain knowledge of my shape, the origin of those indentations. I’m afraid of what could be there, waiting to be exhumed. It’s the hardened parts of bodies that lack nomenclature. Maybe there is someone out there who notices curvature in less conventional areas. I still trace the indentations of my clavicle. When I sink my fingers into the cradle, I’m trying to learn how to fill it.