I check out of my body almost all the time. I would say that I am rarely ever in my body fully. I do this, in part, because my body isn’t what I want it to be. It never really has been.

I was in the shower this morning and as I washed soap across my belly I thought how unattractive the flabbiness of all the excess fat and skin is. My next thought was, just don’t look at it. As if in not looking, or in looking but not actually seeing, I could pretend it wasn’t real. As if pretending it wasn’t real would be enough.

I eat crap, don’t exercise, and then feel shame about my body. As if these things aren’t all connected.

I just lost my patience. With this stupid, superfluous post and with my god damn dog who is always emitting noises. I don’t know why his panting and licking makes me suddenly want to punch the couch beside me and scream, “Shut up!” which I just did. (The dog, by the way, came over to me immediately, wagging his tail and looking at me with his sweet eyes as if checking to make sure that I’m okay. I’m such an asshole.)

I feel like an asshole right now. There seems to be something in this body thing that I can’t quite tease all the way out just yet. It’s been bothering me though–this disconnection between what I eat and how I physically feel (this disconnection that I think I create to allow for what I’m eating). This constantly turning away from my body as though shunning it as ugly and unacceptable. This believing that I would be more loveable if my body presented itself differently (skinnier).

So, I started writing about it, got several sentences in, and it’s like my mind suddenly woke up and decided it hated me. A couple minutes later I screamed because 15 seconds of hearing my dog lick his paws made me feel insane.

I was drifting quite comfortably before I started writing. I was remembering how I went through a phase when I was sexually attracted to Jesus. I was thinking about my best friend in high school and how I took on all the blame for our failed friendship (and how I don’t really think that was fair). I was thinking about the difference between shame and guilt. I was thinking about how I hope someday there are very few words in these posts because I think I am now using words to distract from, evade, or gloss over the truth even as I try to get to it. I was thinking that the bravest, most honest and open writing of one’s truth would probably be very, very short. I was thinking all this in the twenty minutes or so before starting to type. Suddenly that moment in the shower was what was on the surface, so I skimmed it and that’s where I started.

I am exhausting.