Freak

I told him he was kinda funny- in a good way. He told me I was kinda ugly- in a good way. Everyone felt awkward. What could they say, it was the truth but sometimes you don’t have to tell the truth. It’s been nine years yet I still cry about it at times.


I wonder if I had been a barbie doll instead of a chuckie doll would life have been different for me. Would I have believed the lies men told me which lead me into dark and dangerous places? Would I have hated myself so much that I attempted suicide on many occasions? Would I have accepted an unhealthy relationship as the be all and end all? Would I have wanted to peel the skin off of my body and replace it with plastic? Would I have been able to get a job easier? Would I have made it through college instead of dropping out because I couldn’t stand the way people look at me? Would I have to hide in my bathroom panicking whenever someone knocks on my door because I didn’t want them to see me? Would I have only been able to order a pizza when someone else was there to handle the exchange with the pizza boy? Would I have been more social? Would I have any friends, just one friend at all? Would I have been out for a walk and heard a car full of guys laughing at me and telling me to "keep walking tubby"? Would I have cried myself to sleep wondering why the world has to look at appearance and judge someone so harshly based on factors like weight, hair, eyes, height, lips, nose, cheeks, breasts, butt, legs, feet, fucking toes for gods sake?


What ingrained this misery into me, and how can I carve it out?



Then there are the people who want to act as if I'm superficial, and obsessed with appearance. I'm not the one who makes it impossible for a girl who is fat to star in a movie AND to be playing a beautiful character. I'm not the one who makes fun of Jennifer Love Hewitt because she's not a size zero. I'm not the one who obsesses over Britney's body. I don't care how fat or skinny they are, I don't care how ugly or beautiful they are. To me they are just people.


You who accuse me:

You have no idea what it's like to be "Chuckie". Everyone is so beautiful, everyone has so much to offer except for me. I have to live every day knowing that I look like some demented demon possessed fictional doll. I have to live every day knowing that people who do talk to me feel sorry for me because of how ugly I am.


Yes, I wish it was only the inside that mattered and that our true hearts could show on our faces- but that's not how the world works.


So I will spend the rest of my life feeling like a freak, but I won't give in.


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I want to stand up and at the top of my lungs scream"

"Who do you people think you are!? Why do you think you're so much better than the fat girl? Or the ugly girl? The girl with the big rabbit teeth? The boy with the long lanky legs? The fucking kid who has scars on his face from chicken pox? Who the hell do you think you are running around acting like you're some kind of miracle just because of your overprivileged genes? Why do you think you can treat someone like they are a freak just because they don't fit in? Why do you think you have the right to torture someone about something as stupid as their hair color, or the clothes they wear? Why do you think you deserve a high paying job because you are anatomically correct?


GET OVER YOURSELVES"


And then I want to walk away and for that to have worked.

But anger never does work, does it.


So maybe I'll go Ghandi and have a sit in. Maybe I'll park my butt right in the middle of MGM studios and demand change.