If I had continued exercising, I'd be thinner now

Not thin, but thinner. But I lost a lot of myself between mid-January and mid-April and I'll warn you now that there's no humor in this post. I've been stressed, been working too much. Feeling ugly, feeling hopeless. Feeling ambivalent about my body and what it should look like, what it should feel like. I've been living int he world but outside of my body, shoving down Lean Cuisine or BBQ ribs with equal disregard for calories, nutrition. I've meditated only once. I've exercised really infrequently. I'm breathless when walking up stairs. I'm breathless when I pass "normal size" closing stores. I'm wearing lycra pants all of the time now.

I won't give up, although I've lost my way. I won't give up.

My body feels like an aesthetic and corporeal tomb. I feel so un-alive. I feel like a tool, an object. I generate work-product, I turn out meals, I make income. But who am I without relation to anyone else? Why can't (don't) I control the size of my body? Why do I deny myself water and let my throat get parched? Why do I feel desperately out of control and crashing and only then notice the shallowness of my breathing?

*Sigh*

I want to write these words: "It hurts that my exterior doesn't reflect who I am inside." but I won't. Because my outside and my inside are one, are the same. I won't berate myself because I have cellulite. I won't tell my breasts, "You are too big" and my neck "you are too short". They simply are, as my mind simply is, as my heart simply is. When did I give myself permission to hate my body? Hatred is intellectually lazy. Hatred is nothing I want a part of in any resect. Hatred will eat my soul.

I have to remember this and somehow, hold on.