“Why Pity Me?”
In a lot of my writings- the letters to the dead, I mention a lot about looks and sex. I don’t know why, I’m not a sexualized kid, nor was I ever abused (except for one fateful school trip), but I always wanted love. I always envied the girls who had boyfriends, or who held hands with boys at the mall, or even at school. I always looked in the mirror and thought, “What the hell is wrong with me?” People will always tell me, “You’re so pretty Kate!” But, if I was pretty, then why did I always attract the loser guys? (Thankfully, my husband is a good one and I’m happy with him).
When I was in school, all the “hot” boys would always go for the slutty girls or the girls who played dumb. Me, I guess the Holocaust Diary girl or the Film Lover wasn’t a vibe for them. One such letter, I talk about a guy, whose name was Justin, who I changed his name to Justice for reasons, liked me cause he “Felt sorry for me.” Why would he feel sorry for me? Has he contacted me since? He did in 2010, when I just joined Facebook, but we haven’t really talked. I guess some of the guys that I knew in High School or even in Middle School, really had glow ups. Me, I didn’t.
“January 4, 2005
Dear Rosemary,
Things have gotten from bad to worse. I have unsuccessfully tried to talk to Justice and I told him how I felt. I got blindsided and he said that he thought he liked me because he pitied me. How do you pity someone? That’s hard enough to understand that my heart has been torn into pieces and scattered.
The other girls were laughing at me. Justice walks away. I am left at my locker, pondering. I could hear my heart beating out of my chest. There was no one there to comfort me. I didn’t even cry, at least I didn’t on the outside. I did on the inside. I walked to U.S History and sat there in the back. My mind was not on the Civil War, but about what was the world going to think of me? I was fading in and out of consciousness, and I think some people noticed. One boy, Mark, said “Kay, you ok?” I was seeing flashes of colors and different people. I blacked out. I woke up in the nurse’s office. I didn’t know what happened to me, then it hit me, Rosemary, I was a joke to him, as I usually am.
Late that night, I called Granny and explained my plight.
“You’re only 12! Why love a boy now?” Granny said.
I could barely sleep at night. I feel like I’m being thrown away. The next day was pure hell. I had to sit next to him in Civics (new seating arrangement). He touched my hand and then he said, “Look, don’t take what I said personally, ok?” I wasn’t even going to look at him, but I did, several times, when he wasn’t looking .
I had tears in my eyes. He only liked me because he felt sorry for me. Why feel sorry for me? I guess because I am a REJECT. I am NOTHING. I mean NOTHING. According to Julia, I am the most unattractive girl at that school. Justice loves someone else, but he likes me cause he’s sorry for me.
I’m on the other side of the wall. I’m in the ugly category. I hurt. I don’t want his love, I’d rather burn.
I’m not that talkative, and I haven’t been in the past few days. I have been on my laptop, writing. But, I’m not that social either, why should I be? People pity me. I am crying on the inside. I want to be invited to people’s homes for parties, and yet, they have to “force” the invitation. Meaning, their parents, again feel sorry for me, and invite me. I don’t have a good time anyways. I just don’t fit anywhere dear Rosemary. What does that even feel like? To Belong? To feel something that makes you happy? I sit around with my belongings, including my dolls, and I am just trying to make them even more real.
Laurie came over and that was nice. She comes over a lot and we spend time together.
But, to me, I wish I could be in the groups like the other girls. They seem to have a lot of fun? Well, I guess all I can do is pray for a miracle.
Love,
Kate”
For me, my heart was always trying to impress guys, but I never seemed to be the right fit for any guy, except if they were the rejects or the losers, or really the unattractive ones. I know, it’s not all about looks, but I always wanted to be on the arm of a handsome guy, or at least a hot one.
Again, people would say, “You’re beautiful!” No, I wasn’t. I was an ugly kid, and believe me, I saw how I looked, and I was never cute. People would say, “You had a glow up!” No, no glow up, just the girl who looks like a third grader. I still look the same as I did in third grade. I never had a glow up or I never changed how I looked. I hated that. But, it’s hard when you suffer from Body Dysmorphia Disorder, when everything to you looks awful. It has been for a long time.
I always compared myself to women like Ann Blyth. I once said in a letter to Deanna Durbin (which I never sent), “Ann Blyth could get any man she wanted, because she was beautiful! How I wish that were me! Blessed with beauty and brains! Nope, I wasn’t blessed with that!”
I would dress nicely and no one noticed. The lie I was always told, “Look nice and people will notice!” I’d dress up vintage: Dress, heels, hat and hair curled, and no one would notice.
