Eye of the Beholder? Or Skin Deep?

I spent the majority of my day hidden in my room, huddled in a dark corner while using a thick blanket as a shroud. Much like the way trolls are known to hide under bridges, I did my best to stay out of sight, away from the light of day.

Kind of like this, only less attractive.

I've made it no secret that I sometimes have confidence issues; in my youth, I often believed that the world at large had been created for the sole purpose of tormenting me. I was one bad day away from painting my nails black and becoming some kind of emo super villain.

I'm not going to subject anyone to the images I found on google of black emo guys, so here's a puppy instead.

Of course, I grew out of that as I got older and came to realization that the world was not actually out to get me. The world is a big enough dick to target us all, and it was arrogant of me to believe that I was a special snowflake that received closer attention when in fact we all are gifted with a giant middle finger.

That being said, there are some days were those old angsty feelings of emo rage creep to the surface like the foul contents of a leaking septic tank. You blink once, and suddenly your well maintained lawn is a sodden, shitty mess and your roses smell like Chris Christie's crotch after a humid afternoon spent watching the game while inhaling hot wings and stale beer.

Lately, I've been feeling very...unattractive. Not in the "I can't seem to get my hair the way I want it" way, but something more. The closest adjective I can come with is dumpy. I feel dumpy. According to Merriam-Webster, Dumpy is defined as "short and fat; dirty and in poor condition." And yes, I'm on the short side, and maybe I've picked up a few pounds. But I do shower and launder my clothes, so I have that going for me, right?

I can seem to shake this feeling that I'm some sort of pockmark on the face of humanity and that like the previous mentioned troll-- or Chris Christie-- I should spend less time in the bright light of day, and more time hanging out with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Down in the sewers, where no one can see me and sneer in disgust.

"Sorry, guy. Hot news reporters only."

Writing this is hard for two reasons. The first reason is that it's embarrassing to admit that in addition to ALL of the other issues I wrestle with-- misanthropy, surliness, destitution, and general laziness-- I also have to struggle with body image problems. The second reason is because even though it is 2015, as a man, I'm not allowed to talk about this particular problem. It sounds girly even to me, and I'm the one writing it. Body issues are for the women folk, society says, not charming, handsome rogues such as myself (I roll my eyes derisively at myself as I type that particular line).

The point being, there are days when I manage to feel halfway attractive; a hot shower, the right clothes, and I might even fool myself into believing I'm a good looking guy. And then there are days like today, where going to work was pure agony because I was sitting next to a hottie and I felt like the Sarlacc after a long night of binge drinking.

As a consequence, I spent the rest of the day miserable and depressed, unable to shake the sad conviction that I'm going to be alone forever, bereft of friends, family, and love. 

Now if that isn't the most angst ridden thing you've ever read in your life, I suggest you think long and hard about changing your reading material