Bad Girl by Grandpa Dinosaur
Written by Grandpa Dinosaur
It was a Sunday. I was sick. I went downstairs to grab a glass of water and my sister-in-law was cooking while her sister played with her baby. I had a severe flu. Nausea, heartache, vomiting. I informed the guests to stay away from me. I backed away from the baby as my sister-in-law’s sister got up to throw away the garbage. We were about to come too close to eachother so I stopped and despite still being a fair distance away, she said: “Stay away from me, you are a bad girl.”
This upset me. My sister-in-law and her sister are as bad as Asian Step-mothers from an Asian Drama; my mother not included. Although my mother could win an award for treating me like a J-dorama Step-Mother. I retaliated by saying, “I am sick with the flu, but that doesn’t make me a bad girl.”
My mother gave me a look as if she were telling me to shut up and take the abuse. My sister-in-law’s sister was shocked. I reiterated before storming up the stairs, “Being ill doesn’t translate into being a bad person.”
“Not responsible enough.” “Not mature enough.” These are the words of abuse that beat me every day.
I know it’s not because of what I do or what I say. It’s because I’m “ugly.”
I’m not a small or extra small. I’m not fussing over my looks. I’m not “beautiful”. I don’t want to be. I like myself. I like being SINGLE. I’m proud of who I am, I won’t change myself for someone else. I will change for myself, and only if I want to become a better person. But because I am “ugly,” people think it gives them the right to abuse me.
I like being an “ugly” person because I like being myself. My real self. And if being myself is being “ugly,” then I like ugliness and being “overweight” and “unfashionable.” I like eating hamburgers without thinking and not worrying about what people think of me, or if they think I eat too much. I like not feeling ashamed because of the food I put in my mouth; that thought never comes to mind. Other people tell me that I eat badly, but they don’t live inside my mind and they can’t control what my body does as long I don’t let them.
I hate shallowness so much that I’d rather be ugly then let it consume my entire life. And not wanting to be perfect in every day and admitting I may have positive flaws? I guess that makes me a bad girl in some people’s books. I can be pretty, but I do it for me. I’m not a trophy doll. I’m a human being!
“Why don’t you want to be a perfect princess, you’re a bad girl.”
I had been pretty once.
It made me sick.
I remember how nice people were to me because I was so pretty due to being a size three and “fit.” I hated myself so much I wanted to cry. I hated the world for being so shallow. I wanted my old body back. It make me feel so fake and unauthentic. The people who liked me didn’t really like me for me, they liked me because I was pretty and fashionable. I wore pretty dresses and curled my hair for my own self-love, but they made the experience so degrading I started to hate it. They would have never even talked to me before that, when I was fat. Literally fat.
Even when I was a size three, my parents still got mad at me and told me to lose more weight “because I was still fat.” I was tired, unfocused and miserable.
Even if I was still a size three and pretty and well dressed and mannered, for me the problem would not be ugliness; it never was a problem to me. The problem was control and abuse.
People enjoy abusing me because I can take it and it’s easy because I’m “ugly.” Ugly people in cinema are liars and cheaters, crooks and mobsters.
When a beautiful “successful” person berates an “ugly nobody,” they’re treated like doctors of better living. “Oh if you weren’t so anti-social, fat and badly dressed you’d be happier. People would treat you better and you’d be happier.” As if it will fix one’s life (watch any wardrobe make-over show). Which is true in 99% of these cases but I’m in the 1%.
It didn’t fix my life to be “pretty”. It didn’t make me happier. It didn’t make me feel better about who I was. In fact, it made me feel ugly and unpretty and unworthy of love. That’s how I felt when I was pretty: not worthy of love.
Then I stopped trying to be perfect and chose to balance things in my life, having “regular girl days” and “beautiful girl days,” trying not to be perfect in looks all the time, but only when I FELT like it. Not having to FORCE beauty, but to blend my physical traits and accentuate them slightly. To do things like being pretty for myself, and not to make others fall in love with me or like me.
I notice girls, lots of girls, mainly factor in their self-esteem by linking it with being liked and thought well of by other people.
I try not to knock the concept, but I DO (LOL) and I personally don’t believe that it’s true self-esteem. For me, self-esteem is thinking of yourself in a high regard. It shouldn’t be based on other people’s assumptions of how you are and being liked by others. Being liked by others might effect your self-esteem, but it shouldn’t be 100% of what your self-esteem is. Maybe 50% to 20%. Never 100%.
For me, people’s assumptions and “liking me” levels are only 10% (even less) of what my self-esteem is based on. 50% is based on having autonomy and how self efficient I am. The rest of my self-esteem is based on my achievements and accomplished goals. A small portion is how much charity work I’ve done and how many people I’ve helped. (Screw me, I was bred to have a messiah complex.)
I like myself. I’m doing what I want to do or at least, I’m trying to. I have good self-esteem. So why am I a bad girl?
Because I fuck up the status quo.
I make beautiful girls feel miserable by embracing my body, life and (small and rare) freedom. I never compromise. I never feel bad about being myself. I like myself, unlike most girls who actually hate their bodies.
I’m a bad girl.