Being Ugly
1 ANXIETY ROOM
I don’t know why they call it a waiting room. It’s more like an anxiety room. Anyway, I’m not here because I want to be. My mother thought it would be a good idea for me to see a therapist because of what she believes is my lack of confidence.
The problem is that I don’t have a problem. Well, other than the fact that I’m ugly. It’s really my parents that are the problem. They are always fighting. Not the usual shit about whose turn it is to do the dishes or who blew through the monthly budget. This is verbal Mixed Martial Arts with no holds barred. Hitting below the belt is their go-to punch.
So here I am trying not to stare at the other deranged people who are looking at their phones while waiting for their therapists. I can only hear the slow tick tock of an old wooden wall clock and the gurgling sounds from the tropical fish tank. It should be reassuring, calming and yet, it reminds me of a funeral home.
The faint sobbing sounds coming from one of the therapists’ offices isn’t helping matters either. I’m thinking I should get up right now and head home. Just then, one of the doors opens and a well-dressed, middle-aged woman comes out holding a handkerchief to her red teary face. The therapist follows behind.
“Don’t forget about the check,” he tells her.
He then turns to me. “Sean Richardson?” When I look up, he announces, “You’re next.”
2 THE INVITATION
“Do you really believe you’re ugly?” Dr. Gallardo asks me.
“Explain,” he urges.
“I have tight curly hair that I can’t do anything with. My trash can holds the evidence of dozens of broken combs and empty gel jars. My nose is too big for my face. It looks like I said the wrong thing to Mike Tyson. And I have one ear that’s way bigger than the other. I know because I actually measured it.”
He pauses for a second, gets up from his high back leather chair and reaches for the door handle. “Let’s find out.”
He opens a side door and motions for his receptionist to come in. She’s young, very attractive with pretty long blonde hair, full lips, beautiful blue eyes.
“Elise, do you think Sean here is ugly? Now, I want you to be totally honest.”
Am I really hearing this? This is not what I thought a therapist does. I’m kind of in shock. Meanwhile, Elise hasn’t said a word. She is sizing me up without even a trace of a smile on her face. She’s actually thinking about her response. This can’t be good at all. After what seems like an eternity of close scrutiny, she says very coolly, "He could comb his hair back a little bit in the front, but he looks good.”
“Thank you, Elise.” She leaves, and Dr. Gallardo returns to the chair behind a large polished teak desk.
“There, are you convinced now? Elise says you’re not ugly.”
“Can I tell you the rejection lines I got just this past week?”
He leans forward. “I’m listening.”
I count on my fingers to emphasize.
“Sorry, I have plans. I need to study. I think I’m coming down with a cold. My relatives are here from out of town. I have to take care of my dog.” I let out a deep sigh. “If that doesn’t tell you I’m ugly, I don’t know what does. As far as Elise, she’s only one girl. Not really a representative sample,” I argue back.
“Let me give it to you straight, Sean, because that’s the kind of therapy I practice here. You have Body Dysmorphic Disorder. A condition where you obsess about your appearance but in reality, you look fine. It affects just 1% of the population. And it affects both girls and guys equally.”
He pauses as I try to digest what he just explained to me.
“Look, you say Elise is not good enough? You want a representative sample? Okay, let’s pick a night this week and we’ll both go together to see what more girls think of you.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Not in the least,” he says a matter-of-factly. “How about Thursday night? We’ll meet here.”
“Isn’t this out of the ordinary? Not by the book?”
“I write my own book. Do you want to get over your insecurities once and for all, or do you want to spend five years until you’re 22, talking about it?”
“Okay,” I say. “But you’ll see.”