Hollow Praise

This has been an attractive lifetime. Auburn-blonde haired, green eyes, tall and naturally skinny. Small features and pale skin. I could easily be made up, ultra glamourous, or made down to home-spun country with natural freckles dancing across my cheek bones. I’m also androgynous enough to look like either sex.

I could have been a model, was even approached in school by an agent, but no, my mom had been, and she said it was the worst thing for a developing child’s fragile self-esteem. You’d think the opposite, but I’ve learned the truth now that I’m an adult.

I’ve aged slowly and gracefully despite my outdoor lifestyle and career as a horse trainer and clinician. I’m also not shy, and quite happy to take a leadership role. You’d think my life would have been filled with multiple marriage proposals and a multitude of courters. You’d think.

The thing is, those who are attracted to the exterior, are doing so from a very superficial place, and hence, they themselves are superficially motivated. Don’t get me wrong, I too am drawn to beauty and will always seek it out. I however, by my now ripe old age of forty-nine, have discovered that most, (not all), of the beautiful people are themselves superficial and vain. Put two and two together and now I get it. Why bother with introspection and depth when nobody around you expects it, and worse yet, wouldn’t know what to do with you if you were complex and philosophical.

So here I sit, alone and without hope of ever finding true love. I doggedly held onto that one last fantasy for my entire life. It never materialized and I’ve now let that last vestige of anticipation, drift away. It’s a strange place to dwell. It’s not the definition of ‘hopeless,’ no, it’s more—without hope. I’m fully aware that desire and fantasy are what drives all of us, and in my current state I am completely devoid of both. Maybe I am hopeless. I feel pathetic and delusional more than anything else. I feel like a huge joke and everyone is laughing, getting their final revenge on the pretty girl they wished they’d been.

Why are humans this way? It’s a competitive species. A pecking order, predator mentality, and to me it feels like nothing more than a popularity contest for retards, and I sure as hell don’t want to win. Yeah, I know, not politically correct, but I like the point it makes.

I don’t feel condescending or even conceited, but I also don’t feel as if I am the same species. Maybe it was my twenty plus years learning how to think laterally, like a horse, like a prey animal. Perhaps this is why humans seem deranged to me—mentally ill—unequivocally out of balance in all aspects of their lives. Maybe the balanced ones are in hiding, like me.

So no, I’ve not ever attracted what I desire and I’ve decided perhaps if I were ugly, I might have had better luck. It’s such a strange paradox here, the hollowness of it all. You’d think the pretty people would stick together, and build each other up, but once again, I haven’t found that to be even the slightest bit true. More like the opposite.

I think that is why those who are beautiful, and also intelligent and deep, feign plainness or worse yet, refuse any and all compliments with self-degradation. This is nothing more than shame that’s been plastered all over them their entire lives simply because they were born more attractive. How incredibly sinful is that? It’s a hideous revelation on humanity, and YES, sinful.

Everyone is so busy trying to figure out sin, that they’ve stopped questioning the reality of the global download and seemed to have forgotten that shame, in any form, is the worst sin of all because it’s not only perpetuated on others, but then repeatedly on ourselves until all we are is shame and shame-based in all we portray. And I for one know how incredibly difficult it is to shake it off once it’s been applied.

And here I am, with a deep soul and questioning intellect, hiding behind a beautiful exterior that nobody takes seriously. The mass of insincere fawning followers leaves me empty, or even worse, it’s more like a vacuum. There is something one-sided about those who only want me because of how I look. I know full well they’ve approached me only because of my exterior, so why in the world would I expect them to be anything but shallow themselves?

I however will not present myself differently, or take less care in my appearance, for them. Sure, I can be plain, or worse. I know how to enhance or down-play what I have too, but isn’t that more vain than not? If you can only take me seriously if I am ugly, then why in the world would I want you?

So yeah, I fear I’ve evolved past this current civilization onto a plane of existence where there are hardly any other occupants. I think it’s why I feel so utterly alone. When I do interact, I feel maligned, but when I don’t, when I hide and am a recluse, I am alone in a vacuum. It gets lonely at times, but the alternative is exhausting. And where before I had hope, now I’m in a free fall devoid of all desires.

All roads lead to Payne