silverthorne

So before I start rambling, I'll put this up front from the start:

1) This is not a post about feeling sorry for myself
2) This is not a post fishing for compliments to make me feel better about myself (I am okay, really. :) )
3) This is a post about internal stuff that I'm thinking about and working through. Feel free to disregard and go about your business.

Now that that's said, on with it. Beware; I'm almost on 24 hours of no sleep now and will probably make as much sense as a purple martin wearing a pink flamingo hat and doing the ramba in Times Square during rush hour. You've been warned.

Recently of course I've started taking much better care of myself, which results in me looking much better. And of course, I'm going on about it like a kid just discovering her toes. It's been a while since I've been anywhere near 'acceptable' in my own mind in regards to health and beauty, and I was pretty much a sad sight for the better part of seven years.

I am getting better. I am looking better. And yeah, I am pretty. At least acceptably pretty anyway.

Now, before the groans start up from those of you actually reading my insane ramblings, you need to understand my reluctance here to 'owning up' to the so-called looks other people see. it ties in a lot with my past and experiences.

At the core, I try to be modest. I have my moments where I strut and preen like everyone will who has any sense of healthy self-ego, but by the same token, I try to keep at least a bit humble. Part of that is conviction from my upbringing. Part of it is a learned aversion fom watching loved ones and near and dear such as my mother, her mother, and my most recent ex being decidely non-modest and, by extension, being some of the worst, self centered, self serving and hurtful people I've not only have ever met, but allowed close enough to me to suffer the same damage they do to 'outsiders'. Having an ego and pride in one's self the way they do is painfully cruel to others. Something I loathe being and try to avoid with everything I have in me.

Of course, that's not all of it, though. As my sister pointed out in a post elsewhere earlier this week about herself, I was also one of the 'it' children growing up in school. You know, the one all the kids make fun of, whisper about, and often go out of their way to torture, hurt, get in trouble, steal from, and even go so far as to do things such as corner them and throw fist sized rocks at. I was the weird one; the one who wasn't quite up to speed on how you're supposed to interact because mom was more busy with her boyfriend (which was also a town scandal--try being the duaghter of the town slut who sleeps with her boss and yet tries to pass herself off as a 'good' catholic woman who teaches the CCD classes on Sunday. Yeah. I think you can guess what the parents tell their kids about 'it'). The one who was always alone, just a little bit off kilter and was just...well, too weird to be 'like everyone else'. Not that she didn't try--but no adult bothered to teach her how kids her age acted...and certainly didn't ensure she got her dose of society with the other kids her age on an everyday basis.

So, add to this being 'gifted' with a 180 IQ, disassociation disorder, physical and mental abuse, and constant fear. It means I knew, that even though I wanted to, I didn'tfit in. And didn't know how to. And the few times I really, really tried, either the friendships were ended by their parents, or my own mother. Or else the kids that were 'friending' me were just looking for the next prat to do their dirty work in regards to setting up some other poor kid. And of course I'd do it--smart as I was, I didn't catch on very often to what I was agreeing to...and wanting to belong and be wanted was more important anyway.

What does this have to do with being 'pretty'? A lot, actually. As you know, kids base quite a few insults on the lack of a person's good appearence. Being 'ugly' can be a death knell. Even more so when you have a mother who insists on dressing you like you're going to an upper class private school in Washington DC rather than a public school in New Jersey. Sure, toss a kid dressed like a fashion plate into a school full of kids wearing jeans and t-shirts and see just how well she does. Especially without friends. Not to mention that trying to tell your mom 'hey, uh, I look like a freak compared to everyone else' gets you 'don't be silly--they're just jealous because you look so much better than them."

I didn't want to be 'better' in any way. I just wanted to fit in and be accepted for once.

That never really happened in New Jersey while I lived there (although gettin raped once did. Go other kids who thought it would be fun to get me into that situation in order to get some other kid they didn't like in trouble). The last school year, one girl from a gang of girls decided she saw something worth spending some time on and adopted poor, strange little me, and the other girls went with it. It was the closest I had to friendships up to that point in my life. And at least they kept the other kids off my back when they were around.

Then I got moved to Tucson with my dad.

