If anything has debunked the mind-body split for me, it’s living with OCD. My obsessions are felt as deeply as they are thought. Every day I physically feel my compulsions begging for my submission. In resisting them, my body is flooded with a deep, gnawing unrest.

The normalization of perfectionism convinced me that my OCD was good for me. I looked good on paper – but I see no paper in my skin, my blood, my brain, my bones. I have learned that to save this body, I cannot give everything my best. “Just right” can never be achieved so long as I am the judge. The goalpost moves too quickly to register.

This body consumes itself. Its energy is spent pursuing an unattainable goal and giving up when the fatigue grows too heavy. I am terrified by the permanence and visibility of my flaws.

This is an exposure. I’m writing here with the knowledge that anyone can read my words and they live here now. I can’t take them back. I am releasing control over them.

The tension in my body is increasing. I just checked my muscles, took a breath, and unclenched my stomach. I’m watching reality TV with my partner for escapism. I’m typing in the Notes app so it feels like I’m in total control. I have indigestion. My grip tightens around my phone. My eyes lock onto it. I’m staring straight through the screen, unflinching.

The tension creeps into my skin. My partner put his arm around me and I freeze at the reminder that I am here. I can’t dissociate in the way that takes my mind away from my body. Instead, it makes me painfully aware that both are one.

To know that this is all me, thoughts racing, hypersensitive to touch, agitated by sound, only to get worse – is painful. Physically. Mentally. All encompassing. I had to turn off the TV. 

After this I will get in my bed and for every brush against my skin, every itch or the slightest tickle of my nerves – I will feel the bugs crawl into the front of my perception. They aren’t there, unless they are. I won’t feel secure so long as I feel every sensation as a threat. 

I distract myself until my eyelids are too heavy. I wake up and fixate on how else I may be doing life imperfectly. 

The funny thing is, I don’t really like anything that presents itself as flawless. The only thing I like that way – is me.

Tomorrow I will wake up imperfect and embody what I fear. 

You and I are full of flaws. I know some of you will feel a similar fire behind this reminder. 

Thank you for sitting in this discomfort with me. I’m honored to challenge what it means to be a body together.

 If we could, I’d love to toast some marshmallows over the flames and celebrate how we’ve survived as we are.

Unapologetically.