Many people have body image issues. It's not restricted to gender, age, race, religion, or sexual orientation — though our body image itself can and almost certainly will be affected by these things. Not everyone grows up the same way or in the same environment, and our view of our bodies reflects those differences in ways we often fail to recognize. (Thanks Jenni for helping me put that thought into the right syntax!)
My weight has been an issue since I was in the 3rd grade. There are enough reasons for that to be a blog post all of its own, but that's not what we're talking about. Being a chubby kid automatically puts you in the "target zone" of bullies. It's in the "Bully Handbook" ya know: "Push around the fat kid." It's like their motto or something. So, many overweight children are forced into one of 2 positions: being a bully themselves OR being a victim. For whatever reason its much harder to see the middle ground when your 9. I was a kind-hearted child, so I of course, became the victim. At that age, I didn't really know what gay was, but looking back, I can tell you that at the very least, I knew I was different than other boys. I already felt like an outcast because of that, and gaining weight didn't help. By the time I was in junior high, I had been made fun of for being a "Girly-girl fat boy" so much that I hated everything about myself. Junior high brought with it "locker room hell." Not only was I more and more aware of my sexuality, but I was fatter, awkward, and unpopular. Walking into the gym locker room was agony. There were some undiagnosed psych issues at work too, but I didn't know that, and wouldn't find out for another 3 years. So here I was: fat, gross, unpopular, socially awkward, nerdy, and gay....getting undressed with 2 dozen other guys. Anxiety much?!? I'd do my best to find a corner and hide, bu inevitably one of my classmates would push me, call me names, give me a wedgie, shove me down, or worse..there were way too many "Worse" days than there should have been. Now, if you're sitting there thinking, "why didn't you stand up for yourself?" then you don't understand anything about the damage words can do to person's self-esteem. By this point, it had gone too far. My mental state didn't allow me the "testicular fortitude" to fight back. Every day of junior high was a nightmare for me. I escaped into books and writing in some pathetic attempt to create a world where I could fit in. I got fatter, more nerdy, and eventually, figured out that I was gay.
Now, I want everyone to understand something about these next few statements... This is NOT an attack on my dad. We mended our relationship years ago, but some of the choices he made contributed to my dissolving mental state. He made comments quite frequently about "fags" and how they all needed to die. When I finally figured out I was gay, those statements included me. He didn't know that, because I didn't tell him for decades...with good reason. I grew up in a very religious area of the country, and "queers" were discussed in Sunday sermons. When you hear you're less than human long enough...it changes you. This, among other things, began my final descent into depression. At 14 years old, I was a fat fag that deserved to die--at least, that's how I felt. I spent the summer between 8th grade and high school dreading the next 4 years. When high school started...things got worse.
At my school only 2 things mattered: sports and marching band. You'd think that marching band would be less stressful than sports as a fat gay kid, but it wasn't. The same people that berated me in the locker room and the classroom in junior high were sitting with me in band...and they didn't let up. Not even for a second. I was too self-conscious about my weight to even think about showering in front of people, and being gay in a locker room full of naked guys my age...well, that was just going to add to my anxiety. So...I dropped band to escape the torment, and I didn't pick up sports to avoid more of it. This left me in social limbo. Did it help....nope! Because now, I was a fat gay nerd who didn't fit anywhere with anyone ever. My spirit was destroyed. When I looked in the mirror, I saw the reflection of my damaged soul. THIS is the essence of "body image issues." It's not just about being overweight or acne or facial features or muscle tone....its a package...an ugly one...drenched in self-loathing and weighted down by years of ridicule and shame. I saw myself as a monster and a burden to my family.
Without getting into details, I was suicidal, and we will leave it at that. On the day I had decided to put an end to the monster, I ran into Eric...this dreamy guy that I had had a crush on for a long time. He was talented and sexy and kind, but why would he want to know a monster? I was sure that he was going to kick my ass for running into him...I mean, I literally ran into him. And you know what he did...he apologized to me (When it was actually my fault) and said, "I missed you at the meeting yesterday." He smiled and we went our separate ways. The rest of the day, I couldn't get that out of my head. For some reason, it stayed my hand, and I decided the monster could live. When I returned to school, I went to the guidance office and told her everything I've just told you. She set me up with the school's psychiatrist on a weekly basis. I got to see him AT school, so I didn't have to tell anyone, not even my parents about my "problem." At this point in my life, only 3 people knew I was gay...me, the guidance counselor, and the psychiatrist. Doc (that's what i called him) helped me understand A LOT about who I was. Consequently, this is when I first found out that I was ASD (formerly Asperger's) and started behavioral modification therapy. The rest of my freshman year was...better. Not great or good, but just better. Mostly because I had less anxiety, and there was 1 place I could be me...in the guidance office. By the time my sophomore year started, I was stronger and more confident. I was learning to use my Aspy-powers to control other parts of my life, and bullies were becoming less of a problem. I joined a bunch of clubs, made friends that were just as weird as I was, and eventually...people left me a lone. Until one day, I became....the bully.