By now, I knew how the kids in Jersey felt about me, already 'knew' my place, and expected it to be much the same in my new home. I had no reason to think differently. Not at first. I probably missed out on a few friendships because of that, but by then I had at least gotten smart enough to be suspicious of anyone trying to make nice--for all I knew, they were setting me and someone else up for the next fall. I made a few friends here and there, selectively. I was still odd. My brain didn't get some limits when it came to things like having crushes on people and how to express that without creeping out the guy I was crushing on. So...more driving off of people because, hey, healing up from childhood damage, but still not quite right in the head.

It got better around sophmore year in highschool. I learned, for the most part, not to be obsessive (although I still had a few instances of it...). By junior year, I was mentally able not to be creepy about it. Course, by then, I'm sure I had a rep with a lot of the guys as yes, being that weird creepy obsessive chick, so...yeah. Bit in the butt in a social way again.

Except for a good friend, who became more than that by senior year.

It was the best relationship I ever had. He wanted me for me, he meant every word when he complimented, and even for a rebellious little rabble-rouser, he was a gentleman. He really did love me.

It was also the one I threw away because of some hurt feelings a few years later. Hey there, there's that hurt again. That one I did to myself. Believe me, that regret will follow me to my grave. Especially since he's been in his own grave since we were 25.

Moving on. Next guy I dated? Sex. Thats what he wanted, and he wanted me to do all the work. Got tired of that, broke it off.

Next guy? Started with sex (best sex I had my whole life, if only in the techincal way), supposedly turned into something more. Ended when after two years, he took me to get an apartment set up and an enagagement ring sized on my finger...and then disappeared. It took a month and hunting down his mother to find out he was marrying another girl. Using, of course, the ring he'd sized on me. I have no doubts that they moved into that apartment together as well. To top it off? When I got hold of him and told him to come get his stuff, he tried to apologize! Not only that, but when he showed up...he gave me an invitation to his wedding. I still have it. It's a reminder.

Next up? That was me being stupid and having sex with a stranger two weeks later because I was feeling unwanted and unloved and hey, if all guys wanted me for was sex, then so be it. The first time we went for it was also the one time my enitre life I wasn't being smart aboiut protection. That was the pregnancy, him offering nothing but to pay for the abortion...and my parents paying for it after I went to them for another solution that they were having none of. So, lesson learned there as well--don't let a guy between your legs, and don't expect anyone to help you if you do something stupid. Do expect them to cover their own butts and sense of embarassment.

By now, I wasn't feeling particularly pretty. What I was feeling like was the biggest, easiest cunt this side of the atlantic. It cured me of intercourse with men (I haven't fucked any guys since then--although there was one friend I was wiling to do other things for sometime after that fiasco. But that at least was an understood friendship with no strings and nothing I wasn't willing to do--such as have intercourse). Thought I had it figured out.

Nope.

My last relationship in Tuscon was with a girl--one just as crazy as the ex I just left (difference being that that state of Arizona actually offically recognized her as such). Then the guy I gave up was killed by someone robbing the convenience store in Phoenix he worked at. And then my uncle raped me that night when I went to spend the night so we could go to the funeral together the next day. He was drunk. I got out...went to the funeral, ran forTexas for a week and went home again. Relationship with the girl fell apart--both because of her crazy and what I was dealing with in regards to the uncle. Didn't make me good company or good relationship material.

Moved out to Texas. Hung around with a few guys...one of which actually told me he had broken up with his girlfriend before he and I spent...a month or so working towards what I thought was a relationship. No sex. Some feeling up. No sex. After a month I find out that he never really broke up with her. So...yeah, here we go again.

So now I'm feeling both ugly AND dumb. And pretty much not worthy of any half decent guy.

A seemingly half decent girl though? Yeah. I fell for it.

And now here I am ten years later. And most of you already know what happened to me, more or less, in those ten years.

A lot of what happened was poor judgment on my part--there's no denying that, and I won't. By the same token, it taught me a lot of things that feed back into the whole 'not that pretty' and 'guys don't see me that way' thing.

I don't feel pretty--not that way. Yeah, I look all right. I'm sure I match someone's ideal...but what I know of looking good is that it translates into 'you look good enough to satisfy my sexual urges with'. Not 'you're pretty enough that it leaves me speechless', and certianly not 'your beauty makes me want to marry you and stay with you for the rest of my life.' That's...not a very satisfying 'pretty'. In truth, I'd rather be ugly and NOT get that kind of attention again.

But anyway, that's the trip. I'm not looking for compliments or kudos or anything. I just know that my kind of 'pretty'...attracts all the wrong kind of attention.