Jeff - Gushing
Jeff Week 8
Throughout my early childhood, I was the beautiful one. My mother gushed over me constantly. I was her beautiful baby boy. Many of my mother’s friends as well as other family members gushed too...”look at his pretty eyes”, “he has such beautiful blond hair”, “such a pretty smile”, “his skin is so beautiful”, “and he’s such a charmer”, etc. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Honestly I heard it over and over and over again. I became very accustomed to hearing it and I’m sure, expected to hear it, wanted to hear it, needed to hear it. If it was a slow day and I wasn’t getting “the” attention, I found a way to divert attention to me. Was I addicted to the attention? Of course I was.
One year (during elementary school), I looked sort of feminine in my school picture. I remember my mother saying, “You would have been a pretty girl.”…others agreed with her. I can also remember my mother saying, “stop being so prissy” or “you’re being such a pansy.”
I have an older brother and sister. My sister was noticed a lot because she was the only girl in the family. But my brother was a humble child and was left behind. He tended to fade into the background and maintain a low profile. I remember feeling sorry for him, thinking that no one ever noticed him. I even felt bad because people noticed me and thought I was beautiful but didn’t pay him the same compliments. Today, my brother is the most successful in our family.
Naturally as I got older, the gushing slowed down. It began to slow down when I entered junior high school. I was in the middle of puberty and becoming a young man so I guess it just wasn’t appropriate any longer. As the compliments became more infrequent, my perception of myself began to change. Had I lost my appeal? Was I no longer beautiful? Puberty presented a lot of changes. My hair darkened. My face broke out….pimples. Stray hairs sprouted on my face but for some reason I was embarrassed to start shaving…dark hair growing on my body and legs, more embarrassment. Pimples on my back. Then I had to get glasses…I became a “four eyes” like my brother had when he was in first grade.
By the time high school came around, I realized that I could change my appearance and maybe get attention again…visits to the dermatologist, hair salon, eye doctor, etc. Blond hair again, curls, waves. Contact lenses helped. Wardrobe was easy…I could buy nice clothing that would be noticed. I was voted “Best Dressed” in high school. That was an achievement…graduating with honors didn’t matter to me.
Mom had breast implants while I was in high school.
I became a model when I was seventeen. Mom encouraged me to try it. She said things like, “you’re tall, slender and can wear anything”, “you have great hair and bone structure”, “you carry yourself well”. It sounded good to me…people might think I’m beautiful again. My first show was a bridal show at The Hilton in Tampa. The place was packed with soon to be brides and their mothers. I had five changes…and I loved wearing the tuxedos. That show went really well for me…the coordinators liked me so I was able to continue doing shows for them until I was done with high school. Mom came to that first show. She sat in the back row. She left immediately after it was over. She never came to another show. I was a faggot model.
When I started college…WHEW…the pressure was off. No one knew me at UF except for a few others from my high school. Since I left for college the day I graduated from college, I literally went from “Best Dressed” to unshaven, long, frizzy perm haired, flip flop wearing college bum overnight. The change in my appearance was drastic but liberating. Freedom…it was nice but not long lasting. I needed to keep up, to be noticed again.
Mom had her nose and eyes done while I was in college.
I think it was 1984 when I went to see the plastic surgeon for the first time. I wanted to see what he could do with my nose. He said that he could make my nose narrower and more contoured. And, he said that he would fix my “flaring” nostrils. Fabulous. Mom paid for it. I hated my nose for at least a year after that…”fixing” my nose didn’t make a difference…it got me some attention but…my life didn’t change. Post rhinoplasty was a let down.
Braces came next. I remember telling the orthodontist, “let’s make this quick”. Eleven months later, I had “straight” teeth. The change was minor.
Throughout college, I was a makeup artist…beauty, beauty, beauty. I also modeled for a few years…look at me…attention, attention, attention.
After college, my only improvements to my appearance involved exercise and diet. For several years during my early 30’s, I got up at 3:30AM, Monday through Friday to do sit ups. By 5AM, I was in the car headed for the gym. I made my workouts as grueling and punishing as possible…because it was during my early 30’s that my body began to change. I couldn’t be fat…my dad was fat.
Mom had her breast implants removed and had breast reduction surgery.
By the time I was 35, my hair started to fall out. I was not happy about that at all. To make matters worse, something was going wrong with my skin. “What’s that on your face?” My face was red, rough, scaly and clogged. “What’s that on your face?” Several dermatologists and all kinds of lotions and creams and ointments later, I was diagnosed with rosacea. Then a couple years later, I developed eczema…all on my face. Lovely.
In 1999, vision correction.
