"Is your punch line just a joke..?"

A week or so ago, someone asked me when my "Mother" was due.  And was she having twins..?  I kind of just laughed it off at first because - in regard to the person in question - She is neither my mother (she's less than ten years older than me) nor is She pregnant.  However, it's an honest - and easy - mistake to make.  I've seen actual pregnant women who were smaller in size, and lately, time has definitely marched on (and on) across Her face.  So I just corrected them, helped them pick their jaw up off the floor, and went about it.

But it has haunted me every since.

It makes me wonder how much of what we think we are projecting about ourselves is actually what is being perceived by the world at large.  Do we care?  Should we care?  I can't fathom being that obese - being aware of it - and yet continuing to constantly shovel food into my face.  It's beyond me.  Not to mention revolting to watch.

I am, however, the polar opposite. I am, at this point, so dangerously underweight that it is bordering on downright scary.  There is not always a lot of food here, and when there is I usually feel like the runt of the litter fighting for scraps.  Often times if I don't get to it first and either eat it all, hide it or hoard it, I don't get a whole heck of a lot.  I also have a hard time watching Her eat.  It's mental, I know... But it grosses me out and completely annihilates what little appetite I usually do have.  So I just don't bother.  Thusly:  frighteningly underweight.  I could gain about 50 pounds and still be below where I should be.  My teeth are horrible - beyond repair.  Physically, I don't get around too well.  And we won't even go into what my hair has become.  So it really makes me consider:  I know what I see when I look at Her.  What do people see when they look upon the skeletal six-foot tall man wobbling down the side of the road?  Do they see a drug addict?  Do they see a man dying with each step?  Each shuffle that much closer to death?  Or do they see me?

I used to be the life of the party.  I used to light up a room.  Sure, I was bawdy and loud and obnoxious as all matters of bedazzled hell - but I was alive.  And I brought that life - and that love of life - with me where ever I went.  The biggest mistake of my life - beyond the drugs - beyond Him - beyond the alcoholism - was moving to New Mexico a few years back.  How was I to know then that it would kill me?  It broke me.  It has destroyed me and all that I was.  It sucked the life force right out of me like an over zealous Shop Vac and hasn't stopped yet.  I have all but withered away.

I have lost my muchness.

I hope against hope - even though there's not much there - that this move this summer actually happens and I can get Life back...  Though I admit I have my doubts.  Hard to believe when the faith is long gone.  But what I do have carries me on as best it can.  It's, at least, something to look forward to...  Something to dream about - even if deep down I don't truly believe it will happen.  I just want to live again.  I just want to Be.  I just want to be alive.  Again.

So I have to wonder...  What do people see?  Is all this manifested in my appearance?  Or have all those years of layers and spackle and bullshit held tight my carefully constructed facade?  Are people buying it?

What do you see?  Or better yet, what do you sell?