That topic that I'm not supposed to talk about publically

One of my friends told me once that he doesn't want to read anything about bodily functions on any one's blog. And, that's fine. I won't share any of the ugly details of my own, because frankly, I wish I didn't know any of them myself. But, I don't think we're doing ourselves any favors by not sharing information and experiences about the single thing that all of us humans have in common - the experience of having, possessing, inhabiting a body. We all have one. And none of us have much control over the form we were given at birth, or the function of that form as it grows and develops and changes over time.

In my teens and twenties, I guess I was lucky in growing a very comfortable relationship with this body that is mine. While I quietly watched and listen to my girl friends agonize about this feature or that feature, I didn't have any complaints about the way I looked: the stretch marks on my thighs didn't bother me all that much; my curly hair didn't become much of a nuisance until my late twenties and even then I embraced my unique feature; my bushy eyebrow and even my height were cool with me, even though my height made me behave in terribly self-conscious ways for about the first 30 years of my life. I'm sure I can thank my Mom and my sisters for inheriting such an calm and positive acceptance of my form. And, hey, my body worked OK too. Never had a broken bone, the only cavities I've had were in baby teeth, my poor vision was easily corrected with glasses, then contacts, then lasik. And even my allergies are controlled now by the power of Nasonex. No real complaints....until the IBS.

And now, there are days where I feel like aliens have taken over my body. The way that I feel physically, the inconsistency in the symptoms, the bizarre way that it sometimes manifests itself, all create this feeling of detachment from this form - this body - that my thoughts and mind live within. The good news is that I seem to have overcome most of my anxiety related to the IBS (thanks to being well medicated). This week while my body had a little temper tantrum, instead of completely panicking, I simply decided that I would disown my body for a while. Until it figured out what it wanted to do with itself. Until it worked out it's demons. I get that. Sometimes, a little space is needed. So, I gave my body space.

The only problem is that I can't actually take a vacation from my body. I'm with it, no matter what. It and I have a full-fledged life-long commitment to each other. It's a love-hate relationship. The same body that traps me in the bathroom for what seems like hours and days of my life also gives me the ability to run miles along my favorite city streets, study interesting subjects with energy and zeal, and exist in this physical plane along side my loved ones. But the relationship now is different than the comfortable one we shared during the first 30 years of my life. Now, every plan is made with the one additional thought of, "Will my body be having a good day?" It's like a mental hurdle I have to jump over every time I say yes to an invitation, every time I plan a meal. Every time.

I suppose it will continue to get easier. But, in the meantime, what I want to say is that I'm a little disappointed, a little angry even, with my body's poor showing...