face off

The lump situation has once again forced me to examine the way I feel about myself and my physical appearance.  When I gained sixty pounds after college graduation, I ignored it.  I wouldn't let myself face the weight gain because I was depressed and food made me feel better.  If I couldn't eat, I couldn't function.  Food was the only thing that got me through.  No parent, no friend, no god was there for me but spaghetti always was.  And I think if I couldn't eat, I very well would have went insane.  I didn't have a healthy way of coping so I constantly consumed.

My situation hasn't changed much.  I don't feel better about anything but I suppose I've become complacent in my misery.  And because of that, my waistline has become more apparent to me.  And my focus has shifted from eating to survive my own head to not eating so I can shed this fat suit I put myself in.

The funny part is I didn't even realize how big I was until I started losing the weight.  As people began to notice me getting thinner and started commenting on it, it actually made me realize how large I was to begin with.  And now, all I can think of is how disgusting and big I am.  How could I have been so oblivious 20 pounds ago when I started the weight loss journey?

So, here I am, losing the weight, trying to do better for myself, and I'm losing my hair at a rapid pace.  I started thinning at my crown but now I'm also starting to see the scalp on top of my head.  I push my hair forward and to the side, messing it up and positioning it just right to hide the thinning.  And as I do, I realize it's another obstacle, another hurdle that keeps me from being good-looking and feeling good about myself.

Obviously, the weight thing has always been an issue for me.  All my troubles started when I got fat.  And then I hit puberty and the acne started and it wasn't your typical cluster of teenage pimples.  It was deep and painful acne that ravaged my cheeks.  So, I was fat and pimply.  And nothing helped the outbreaks.  I had to take Accutane to get my skin back to normal.

My skin was cleared in a matter of years but the struggle to lose the weight took much longer.  But, I did.  In most people's eyes, I was thin.  In mine, I was still fat.  I looked at my face and saw the marks from the acne.  I saw the crooked lower teeth.  I saw the long face and the eyes that weren't level.  The slanted nose.  The ugliness.

The only time I ever felt okay about myself was when I was in college.  I was at my thinnest and my face and scalp was mostly clear.  I still had scars and stretch marks and about fifteen more pounds to lose but all in all, I was okay.  I felt decent.  I wasn't handsome but I wasn't disgusting.  And for me, that was progress.

But nothing stays good for too long.

When I thought I finally had things under control, this mysterious lumps popped up in my throat and derailed all confidence I thought I had.  It was a reminder, a little note sent from the cosmos to tell me that I am still not okay, that I never will be.

I gained the weight back.  The lump came and went but eventually settled in its size.  My hair started falling out.  And now I feel like such a mess.  It feels like there will always be something that pops up or falls out and I'll always struggle with trying to minimize one thing or maximize something else.

I hate the fact that I feel I'm ugly and what I hate even more is how much I care about it all.  Some people might find the flaws I've listed as only minor inconveniences and they would be right.  I don't have a missing eye or a gigantic birthmark that covers my entire face but it's the sheer number of little things that add up.  It's the paper cut concept I've constructed.  It's the things that seem minor when considered individually but when put together in a pudgy package, the unattractiveness really comes out.

And I might even be able to deal with it all if my insides weren't so icky as well.  I'm a pretty crap person so maybe that's why I look to the physical so much.  Maybe I'm such an internal mess that I consistently try to fix the outer shell, as insurmountable of a task as that seems sometimes.

I know I'm not ugly.  I get it.  To most people, I'm average.  I'm cute.  Whatever.  That doesn't mean anything to me.  I used to gather my confidence from the compliments of others.  It got me by over the years but it does nothing for me now.  I'm so far gone, seen more of my grossness up close and personal, the parts of myself I've kept meticulously hidden for so long, that other people's assessments of my aesthetics doesn't phase me or make me feel better.  When it comes to my image, I'm only concerned with what I think.  And I think I'm ugly. 

There are times when I feel I've come to terms with myself and the way I look.  I know I will never be conventionally handsome.  I know that I will never have a strong jawline or good hair ever again.  And I can accept it.  Sometimes.  And I try to shift my focus from trying to look like someone else to trying to look the best I can.  And that works.  Sometimes.  But, really, I just wish I could get over all of it.  Not care that I don't look like a model.  Not care that I don't even look average.  Just be clean and comfortable in my mediocrity.  There are times I'd like nothing more than to just take my face off, to go a day without worrying about how much oil my pores are exuding or if a nose hair managed to dangle its way down my nostril.  I'd like to have a break from berating myself.  But exhaustion does not evade entropy.  It will always continue, flowing out of me and pounding into me.

The most annoying part is how much time and effort and money I put into looking like a mess!  I try so hard and nothing ever seems to pay off.  I wonder why I keep going, keep trying.  I suppose I always think there will be this attainable measure of beauty that I'll reach if I just use that cream or buy that shirt.  I'll finally be attractive.  Desirable.  Wanted.  Needed.  And nothing ever comes to pass.  I keep chasing after vapor and get angry when I can't grasp it in my palm.

It doesn't matter what you say, so don't bother.  No matter what I do, I will always struggle.  Just like I mentioned how food will forever be a demon that nips at my heels, so will the fight to find peace with my face.  I can scrub and zap and shave and crunch and lighten and I will still feel gross.  Something will always come around to undo me.  I'll never see myself as anything more than defective.