My rosacea and eczema continued to be a constant struggle. My face was freakishly red, scaly and peeling most of the time. People commented that I glowed red or asked how I had gotten such a sunburn in the middle of winter. The embarrassment was unbearable. I couldn’t talk about it…I wasn’t able to say that I had rosacea. I stopped going out…staying home was so much easier than the questions. “What’s that on your face?”..I heard that question in my head constantly. I felt so unattractive…it was painful. Was it payback for all of the attention for all those years? Did I deserve it?
Accutane…such a pleasant drug. But it helped.
In 2001, I turned 40. NOT GOOD. But, I discovered lasers. So, I began to have my face lasered. And, they could remove hair with lasers too. Yippee, maybe the laser could help my face and remove the hair that had sprouted on my back and shoulders. Also in 2001, I decided that I couldn't be bald and have this ugly, red, scaly face so I got my first hair transplant…1760 tiny little holes in the top of my head. It was a banner year.
Another hair transplant in 2002. I really don’t like the term “hair transplant” so now I affectionately refer to it as “having my hair moved”… 1730 tiny little holes in the top of my head. More back lasering with a different doctor, face lasering still with the original doctor. I had the “bruising” laser that year. Too bad it wasn’t Halloween because I would have had the best make up…my face was purple from my neck up. I didn’t leave my house for thirteen days.
Face lasering continued in 2003, same doctor. I think I finally got over turning 40.
I had more hair moved in 2004…1500 tiny little holes in the top of my head. More lasering for hair removal on my back, yet another new laser place.
A little more than five weeks ago, I had more hair moved…only 850 tiny little holes in the top of my head…what a disappointment. More lasering for hair removal on my back, same laser place. And since I’m such a good customer, they gave me a special price on face lasering…I started that two months ago.
Throughout the years, I have used countless products to improve my appearance. My rosacea is under control…the lasers helped. My eczema continues to live on my face…like a parasite that can’t be controlled. “What’s that on your face?”…I still hear it. Diets, diets, diets…can’t be fat.
Why? For what? For the attention? To be beautiful? What? Does it matter? When will the gushing begin?
I know I’ll never get there. I know I’m fighting a losing battle. I know, I know, I know. But it’s been a life long pursuit…like I’ve been trained or have trained myself to pursue anything and everything that might help. Help what? Feed the addiction? How to stop? The attention stopped a long time ago. Stop the pursuit…just be.
UGH…This has been painful to write.
Throughout my early childhood, I was the beautiful one. My mother gushed over me constantly. I was her beautiful baby boy. Many of my mother’s friends as well as other family members gushed too...”look at his pretty eyes”, “he has such beautiful blond hair”, “such a pretty smile”, “his skin is so beautiful”, “and he’s such a charmer”, etc. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Honestly I heard it over and over and over again. I became very accustomed to hearing it and I’m sure, expected to hear it, wanted to hear it, needed to hear it. If it was a slow day and I wasn’t getting “the” attention, I found a way to divert attention to me. Was I addicted to the attention? Of course I was.
One year (during elementary school), I looked sort of feminine in my school picture. I remember my mother saying, “You would have been a pretty girl.”…others agreed with her. I can also remember my mother saying, “stop being so prissy” or “you’re being such a pansy.”
I have an older brother and sister. My sister was noticed a lot because she was the only girl in the family. But my brother was a humble child and was left behind. He tended to fade into the background and maintain a low profile. I remember feeling sorry for him, thinking that no one ever noticed him. I even felt bad because people noticed me and thought I was beautiful but didn’t pay him the same compliments. Today, my brother is the most successful in our family.
Naturally as I got older, the gushing slowed down. It began to slow down when I entered junior high school. I was in the middle of puberty and becoming a young man so I guess it just wasn’t appropriate any longer. As the compliments became more infrequent, my perception of myself began to change. Had I lost my appeal? Was I no longer beautiful? Puberty presented a lot of changes. My hair darkened. My face broke out….pimples. Stray hairs sprouted on my face but for some reason I was embarrassed to start shaving…dark hair growing on my body and legs, more embarrassment. Pimples on my back. Then I had to get glasses…I became a “four eyes” like my brother had when he was in first grade.
By the time high school came around, I realized that I could change my appearance and maybe get attention again…visits to the dermatologist, hair salon, eye doctor, etc. Blond hair again, curls, waves. Contact lenses helped. Wardrobe was easy…I could buy nice clothing that would be noticed. I was voted “Best Dressed” in high school. That was an achievement…graduating with honors didn’t matter to me.
Mom had breast implants while I was in high school.
