Thursday, March 3, 2011

Beauty and Pain

My mom visited me yesterday (Wednesday), and I'm torn between flattery and irritation, as always, by her comments.  She told me that she loves how experiencing things with me because people automatically treat me differently because of how I look.  An elderly man, for example, came up and told us that he hopes that our boyfriends/husbands understand and appreciate how beautiful we are, etc, etc., which was really sweet, but I always feel awkward when told I'm beautiful.  And of course, then there's the lingering stares or glances that people give you, thinking that it won't be noticeable, but when everyone does it at the same time or as soon as you walk into a room, you suddenly think, "Is there something on my face?" or "Is there toilet paper on my shoe?"  I always subtly double check myself, automatically self conscious and confused.  Perhaps I should feel complimented and grateful, but I just can't.  I don't like feeling like I'm constantly in the spotlight when all I want to do is shrink within myself and be left alone.  And yet...I can't live without the attention either.

This is one of those times when my posts are contradictory:  I tell you how I'm fat, ugly, a waste of space, and yet here I'm complaining about people staring at me.  The problem is that I, myself, am confused.  I suppose I have to look at my face and accept that it looks decent as a fact, but the rest of my body is atrocious and my mind is simply fucked up.  I think there's a quote somewhere about how beauty is always linked with darkness or something like that, and I don't think there's been a truer statement.  People who are pretty are either a) total bitches because they know they're pretty or b) unable to come to terms with it and hoping that people see something deeper for once (which they never do).  I'm part of the latter, and as a result, I can't help but think that my appearance is all I have because that's all that other people see.  So why would they care about what's inside?  The answer?  They wouldn't, and I have yet to meet someone to prove me wrong.

Maybe this explains a bit why my left arm is throbbing from last night, and my right arm is now suffering as well.  I get so tired of trying to live up to this perfection that people seem to think I have, especially when perfection is purely an impossible feat.  Being a disaster, on the other hand, is very doable, and I'm doing a fantastic job of it.  Maybe, in addition to trying to connect this body with my mind, I'm trying to prove that I am, in fact, not perfect.  When will people stop commenting on superficial things and actually tell me something I want to hear?  I think my favorite compliment would be someone telling me that I'm witty or funny or sarcastic...something that deals with my personality.

Not going to hold my breath on that won't even kill me anyway.  Pointless.

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