You know, there was a time when this body, so ugly and undefined, was once chiseled. This body was once cheered and lauded by friends and fans, and envied and hated by others. These hands so large and strong once held things and people of great beauty and esteem.
They once
cradled beautiful girls in their strength and protection. The girls, god, I
remember them. Hanging all over me, fawning after me and pawing me like a
trinket. Who was the arm candy in that situation; me, with the looks and the
body or them with their innate beauty and shimmering eyes and clothes? Even then, I knew that there was maybe,
something wrong with me. But I paid no attention, what’s the use in worrying
when there is nothing physically broke to fix?
I glided through high school on my looks and
charisma, even though there was a working and very intelligent brain in my
head. But no one wants intelligence from the “likes” of me, as the “normal”
kids would say.
By “normal” I mean the ones who would or could never have what
I had. Maybe they were fat, had asthma, poor, or just too damn lazy to have
what I worked so damn hard for! I apologize, that is the old me talking, the
one who could never see past his own persona or even care what others thought
or said about him, or for the world for that matter. What happened out there
didn’t affect me, because it didn’t touch me physically.
The kids at school who
were poor, who’s parents worked two jobs just to keep clothes on their backs,
food on the table, or a roof over their heads, I didn’t talk to them, hell, I
didn’t even associate with them. They weren’t like me and could never be, in my
eyes.
I got to college and life got a little harder, but
not much. I still had my pick of the girls and fraternities for that matter.
All of them wanted me to boost their self -esteem and prestige, but what about
my own. About this time was when I started to notice what could possibly be
wrong with me.