I Am Not Ugly

I am not ugly.
I am not unloved.
I am not tolerated just so I will go away.
I am not a burden.
I am not worthless.

I have fought these voices my entire life. I didn’t grow up in a home where I wasn’t loved, quite the contrary, my mom and dad both loved me. When my brother came along, he loved me in his own way.

Yet I battled these voices most of my life, they were so very loud and constant. I could never have peace to try and examine myself, to gauge my own value, to see myself for who I really was, and for who I am now.

I’ve suffered a life of body dysphoria, dysmorphia, and low self esteem that came from the deepest parts of my heart, and I was convinced that I was a troll shambling about upon the earth, striking fear in the hearts of attractive people everywhere.

That’s the kind of thing that can affect a person after a while. I’m pansexual, and so I’m attracted to personalities more than I am the physical side of things. That doesn’t mean a lovely smile, or shining eyes won’t get my attention, they will, and holy fuck pickles am I a sucker for long hair, but if you make me laugh, if you’re clever or kind, you’ve already grabbed my attention.

There were several incredibly lovely young women in my life who liked me, and boy did I like them, but I didn’t understand how to form and develop relationships, and they would inevitably fall apart because I didn’t know what to do, how to act. I’d tend to overdo things, or let out too much of myself at once.

Some people might say you should be yourself, and I am, but once I get comfortable with a person, I start to let my true self out, and that true self is an excited, giddy, sometimes loud and gushing person who wants to talk to you about Star Trek, or puppies, or My Little Pony, and that person wants to hug you and hold you, and give you kisses, and follow you wherever you want to go.

It’s not all the time, but when I’m around my favorite people, I get recharged, and as long as that’s happening, I’m up for anything. Yes, once you’ve left and I’m alone, I will collapse on the bed from sheer exhaustion, and I will need time to recharge again, but for that moment, when I’m around you, favorite person, you might as well be the Sun to my solar panels.

Do you know how long it has been since I’ve had a favorite person? Well, my last date was in 2003, so that should give you an idea.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my time to myself. I love to read, and can spend hours just tucked into a little corner on the couch reading. My family doesn’t understand why I don’t want to get out into the sunshine (the Sun doesn’t like my skin), or go places (I have no money). They don’t realize that I’m not a party person. I don’t want to be around parties, I want to be around the people I feel comfortable opening up to, the people who won’t turn me away for getting a little more excited than some can handle.

I am bald.
I am fat.
I am very white.
I am hairy. I mean, like, I have ear hairs and nose hairs now, and while I do pluck them, they exist.

It’s not that I like being in my mid-40s and looking more and more like Bill Dauterive (King of the Hill character), especially since I don’t want to look like a hairy guy at all, but genetics can be a cruel mistress, and I’m dealing with that as best as I can using the same weapons so many women use: lotion, tweezers, and a loofah.

I can’t do much about the baldness. I won’t wear a hair piece, but I do have it cut close so at the very least my head has a more pleasing shape rather than the eternally horrible comb-over. I don’t do that, and won’t do that. It’s not that I’m vain, but I just want to look good.

So while I still struggle with that, I can at least say I’m not ugly. I look in the mirror, and I don’t hate what I see. I’m not entirely pleased, but I don’t hate that reflection, and that has taken me a very long time to work out with myself. I still have the dysphoria, and the dysmorphia, but I stopped the hate. I will not hate myself any longer. My body didn’t do anything to me to deserve such an emotion to be used against it, and I won’t foster it any longer.

Maybe I’ll learn how to use makeup. I’ve always wanted to learn how to apply eyeliner.

.Red