TorturedJester
01-27-2004, 01:05 AM
Damon was overweight, balding and had a bit of an acne problem. When he spoke he fumbled with his
words. He also had a lisp that grated on your senses whenever he tried too hard to express his feelings. Oh yeah, Damon was also the biggest loser I could find in the city of San Francisco.
Let me explain. First you need to know that my heart had been broken four times in less than two years. I guess, to be perfectly honest, I kept searching for the “right one” because of my need for affection.
Over the years I had been dumped by nearly every walk of life. You name the race, the age the reason and I had endured the heartbreak of being abandoned. Sometimes I was discarded for being too fickle. Too self-absorbed. Too clingy, or not clingy enough. These are just some of the excuses I was given if fortunate enough to receive one.
Eventually, I began to see dating as a manuscript submission. The odds were stacked against me no matter how hard I tried to better my appearance. Regardless of the revisions, I’d submit myself to a busy, picky editor and Joe, John, whoever, would send me back with a “no thanks not interested” or else toss me in a slush pile.
If not for a few of my girlfriends enduring similar circumstances, I would have felt alone and completely at fault. but I wasn’t alone. My girlfriends were also feeling jaded, disaffected and tired of dating handsome losers. The type of men you love to promenade for the eyes of society but are weary of taking home to mother. I learned in time that the men with lean muscles and handsome smiles were the same ones who cared too much about themselves and not enough about me, Jessica. I didn't see the irony or the hypocrisy at the time.
So one night around the table at an Olive garden restaurant, my girlfriends and I made a pact to take another route in regards to dating. We vowed to find the biggest losers in the city and string them along for a month or two. Then after luring their undivided warmth and attention, drop them like so much excess baggage.
It sounded great at the time. The thought of love was the furthest thing from our minds. It never even occurred to me that I could fall in love with a "loser". But that’s exactly what happened.
Now, I don’t expect you to agree with my choices for one second. What I did was cruel and unthinkable. And I deserved the punishment I received. What started off as a nudging pang of remorse, spread into a resounding, cantankerous voice of shame I carried around with me like a handbag. The guilt would not subside. I could not get relief.
Worst of all, I quickly discovered that not only was my selected” loser” a great listener, a great lover and a caring companion but also the funniest guy I had dated in nearly five years.
And I helped make him a better person as he lost thirty pounds, his acne cleared-up substantially and the nerve-grating lisp that had irked me so deeply had grown into a pet peeve I learned to stroke gently. Was god punishing me for the game I initiated by putting a spell of love on me? And would I ever be able to scrape away the guilt growing on my conscience like barnacles weighing down my vessel?
That Spring, Damon and I fell in love with each other. We couldn't have been happier. Except, I was being consumed with such a bleeding guilt I had no other choice but to confess to him my sins. How do you tell someone you love, that you intentionally played with their heart? How do you admit to them that the only reason you introduced yourself in the first place was because they attracted you with their physically unattractive features.
Of course Damon would have dumped me on the spot, regardless of his love for me . I didn’t know what to do. But every time I passed a mirror, a voice would draw me to the reflection and my soul would spit back a look of disgust. I’d twitch physically from trying to restrain the unbearable attacks of self-resentment. A guilt for being beastly of spirit. Yet so outwardly beautiful.
I can’t speak for my former friends, the one’s I broke all ties with. I don’t know how they could pass a mirror and still accept their cruelty. But for initiating the contest I suffered ten-fold.
It only took me three sessions of counseling to conclude that the psychoanalysis wasn’t going to repair the cracks I had created in an otherwise sacred bond. Instead I made an appointment with another type of Doctor and resolved to rectify my grave error.
At first, the Surgeon was hesitant in proceeding with the surgery. I declined to explain to him why I was filled with a debilitating shame for being outwardly stunning. For having the sharpest cheekbones and fullest lips in my graduating class in college. A perfectly shaped nose that complimented the cleft in my chin. And a dimpled smile that hid the hideous truth of my inward sickness.
I payed Doctor Mathis a years savings to make me over to an image I could live with. To reconstruct my face into something resembling my inner structure. A face I figured Damon would be more comfortable with since we would no longer be gawked at for the contrast in appearance.
I wouldn’t expect you or anyone else to understand how shame could lead me to such a drastic measure. But the procedure was quick and subtle and when the bandages were removed I stood less attractive in flesh. Yet completely at peace in spirit.
