Updated: May 31
Saturday, April 29th, 2023
My jawline should be more defined, my nose has a dip in it, my face is not clear, I’m not tall enough, I could use more muscle, my manhood could be bigger, and my voice ought to be deeper.
Hm, these are simple little things, and yet they pick and pry at my skin as if ants were underneath it. I know they mean nothing in the grand scheme of things, but their weight seems unbearable—no, not only unbearable, but inescapable.
I wonder where all their weight comes from. Why do they hold so much pressure on me as though my own hands were fastened around my throat? Such an entertaining question, I can feel my heart skip a beat and my brain salivate at its dissection.
They’re most likely learned, of course. An innateness to them sounds unlikely. They could be some remnant of a reminder of my place on some begotten hierarchy which is invisible to me, but it makes more sense I’ve learned them over the course of my entire life.
Certainly, no one has insulted something like my intellect, if I were to have any. An interesting phenomenon, then; they only target outward appearances and not a mask of mindfulness (regardless of its deeper roots). However, if I’ve classified them as insecurities, then their insults must have worked, despite an attack on something so surface level. Furthermore, many of these silly doubts of mine have been complimented more than once. How odd.
I love it.
Despite the ease and outright unoriginality in criticizing appearance, it still has an affect! Irregardless of what I consume from media or from what people have said to me directly, the things I’ve heard and seen of others is … eye-opening.
I once heard a conversation between women of which I did not intend on listening, because I wish I hadn’t heard a single word they said. They giggled about the size of the print in a man’s pants. They took pictures and spoke louder to each other, as if to get his attention, but I don’t think he heard.
And they call me desperate.
Either way, that experience was like putting on glasses for the first time after not knowing I was blind. It really put things into perspective. Aside from understanding men and women are more alike than different from that point on, I learned no one can escape our natures, no matter the gender.
Another time, someone told me a woman said to him, “You know you’re an asshole, right? That’s what I like about you.” And she slept with him.
Is that all it takes? Perhaps if I had a bigger dick and treated people like objects, then all my troubles would simply wash away. See? It’s the little things that are so easy to pick up on and learn.
But if something like sleeping with a great deal of women makes a man a man, then I’m content not to be one. I’ve tried that “lifestyle,” and freely giving away pieces of myself for nothing but warmth and nerves isn’t my cup of tea. Yet still, apparently the grass is always greener on the other side.
Now, I know full well listing my insecurities for the world to see, let alone those with whom I’m familiar, is an unfathomably dangerous idea. "Here," I’m telling the snakes and the wolves. "I’m your next meal."
In reality, I almost wish people would regurgitate my insecurities back to my face because then, I would know exactly from whom to steer away, not to mention separate the wolves from the sheep (or, especially, discover the identities of those more broken than me).
All that aside, if my desire for one-night stands is gone, and my desire for connection is following closely on its heels, I do wonder where that’ll leave my conscience in the near future. What could possibly replace such influential wants? A question for another time—I just hope it’s not the true meaning of “nothing.”
For now, I’d like to ponder just how similar men and women are, no matter the societal masks that have been built for us, nor the ones we purposefully manipulate for our own gain. With this thought, my conscience twists at the fibers in my brain, cautioning me to tread carefully. Because of this, now I wonder if I’d like the conclusions I’d find at the end of this strange rabbit hole.
I sincerely doubt it.
As far as my insecurities go, is that all? Are those my only self-doubts? Appearances, really? Is that all the devil can pit against me? What a tragedy! I put so much weight on the weightless. What does my jawline, nose, face, height, size, and voice matter if I cannot change them? Nothing. I assure you; my spirit will not be tarnished by something so … easy.
Then undoubtedly, if the devil can hear me, he would give me a challenge worth my time.