For whatever reason, I hate looking at my own body. I hate realizing I
am in my own body. I loathe the idea of being in my own body. Today, I
was thrifting for pants, and as I was looking at myself in the mirror,
a sudden wave of self-loathing and disgust rushed over me and I bailed.
My torso was simply too big and I didn't have any hips to speak of.
The horror!
I am too harsh on myself, but at the same time, how can I like my body?
The trouble with being at odds with my own body is that I can't escape it,
safe for suicide, which is (currently) out of the question. Like in a
submarine, I have to make peace with my own body because I can't literally
outrun it. Alas.
I don't want to get too into the weeds of the implications of my negative
self-image of my own body, and its roots in transmysoginy and western beauty
standarts, etc. I don't want to intelectualize my own emotions. I want to
think about what this state means and where it perhaps came from. Maybe later
there will be room for intelectual thought.
Growing up fat is outright traumatizing. Trauma is maybe a strong expression,
however it is scary and has long-lasting ramifications nonetheless. Getting
chosen last in gym class for teams or always being excluded at the playground
is genuinely hurtful for a child. Especially a neurodivergent one like me.
And I'm not even mentioning the obvious beauty standards. All these experiences,
the name-calling, the side-eyes, etc. have let me to have a very negative image
of my own body.
There is a sort of horror whenever I think of my own body. Maybe it is body
dysmorphia, or something else. Nonetheless, it tends to distress me.
As I've stated before, the image of my own body upsets me. Not even just for its
physical attributes, but the nature of occupying a body itself.
I could walk down the street and a blood vesel could burst in my head at any moment
and give me a Stroke. I could fall down the stairs the wrong way and render myself
with a lifelong hand injury. I may wake up with a malignant tumor in my stomach.
At any one moment, my body may fail me. Most likely, at some point in my life, it will.
I have no control over it. I have no control over how my body behaves, and I can
only hope it will not betray me. This keeps me up at night.
The body is also, and I mean this in a purely sensual way, disgusting. The body makes
sounds when I'm hungry or ill. My knees crack when I kneel. The body makes almost
alien sounds at ordinary movements. It smells. It creates strange liquids.
When I take, or rather forget to take, certain medications, it's as if my brain was
being electricuted. Simply put, the human body has so many icky, sensatinons
it is genuinely hard for me to be content with it or to be at peace with it, to cherish it.
at best, I feel ad odds with my body, and at worst I feel my body is actively working
against me.
As I'm playing Disco Elysium, I'm reminded at the body dysmorphia of harry Du-Bois.
The game begins with a conversation with our own body, where we are reminded of
being attached to it. The body works against us. The beginning, when we wake up from
a days-long, alcohol-fuelled bender, we are constantly reminded of our
own body failing us. When we want to pick up the neck tie, we are likely to almost
collapse. The game almost discourages us from looking in the mirror, and when we finally do,
it questions our intentions. The description of Harry's body is almost how I feel
about my own body; a bloated corpse of a drunk.
I need to be at peace with my own body. As I've said before, I can't escape it.
What esle is there to do then? Why have I written this? Perhaps as a sort of
meditation. A way to write down my own thoughts. Have I come to terms with
my body? No! I wrote this over three days drunk! But nonetheless, I appreciate
writing this down as I have had the opportunity to explain myself.