I always thought of Deanna Durbin. There was no photoshop then, at least, it wasn’t immediate. She always had the men she wanted, at her feet and I thought, why wasn’t that me? Yes, I couldn’t have everything I wanted, but I wanted to be accepted among the “cool.” What the hell did that even mean?
Well, everytime I would go to a new school, it seemed that I was always on the outs, with the others. I would try to talk to the cutest guy in school, but uh-oh! He was always “taken”. I had one guy tell me, “You’re cute, but you need to give up Anne Frank.”
“Give up Anne Frank? What? Was that a joke?” I asked him. He told me that guys didn’t want a girl that studied genocide. That was 2010. Well, it’s weird, now, I make her my whole world, and my hubby and some friends are very supportive of it. For me, that’s everything.
With Deanna Durbin, ot Merle Oberon, I always envied, cause they had beauty, and even when they got older, they aged. I still look like a child. I don’t age. I just have the body of an adult, with the mind of a teenager and the looks of one. People think I’m in High School, which can be dangerous at times, cause I’ll have teens at my job, asking me out, and I kindly tell them I’m married (I wear my ring all the time, I don’t take it off). I’m upset sometimes, at the fact that a man never really saw me as attractive, except the weird ones, or the rejects, or the ones who had all these issues. It was always me, trying to figure out what I wanted and partly this is my fault, since I was so desperate, I’d take anyone, cause I didn’t believe anyone better would love me. I dated, and for an autistic woman, dating was so hard, cause I tried to conceal my autism, I didn’t want people thinking I couldn’t handle things. Now, it’s harder to conceal it, cause people notice it.
As for me, now, I have a loving husband and he’s not bad looking. But, for me, I think it’s harder to think of what I would have ended up with .
As far as sex goes- I was never ever really touched because men thought that I was not worth it. I had one guy tell me, “You’re too inexperineced! You need to sleep around!” I had never had sex until I married my husband, and tried to experience it head on, which was a rude awakening- it hurt like hell. But, before then, I loved kissing, and I loved the feelings that went with it. But, they never were able to do anything to me. The guys I would be with would say, “I’m sorry, there’s something about you, that seems childish.” I could never get a man I really wanted, so I would go back to the toxic relationships and I would feel so miserable and feel like “I would rather end up alone, than do this.” I know when I married, I didn’t end it great with the last guy I had dated, and that is all on me.
But, with these letters that I’m reading, (I wrote them), to dead people, and the ones that were still very much alive, I was so envious of girls getting to feel- those feelings. I was alone a lot and I never lost my virginity on prom night, or got to experience sex as a way to have fun.
This being, my mother. My mother had instilled in me, that I was never allowed to have a boy touch me wrong. So, when it came to dating, I was never allowed to be alone with him, never allowed to sit on my bed, never allowed to kiss him, hell, even hold hands! So, it was no surprise when my boyfriend in high school cheated on me with my friend and then she told me. But when I got upset, I WAS THE BAD PERSON? Again, everything gets turned on me. When I finally moved out and started dating, I wanted them to feel everything, but I didn’t get that. That backfired. They wouldn’t go all the way, cause I hadn’t had it yet. It was weird, and to be honest, I didn’t feel as if I should even exist.
But, I don’t think I’m pretty, I don’t. It’s just something I have to deal with. BDD is a horrible disease and there’s no cure. It’s not contagious, but it is something that will damage you beyond repair. I am not beautiful and I just want to be. I just want to be seen as beautiful and people will see me for the beauty I am. Trust me, I wish I looked just as good as Darci Shaw, or as Thomasin McKenzie, or as Merle Oberon. People have told me I look like Merle Oberon, and I really don’t. We may have the same hair color and the same skin type, but she’s gorgeous.
I would die for looks like that. I know, my BDD is talking and to be honest, I am still struggling with it. I have for over 10 years. Like I said, there’s no cure. When men looked at me in High School, I was short, and tried to look nice, but never on anyone’s list to date. It was always the other girls. Mom said, “You’re exotic looking!” No, I wasn’t. I was just average. If men wouldn’t look at me in that way, then where did my self confidence go? Exactly, I have none, still don’t. I’ll try on a dress and I’ll hate it, cause I won’t feel good in it. I never do. I hate the way I look and I know, it’s all about personality, but looks are how I can perceive myself. It’s hard to explain. I am a very lovely person and everyone will tell you that, but when it comes to describing myself, I tell them that I am an ulgy toad.
I am sick to my stomach sometimes, when I look in the mirror. I don’t feel good in my own skin. I don’t feel comfortable me being alive. I know that sounds awful to say, but I haven’t. In my letters, that I’ve been reading, and typing out, it is apparent that I didn’t feel loved or welcomed, even when I was 12 years old.
x