That Spring I had blossomed as a person inwardly and was still desirable outwardly. I had a new lease on life and the love of a great man. At least I did until the new and improved Damon set eyes on the revised version of Jessica. Only to dump me for a more attractive women.
words. He also had a lisp that grated on your senses whenever he tried too hard to express his feelings. Oh yeah, Damon was also the biggest loser I could find in the city of San Francisco.
Let me explain. First you need to know that my heart had been broken four times in less than two years. I guess, to be perfectly honest, I kept searching for the “right one” because of my need for affection.
Over the years I had been dumped by nearly every walk of life. You name the race, the age the reason and I had endured the heartbreak of being abandoned. Sometimes I was discarded for being too fickle. Too self-absorbed. Too clingy, or not clingy enough. These are just some of the excuses I was given if fortunate enough to receive one.
Eventually, I began to see dating as a manuscript submission. The odds were stacked against me no matter how hard I tried to better my appearance. Regardless of the revisions, I’d submit myself to a busy, picky editor and Joe, John, whoever, would send me back with a “no thanks not interested” or else toss me in a slush pile.
If not for a few of my girlfriends enduring similar circumstances, I would have felt alone and completely at fault. but I wasn’t alone. My girlfriends were also feeling jaded, disaffected and tired of dating handsome losers. The type of men you love to promenade for the eyes of society but are weary of taking home to mother. I learned in time that the men with lean muscles and handsome smiles were the same ones who cared too much about themselves and not enough about me, Jessica. I didn't see the irony or the hypocrisy at the time.
So one night around the table at an Olive garden restaurant, my girlfriends and I made a pact to take another route in regards to dating. We vowed to find the biggest losers in the city and string them along for a month or two. Then after luring their undivided warmth and attention, drop them like so much excess baggage.
It sounded great at the time. The thought of love was the furthest thing from our minds. It never even occurred to me that I could fall in love with a "loser". But that’s exactly what happened.
Now, I don’t expect you to agree with my choices for one second. What I did was cruel and unthinkable. And I deserved the punishment I received. What started off as a nudging pang of remorse, spread into a resounding, cantankerous voice of shame I carried around with me like a handbag. The guilt would not subside. I could not get relief.
Worst of all, I quickly discovered that not only was my selected” loser” a great listener, a great lover and a caring companion but also the funniest guy I had dated in nearly five years.
And I helped make him a better person as he lost thirty pounds, his acne cleared-up substantially and the nerve-grating lisp that had irked me so deeply had grown into a pet peeve I learned to stroke gently. Was god punishing me for the game I initiated by putting a spell of love on me? And would I ever be able to scrape away the guilt growing on my conscience like barnacles weighing down my vessel?
That Spring, Damon and I fell in love with each other. We couldn't have been happier. Except, I was being consumed with such a bleeding guilt I had no other choice but to confess to him my sins. How do you tell someone you love, that you intentionally played with their heart? How do you admit to them that the only reason you introduced yourself in the first place was because they attracted you with their physically unattractive features.
Of course Damon would have dumped me on the spot, regardless of his love for me . I didn’t know what to do. But every time I passed a mirror, a voice would draw me to the reflection and my soul would spit back a look of disgust. I’d twitch physically from trying to restrain the unbearable attacks of self-resentment. A guilt for being beastly of spirit. Yet so outwardly beautiful.
I can’t speak for my former friends, the one’s I broke all ties with. I don’t know how they could pass a mirror and still accept their cruelty. But for initiating the contest I suffered ten-fold.
It only took me three sessions of counseling to conclude that the psychoanalysis wasn’t going to repair the cracks I had created in an otherwise sacred bond. Instead I made an appointment with another type of Doctor and resolved to rectify my grave error.
At first, the Surgeon was hesitant in proceeding with the surgery. I declined to explain to him why I was filled with a debilitating shame for being outwardly stunning. For having the sharpest cheekbones and fullest lips in my graduating class in college. A perfectly shaped nose that complimented the cleft in my chin. And a dimpled smile that hid the hideous truth of my inward sickness.
I payed Doctor Mathis a years savings to make me over to an image I could live with. To reconstruct my face into something resembling my inner structure. A face I figured Damon would be more comfortable with since we would no longer be gawked at for the contrast in appearance.
I wouldn’t expect you or anyone else to understand how shame could lead me to such a drastic measure. But the procedure was quick and subtle and when the bandages were removed I stood less attractive in flesh. Yet completely at peace in spirit.
That Spring I had blossomed as a person inwardly and was still desirable outwardly. I had a new lease on life and the love of a great man. At least I did until the new and improved Damon set eyes on the revised version of Jessica. Only to dump me for a more attractive women.