I had spent so many years being tormented by other people that when I finally found freedom it became something different. I was totally able to defend myself, and quite frequently did. I lifted weights, played tennis, went swimming, and eventually played volleyball at OleMiss during the summer. I lost some weight, but not a lot; I was still chubby. I had more control over myself than I ever had, but I was still socially awkward. I was content with being gay behind closed doors with "some people" and eventually told a few close friends...and a few guys who wanted to "Experiment." Despite all of the headway I had made...when I looked in the mirror, I still saw a scared, scarred, socially unacceptable monster. A few years in therapy doesn't erase a lifetime of ridicule and shame. I was angry and bitter, and one afternoon some asshat guy I went to school with said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and I LOST MY SHIT! Quite frankly, I scared a half a dozen people, who up to that point, had never even heard me cuss, much less get violent. When it was over, they applauded me. It felt AWESOME, and in that one moment, the monster took on a new form. Vengeance replaced shame, hate replaced fear, and bitterness became the fuel that drove me onward. As my senior year moved on, I took great pleasure in destroying the people who pissed me off. I spent the next 3 years purposefully hurting people, because evil was fun, and NO ONE fucked with me. Sex, drugs, alcohol, fights, overspending...wickedness was my friend. I was still a monster, but at least it was a monster I liked. I was out of the closet to everyone except my dad and a few family members. I embraced the part of ASD that basically makes me a sociopath, and I liked it. No apologies, no regrets. Until 1 night, in a drug-ridden rage, I put one of my best friends in the hospital. Nearly killed him with my bare hands. When I realized what I had done, I decided once more, I needed to change. I went to rehab, returned to therapy, and looked once more into the mirror: sad, lost, and broken...I was still a monster.
The next decade was spent with a litany of horrifying choices: making the wrong kind of friends, going back into the closet, forcing myself to be "christian," raising someone else's kids so they could ignore them, jumping from job to job because nothing suited me, and of course being the subject of rumors and gossip in my hometown...because to most of them..fat gay men are pedophiles. And I'll leave that there. After a string of broken fake relationships, teaching in a school system where parents and faculty called me every foul thing imaginable, and destroying my financial stability...I was back to where I was years before. I looked into the mirror and a fat, ugly, lying, cheating, self-loathing fag looked back. The monster was reborn.
Thankfully, I had some very good friends that reached out to me and gave me a chance to get a grip on my life before I ended up at the literal end of my rope. I moved in with them. Made some great friends, many of whom I am still connected to, and life was better. Once I was on my feet, I got my own place, a better job, and a live-in... Life was good...or so I thought. It didn't take long for the rumors to start. I mean, I was a gay man in a small town...I must be out for kids...right? NO! Idiots! I don't know why so many small town people have such small minds. GAY DOES NOT MEAN CHILD RAPIST! That has to be one of the MOST IDIOTIC notions I've ever heard. But they didn't care.... You know what happened? I was sitting in my living room one night, and my god son was sleeping over. A brick came through the window of my house with "Die Faggot Die!" written on it. Colby was covered in glass. We called the police...and they did NOTHING! A week later, someone set my Halloween decorations on fire in front of my house. Police did nothing. I was called a "stupid faggot" by a co-worker. I reported it...the company did nothing. A friend of mine was beaten til he was unrecognizable...for being gay and not hiding it. The police did nothing. And it was at that time, that I finally realized that nothing was ever going to change in small town U.S.A. I had spent years fighting for my rights and the rights of others. I had tried to fight the stereotypes and rumors. I was in therapy and doing my part. I was finally finding some stability. It was all for nothing. I had to leave. The monster had no place. With help of some awesome people, I made my exit. After a very painful good-bye with my parents, I left my job, my house, my family and friends, and everything I had known...to start over in California. The night before we made that cross-country drive, I stood in the bathroom in my parents house and looked into the mirror...and said good-bye to the monster.
I've lived in California for almost 10 years now. I'm 40. I'm still fat...probably fatter. I still hate the way I look, but...I don't care anymore. I've got wrinkles on my wrinkles, and saddle bags for eyelids. I'm also married to the love of my life. He's my best friend. I'm a dad. My kid is pretty awesome when he isn't making me insane...but kids do that. Life would be boring without him. I've worked to improve the lives of the LGBT community through activism and political protest. We've come a long way in the last decade. I have some of the most amazing people in the world to call friends....not just friends, but family. I still have anxiety. I'm still ASD. I still struggle with my self-esteem. But I don't have to do it alone. I'm stronger, wiser, and honest with myself. When I look in the mirror, I see an older version of a fat, gay, socially awkward, not so popular me....but he's not a monster. He's a war-torn soul that seen his fair share of ugliness. He's a fierce friend who knows the pain of loss and loneliness. He's a voice for those who cannot speak, an ear for those who think no one is listening, and a hand to extend to those who think they walk alone. He has scars...beautiful reminders of where he came from and the struggles he endured. He's not perfect...and that's ok. None of us are. He is David's husband, Jacob's father, Shamus and Archer's pet-parent, and Cheryl and Steve's son. He's a maid, a chef, an educator, a writer, a seamstress, a gardener, and a magical half-dragon genius. I am an individual. I am a human being. But...
I am NOT a monster. And neither are you.
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