For those who spend a lot of time with me, there were no surprises last night. (Yes, I cried [briefly] at a bar, and yes, it was about exactly what you think.)
I went to a friend's house where I had a few vodka drinks, becoming the boozy but endearing conversationalist that everyone knows and loves. (To the party guest with the dog in heat back at home: You can't actually put a tampon in a dog. Also, an egg does not make a popping sound when it ovulates.) I vaguely recall discussing such topics as Britney Spears, the Oscars and, of course, myself, all the while knocking back drink after drink until someone decided it was time to go to Cobalt.
It was at this point in the evening when things took a slight turn for the worst. I don't remember much, but I do remember loitering by the second-floor bar, staring at the blonde bartender in his underwear and thinking to myself, "You will never look like that."
Now, the voices in my head are always quite rude to me and it's not unusual for them to say things like, "You're a bony little twink" or "You're not becoming muscular, you're just getting fat." But this time it was different. It wasn't the voice in my head that said I'll never look like the bartender. It was me saying it, to myself, matter-of-factly. I will never look like the bartender, and that's that.
It was then that I looked at the bartender — with his unattainable proportions and enviable lack of self-awareness — and then at myself — with a stupid red V-neck shirt that I had the nerve to think actually looked good on me in the American Apparel dressing room earlier in the day — and just kind of lost it in front of my friend Jamie. I don't remember the words I said, but they were said through messy, drunken tears, and although the outburst only lasted a minute or two, I was saddened by the fact that the more things change the more they stay the same.
While being driven back to my apartment this morning, I brought up a recent news story in which it was reported that Hallmark is introducing a line of cards that address sensistive issues like cancer, depression, and eating disorders. The whole reason for these cards is because you can't really give a "Get well soon!" card to someone with cancer. Also, "Cheer up!" is a similarly inappropriate sentiment for those battling depression.
I bring this up because it seems that whenever I let down my guard and discuss my insecurities with my friends or write about them on my blog, I'm told, "Oh, stop, you look great." Well, I don't think I look great, and to dismiss my claims as outlandish is like telling someone with depression to turn his frown upside down. Instead I'd much rather hear the words used by Hallmark to address eating disorders: "All I want is for you to be healthy — healthy and happy with yourself. Please take it one day at a time until you are." Being healthy and happy with oneself — a much more admirable goal than gaining 15 more pounds of muscle, now that I think about it.
It's been a really shitty day and I owe that mostly to my delightful hangover, but I'm hoping that all the things going on in my head will have resolved themselves by the time I wake up tomorrow morning. I want to get back to being strong, confident, virile Toby, not his small, insecure, emasculated alterego who pops by from time to time. I'm off to bed, hope everyone is having a great night.
