dean winchester is like. i have never loved my body because i have never learned to be in it, only to wield it. my body is a tool and a mechanism for ensuring that the right things die and the right people live and nothing more. i spent nine years rejecting michael only for him to finally take me and when he does, he is more present in this body than i have ever been. i put what i must inside this body in order to keep it going, i do not deprive it of a burger or a beer or someone else’s mouth but god forbid i think too hard about sam’s salads or the intricate planning, the deliberateness and care, with which so many people maintain a physical form, because the thought is unbearable. i am desired for my body but have never taught it desire. my body gets me twenty-dollar bills and dead enemies and a night’s relief at the drop of a hat and isn’t that enough? what a body is for? do i have to think more deeply about it? my body is a repeated impulse, signalling to others that i am frightening or fuckable or nonfeminine or whatever i must be in a given situation. i do not know how to turn my body off. so many people and things and expectations and intentions have been inside this body but none of them are me.