“You’re ugly.”
Those words have been said directly to me many times in my life. But there are four instances that I remember as clearly as if they were tattooed onto my face.
- I am 9 years old, at swim practice. A group of Asian boys around my age who regularly pick on me jeer at me across the pool. “Hey, Ugly!” the ringleader calls, a tall youth with a lean build. I want to drown, because I’m secretly attracted to him and used to steal guilt-ridden glances at him in the showers.
- I am 13. I’ve now gained a significant amount of weight. I attend a prestigious magnet school. I am still awkward, with a limp wrist and a lispy stutter. I eat lunch with my sister and her friends, who are kind to me. One of the popular girls in my grade drops a note on my plate as she walks by. I read the scrawled handwriting. “You’re ugly.”
- I am now 18. I’ve just broken up with my first and only girlfriend. I’m counting down the days to when I plan to come out. At my college’s dining hall, my roommate – an aggressive womanizer – cracks a joke. “It helps that I have an ugly roommate.” I laugh along with everyone.
- I’m 22. My first boyfriend stands at our doorway, carrying the last of his things. I beg him not to leave. He’s strong and handsome, with dark Greek features. He’s emotionless and rushed. I lose my temper, and yell at him: “You’re a selfish asshole!” He turns to me, eyes flashing, and says it.
That doesn’t even begin to describe what goes on in my head when I hear that word.
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