I'm quite depressed tonight. I suppose this is to be expected after having been so hopeful in the past month or so. This isn't an unusual pattern but though it's not unexpected I can't seem to help myself.
I know whether or not Muckraker likes me, or runs hot and cold, or whatever isn't really about me. I know this-- intellectually at least. But the way I feel about it? I feel like shit.
Yes, I know I have a multitude of issues, many of which are outlined and deconstructed in this very blog, that may have a fair bit to do with my single status... But deep down? Deep down I think there's really only one reason.
I'm not pretty enough.
I've never been pretty enough. I'll never be pretty enough.
(I may as well dig a hole and go die right now, right? ha.)
Or, as Shakespeare would put it, "I am as ugly as a bear; For beasts that meet me run away for fear: Therefore no marvel though Demetrius Do, as a monster fly my presence thus."
Oh, I know, I know. My personality, and pickiness, and many other things have as much to do with single status as my looks do-- but that's not the way it feels. At least not tonight. (And science guy's comments didn't help much.)
After all, doesn't everyone know some crazy hot bitch who somehow manages to land guys left and right in spite of her personality deficiencies? Looks matter. A LOT. And good looks matter a lot, especially if you haven't any.
Do I believe men are visual creatures? Yes, I do. And so part of me-- A BIG part of me believes that if only I were thinner... blonder... had perkier breasts... had higher cheekbones... had better lips... had more toned arms... had nice legs... a smaller waist... (well, I can go on infinitely...) Then maybe muckraker wouldn't have been so hot and cold. Maybe I could have kept his attention (or any guy's attention.) Maybe I would be worth something to someone. What is it that I'm worth? Whatever it may be is definitely based on my looks.
I offhandedly mentioned something last night in casual conversation-- Something I didn't realize was as fucked up as it is until today. We were talking about eyeglasses, and I mentioned that I had had LASIK surgery a few years back. I also laughed and mentioned that people would not know I had once worn glasses in looking at childhood pictures of me since my mother never allowed any such pictures to be taken or displayed because she found me so ugly in glasses.
People looked at me as though I had two heads when I said that. To me, it was something perfectly normal. It is something perfectly normal.
Imperfections are not allowed. Ugly things are not loved or accepted. Fictions must be created to maintain illusions. Thisis what is abnormally normal to me.
I am far from perfect. I am far from pretty. Can I therefore blame anyone for not finding me attractive enough to stick around? I can't blame them, because I wouldn't stick around for myself either.
I know I'm having a pity party in much the way I always do when I feel rejected, and that I should be grateful that I'm not actually disfigured. And I am. I truly, truly am. But at the same time I'm envious of the good looks that made my sister and my mother's lives so much easier than my own. How much more could I have done-- could be doing-- with my life if I didn't feel so encumbered by my ugliness?
And I realize these are my own hang ups. I realize that while I'm no great beauty, neither am I someone who would be pointed at and laughed at because I'm so homely. I am, however, invisible. Invisible and passed over and ultimately cast aside for someone better. At least, that's the way I feel.
I wish I could reason away feelings, tell myself I have many other good qualities (And would I really have wanted to end up as vacuous as my sister in exchange for her looks? NO. No, I would not.) But 10 good qualities don't make up for not having a pretty face. And 100 good qualities don't make up for not having a hot body. And there aren't enough good qualities to be had that would make me feel better about not being wanted.
* * *
BEFORE THE WORLD WAS MADE
If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,
No vanity's displayed:
I'm looking for the face I had
Before the world was made.
What if I look upon a man
As though on my beloved,
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I'd have him love the thing that was
Before the world was made.