In Our Own Self-Image

I can't help staring. It would take a man much more in control of himself than I am. Being told there are beautiful people somewhere out there is no preparation for when they're here. I even know they're here, so I have no excuse.

But every once and a while, I'm actually rendered stupid by it. It causes me to do things which in other circumstances ARE stupid. But first things first.

As soon as I know she's in the room, I turn away. My eyes are slightly wider, because I've made the realization. My brain places a marker which burns so brightly that I feel it inside my skull like a phosphorous compass needle, even when I look away. The extraneous noise in the room falls to whispers, filtered by my brain to make space for her voice, should she speak. Though I never realize it at the time, my mouth is drying out. I become extremely aware of where my hands are. While looking at my hands, I see all the lines I never notice. I see old scars I haven't thought about lately. Eventually, my eyes unfocus entirely, so that I'm looking through my hands or the computer monitor; past them, because my brain is desperately processing other inputs.

Then comes the stupidity. How many times can I walk past to the drinking fountain before it's obvious? How many times can I be in the right place at the right time? How many times can I see her in one day before it becomes obvious? How long before I actually DO need to walk past her to go to the bathroom, because of all the water? How many times can we lock eyes for longer than the maximum length allowed for "room scanning" before we both admit that something is happening?

This leads to self-consciousness. I'm trying so hard to not look that I'm positive everyone else can see the heat radiating from my head. How many looks can I have in one sitting before I start to feel an Unperceived Observer's guilt and shame? Shouldn't I really be thinking about other things, more important things?

*** *** ***

And what does it mean that if I were to speak to her, she'd probably just express that she doesn't consider herself beautiful? She'd say that today's not a good day. She'd say I'm not seeing the "real" her, because I'm not seeing what's actually there. She'd say she needs to lose a few pounds. She'd say the clothes don't fit right. She'd say "it's obvious." She'd sob. She'd say she's hideous. She'd shy away from my touch because "nobody wants to see that." She'd "just know" she looks disgusting. She'd be certain she'd never deserve anyone like me. She'd take two steps back even as I hold her hand. She'd tell me through tears how good I am to take pity on her. She'd tell me how much she hates being comforted.

She'd lie to my face.

She'd cause my heart to break because she can't accept what's real. She'd hurt me because she doesn't understand my honesty. She'd lash out at me because of the pain that came before I was even here. She'd make me scream; scream into a thunderstorm so no one can hear. She'd hide behind her armor, because that's what intelligent girls do when they're threatened. That's what she'd do when people like me come too close. That's what she'd do when people like me grab on to her suffering; grab on and don't let go, because letting go means it will vanish beneath the surface again.

She'd wall herself off, because when she realizes that I understand...

... that's too close.