A Beautiful Ugliness: Musings on Being Ugly

Day of the Dead Virgin of Guadalupe with Sacred Heart

My friend and teacher has been sharing some of her daily writing with me this week. She is writing about beauty, and her writing is captivating. All the beauty makes my head spin. I love beauty: beautiful music, beautiful art, beautiful architecture, you name it, if it is beautiful I probably love it. My entire being vibrates when I see beauty.

I think my love of beauty is because I am a homely creature. I was an actual ugly child, a really ugly adolescent, and as an adult, I’m still pretty ugly. I have pictures to defend these statements, trust me. That is not negative self-talk, or me running myself down. In a culture obsessed with beautiful women, I’m a proudly ugly one.

Photo of the Author
Photo by: B. Van Meter

It has been a long hard journey to embrace the fact that I’m never going to be pretty. But I have fought and learned how to be my own sort of ugly. It was not easy to get here.¬†When you are in mental health care, you can find a support group for ANYTHING! Anything except being ugly. I guess it’s good that I’m no fan of support groups, because there is not one for me.

There are also not a lot of therapists who will let you alone about being ugly. I find this weird and distressing. I do not, I emphatically do not want a therapist who is gonna blow sunshine up my ass. Years ago if a woman said she was fat, some Little Mary Sunshine would immediately contradict her to tell her she had ‘big bones.’ No she didn’t. She was fat. And finally people are allowed to self identify as fat. Finally. So why can’t I self identify as ugly?

There is no good reason that I can not say I’m ugly. The fact of being ugly does not actually hurt my self-esteem. I have a few good points and I cherish them. Often I am at odds with my body. I have always felt like I was trapped in it. Truly, I want to live as a being of pure spirit-I would fly straight to my Egguns (beloved dead) and dance with them forever. My lack of love for my body is not based on anything as happenstance as its appearance.

I do think that there are a lot of circumstances where ugly people face some discrimination. That being said, I don’t think discrimination against the ugly is an insurmountable obstacle. If my looks don’t win you over, you are not alone, but I can win over almost anyone with my humor and intelligence. So I don’t worry too much about my looks putting me at a disadvantage.

The obvious exception to looks not being insurmountable is dating. As a heterosexual female, men expect me to display some beauty I do not possess. I am clever with my make-up brushes and my clothes, but I don’t get asked out very often. It would be very lovely to be dating someone, but I come equipped with the ‘baggage triple threat:’ I’m crazy, I’m ugly, and I’m weird. So thundering herds of eligible bachelors fail to beat down my door with predictable regularity.

But what does all this whinging about ugliness have to do with my struggles with schizophrenia?

A lot more than it should, sportsfans. A lot more.

There is no psychiatric harm in identifying oneself as ugly-unless you aren’t. (but that is someone else’s struggle, not mine) I should be able to discuss my ugliness with my treatment team, and have the fact be respected. But if I try it, I’ll end up in some self-esteem support group telling lies about new hairstyles just to escape. That is not fair.

There really is not anything wrong with my self esteem that I’m going to discuss on the internet, and what is wrong with my self esteem is wholly unrelated to being ugly.

We are all made up of layers and layers of facets like fine cut gems. Some facets are right on the surface, easy to see, possible to touch. But the facets that flash the brightest lie deep inside the gem. Some of those deep surfaces are bright and some are dark, but they all lie deep inside where surface contact will not disturb them.

The surface of my gem was poorly cut, the angles line up wrong to be harmonious to the eye. That is as it is. In my deeper layers, the lines are often jagged where they should be smooth. The lack of pleasing aspect on the surface is the ugliness the Gods gave me as a gift. The jagged lines that are deeper are the schizophrenia warping my light and darkness subtly so that I see a very different world than most. The same gem, two very different things.

And, yes. Yes. I did say that I consider my ugliness to be a gift from the Gods. And that is true. My surface is displeasing to the eye. I can rest secure in knowing that if someone loves me, they don’t love me for what is on the surface. I know that the very few people who love me love me on a very deep level, and I know I can trust that love to be load-bearing, because it has not reached my heart from a shallow place.

I will listen to anyone and everyone about balancing the schizophrenia, and I will try almost anything-from psych meds to psychotropics, I’ll listen and work to get better. That is a promise.

Just let me be ugly, I’m happier this way. That is a promise, too.

 

Author: belladonnareed

Pamela Alexander is a 48 year old mother of two and mild menace to society. She resides in a suburb of Pittsburgh, PA with her sorely oppressed partner, and flatulent dog and a cat. She smokes like a chimney, swears like a sailor, and has been known to drink. When she grows up she hopes to move to the West coast of Mexico.

Please share your story. I'll try to listen compassionately and answer to the best of my ability