So you are an unloveable piece of garbage

I’m thirty-five, divorced, childless, lacking any romantic prospects, overweight, and—most importantly—ugly. This isn't me being insecure and sad, this is my life, and since the advice for writers always seems to be, "write what you know" I'm going to write here about what I know: being ugly. I’m guessing you were drawn to the title of this blog post because you’re ugly too. After all, why would an attractive person pause long enough to read something aimed at us repulsive chunks? They have better things to do, like other attractive people.

Boar by Marcin Pabich on 500px
Boar by Marcin Pabich on 500px [x]

Whether or not you’re an unloveable piece of garbage for some or all of the same reasons as me, you can be certain that I understand where you’re coming from. I’m not going to lie to you or spout platitudes in the hopes that you’ll spontaneously see yourself differently despite your years of being ignored, ridiculed, insulted, and forcibly celibate. I’m not here to insist you’re attractive in that way that suggests I’m only saying it to make you feel better. I won’t make suggestions for changes you can make to your lifestyle or appearance or insinuate that anything about your loneliness will change thanks to a new wardrobe, weight loss, a change of make-up, or an attitude adjustment.

I’m writing this because I know what it’s like to be you, fellow wad of used facial tissues. I know how it feels to have an online dating profile that gets no attention. I’ve been laughed at for daring to express interest in someone. The stinging barbs of insult have stuck in my skin after I’ve tried to flirt and been met with derision. I’ve had attractive people literally scurry away from me when I’ve tried to get personal enough to judge if they already had a partner. I’ve gone years (so many years) without any sort of physical intimacy and I can vividly recall (since it happens so often!) the way it hurts to feel like a bloated, dying, beached whale because I’ve hugged someone who didn’t want me anywhere near them.

I get it, my repulsive pal. We are in this together!

Well, probably not together, seeing as how we’re both obviously too objectionable to be worth spending time with. But, figuratively, we’re in this together. Like, together in that way where we will never hang out or be true friends because something deep inside us repels any possible friendship or romantic entanglement.

Maybe you’re not ugly and you’re reading this thinking it’s a joke. I promise, it’s not. Sure, there will be jokes made, but the content itself is really aimed at ugly people. I know you’re out there, fellow troll-faced losers. I know because I am one of you and the universe is just too big for me to be the only one.

Now, perhaps you’re asking yourself, “why is she talking this way? She’s being so hard on herself.” If you’re asking yourself this, I invite you to understand that you are an attractive person. You don’t get what it’s like to be ugly because you are not. Your experience is not my experience and so you won’t be able to fully empathize with all that I’m going to say. In that light, what you should be asking yourself is, “Should I buy four copies of each of her books and distribute them among my friends and family?” and that the answer to that is, yes you should. Make it five copies, actually. I’m thirty-five and single; I’ve got cats to feed.

Before you go googling me to see if I’m really as ugly as I say I am, (don’t bother, I promise you I look like Ted Kennedy) let me promise you that the world at large has decided I’m ugly and that’s all that really matters. Even if you don’t see any Ted Kennedy resemblance, even if you’ve only seen the pictures I’ve taken from flattering angles or while wearing all black and standing almost completely obscured by a statue or bush, please believe me when I say that it’s a foregone conclusion: I am ugly. The world treats me as such, and therefore I understand what ugly people have gone through their whole lives because I’ve gone through it too.

So, as a repugnant pile of flesh, I consider myself wholly qualified to give you other unsightly chunks of human ipecac tips on handling this unfortunate hand we’ve been dealt by life. Or at least I'll be railing against attractive people who won't stop trying to "help" and hoping you can relate.

Check back for the blog series to follow, but only after you sure to get those copies of all my books. Cats are not cheap and who knows how many I’ll desperately adopt as I get older and crazier from lack of human interaction.


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