Let's just eliminate all the bullshit, shall we?

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Dying To Fit In

"Marilyn Mon-Whoa! (Pretty Ugly)"
by Diana Ho

Beauty is always a subjective term, but certainly
we have notions and standardized assumptions in this
world. There are definitive notions of 'popular' and
'worthy' and 'good looking.'

I think people have a very different notion of me
from what is true, at least until they spend time with me.
I've always been the 'Rita Farr.' Rita was
a member of The Doom Patrol, a flawed and freakish
collection of obvious outsiders and 'losers' who came
together as one. They no longer fit into the regular world,
but they had each other.

But Rita looked perfectly normal,
and her 'talent' wasn't naturally obvious. Yet she was
aware, and the one thing she wanted--to simply fit in
and live a 'normal' life--was denied her.

I have fought hard to be as petty and superficial
as anyone I have condemned. I was a male model.
I sought work in TV and motion pictures. I dressed up
and spoke eloquently and acceptably at county commission
meetings and city council meetings. I ran businesses. I
tried to make time myself legit by being worthy of the
affections of a yuppie thoroughbred. But in my heart, it
was always a lie. Striving to keep pace with something I
am not. Seeking attention from outside instead of within.
I have fought a never-ending war against my own weight
and to maintain my vanity.

I just wanted to be loved and accepted, but by the people
I thought 'mattered.' (Mattered 'more', obviously, than the
people who already were appreciative.)

But the real people that have always mattered, that I
have always truly been close to, are the ones I keep coming
back to.

I am drawn to what politicians often claim as the Dead Zone;
the poor, the elderly, the young, and the sick. Outsiders.
And I say it proudly; I am one of them, even if looks are to
the contrary.

I get along with, relate to, and am drawn to the energy of
my fellow unheard voices. Kids that no one pays attention to.
Old people that have been forgotten. Animals no one wants.
The sick, who are shied away from and shunned. The poor,
the disillusioned, the heartbroken. Even as I face these issues
in myself, there is a 'survival instinct' of ignoring them and
avoiding others who share them! 'Career killers,' they might be

Everything in our society is "What can you do for me?"
"What good can come of this?" and so on.

Well, I have to get real. I am who I am. I gain nothing by
denying that I am an awkward comic geek. A philosophy
nerd and movie buff. A socially maladapted politico who
would rather be alone than at a public function. A portly
Cuban/Mexican mix adoptee with flighty notions. An ultra-
liberal artist who is a man of extremes.

I'm a brass tax guy who hates snobs and materialism and
is more than content with making ends meet. I don't like
what competition does to people, I like my redneck ways
of patch working and plundering, and I hate artifice. I don't
care what people look like, what they wear, what they make, or
how they talk. I embrace it, and I no longer want to chase people
who think I need to perform in order to be worthy.

Brand new start. Who I am is good enough. I show myself the
same acceptance and lack of judgment I give to the people who
have proliferated my life. No more excuses, no more pleading,
no more desperation for inclusion.

I have a shitload to offer anyone smart enough to stand by me.
Knowing me is a privilege, and it's reserved for a few good men
and women. Let the rest of the world cast stones. I have a place
to belong.

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