I became a model when I was seventeen. Mom encouraged me to try it. She said things like, “you’re tall, slender and can wear anything”, “you have great hair and bone structure”, “you carry yourself well”. It sounded good to me…people might think I’m beautiful again. My first show was a bridal show at The Hilton in Tampa. The place was packed with soon to be brides and their mothers. I had five changes…and I loved wearing the tuxedos. That show went really well for me…the coordinators liked me so I was able to continue doing shows for them until I was done with high school. Mom came to that first show. She sat in the back row. She left immediately after it was over. She never came to another show. I was a faggot model.
When I started college…WHEW…the pressure was off. No one knew me at UF except for a few others from my high school. Since I left for college the day I graduated from college, I literally went from “Best Dressed” to unshaven, long, frizzy perm haired, flip flop wearing college bum overnight. The change in my appearance was drastic but liberating. Freedom…it was nice but not long lasting. I needed to keep up, to be noticed again.
Mom had her nose and eyes done while I was in college.
I think it was 1984 when I went to see the plastic surgeon for the first time. I wanted to see what he could do with my nose. He said that he could make my nose narrower and more contoured. And, he said that he would fix my “flaring” nostrils. Fabulous. Mom paid for it. I hated my nose for at least a year after that…”fixing” my nose didn’t make a difference…it got me some attention but…my life didn’t change. Post rhinoplasty was a let down.
Braces came next. I remember telling the orthodontist, “let’s make this quick”. Eleven months later, I had “straight” teeth. The change was minor.
Throughout college, I was a makeup artist…beauty, beauty, beauty. I also modeled for a few years…look at me…attention, attention, attention.
After college, my only improvements to my appearance involved exercise and diet. For several years during my early 30’s, I got up at 3:30AM, Monday through Friday to do sit ups. By 5AM, I was in the car headed for the gym. I made my workouts as grueling and punishing as possible…because it was during my early 30’s that my body began to change. I couldn’t be fat…my dad was fat.
Mom had her breast implants removed and had breast reduction surgery.
By the time I was 35, my hair started to fall out. I was not happy about that at all. To make matters worse, something was going wrong with my skin. “What’s that on your face?” My face was red, rough, scaly and clogged. “What’s that on your face?” Several dermatologists and all kinds of lotions and creams and ointments later, I was diagnosed with rosacea. Then a couple years later, I developed eczema…all on my face. Lovely.
In 1999, vision correction.
My rosacea and eczema continued to be a constant struggle. My face was freakishly red, scaly and peeling most of the time. People commented that I glowed red or asked how I had gotten such a sunburn in the middle of winter. The embarrassment was unbearable. I couldn’t talk about it…I wasn’t able to say that I had rosacea. I stopped going out…staying home was so much easier than the questions. “What’s that on your face?”..I heard that question in my head constantly. I felt so unattractive…it was painful. Was it payback for all of the attention for all those years? Did I deserve it?
Accutane…such a pleasant drug. But it helped.
In 2001, I turned 40. NOT GOOD. But, I discovered lasers. So, I began to have my face lasered. And, they could remove hair with lasers too. Yippee, maybe the laser could help my face and remove the hair that had sprouted on my back and shoulders. Also in 2001, I decided that I couldn't be bald and have this ugly, red, scaly face so I got my first hair transplant…1760 tiny little holes in the top of my head. It was a banner year.
Another hair transplant in 2002. I really don’t like the term “hair transplant” so now I affectionately refer to it as “having my hair moved”… 1730 tiny little holes in the top of my head. More back lasering with a different doctor, face lasering still with the original doctor. I had the “bruising” laser that year. Too bad it wasn’t Halloween because I would have had the best make up…my face was purple from my neck up. I didn’t leave my house for thirteen days.
Face lasering continued in 2003, same doctor. I think I finally got over turning 40.
I had more hair moved in 2004…1500 tiny little holes in the top of my head. More lasering for hair removal on my back, yet another new laser place.
A little more than five weeks ago, I had more hair moved…only 850 tiny little holes in the top of my head…what a disappointment. More lasering for hair removal on my back, same laser place. And since I’m such a good customer, they gave me a special price on face lasering…I started that two months ago.
Throughout the years, I have used countless products to improve my appearance. My rosacea is under control…the lasers helped. My eczema continues to live on my face…like a parasite that can’t be controlled. “What’s that on your face?”…I still hear it. Diets, diets, diets…can’t be fat.
Why? For what? For the attention? To be beautiful? What? Does it matter? When will the gushing begin?
I know I’ll never get there. I know I’m fighting a losing battle. I know, I know, I know. But it’s been a life long pursuit…like I’ve been trained or have trained myself to pursue anything and everything that might help. Help what? Feed the addiction? How to stop? The attention stopped a long time ago. Stop the pursuit…just be.
UGH…This has been painful to write.
posted by LifeWriter at 7:39 AM
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