Scissor Sister Therapy

I wouldn't call myself a conceited person although many of those loved ones closet to me might. I've never really had that sinking case of bad self esteem. It is because of this I was not worried about that classic French attitude toward Americans especially fat Americans. Yes, I was pretty full of myself but soon I would have that level of esteem put to the test.

I arrived in France fat, gay. and American. I was in fact a walking incarnation of the trifecta of hate for the common Frenchie (they hate being called Frenchie's by the way). In the beginning this wasn't a problem for me largely due to the fact that I didn't understand a word of French. When someone stopped me on the street to pour out some a verbal onslaught of mystery words, I naturally assumed they wanted to know how I maintained such beautiful skin, or perhaps they wanted to learn more about America. I smiled and waived politely as if I was Tom Cruise on the red carpet. Wow, these people really noticed me.

Months later I started to understand a little of what they were saying. Well, I was wrong. They definitely were not wanting skin care advice. Sure, they may have thought I was like Tom Cruise but only after the crazy couch jumping Oprah scientology days. They hated me! Im not talking about your garden variety I hate brussel sprouts hate but some kind of deep rooted guttural carnival freak crazy kind of hate. Everyone has heard that the French are famous for being rude, well in my opinion rude would be a serious upgrade as to how I would describe them. Mean, cruel, and hateful are some of the first few words to come to mind. Every single time I walk out of my house I am treated to some sort of streaming insult without fail. Every Single Time! Fat Pig (in French of course grosse cochonne) and disgusting American are their favorites but Ive heard much worse. They throw rocks, sand, and dirt when they can and one time I was bombed with a condom full of piss while walking around the lake. Wow, they really really hate me.

Months later my built up esteem had had all it could take and I was starting to crack. My doctors had me on 2 antidepressants as well as medicine for acute anxiety. I had to get medicated out of my gourd to leave my house for anything. Til this one day I was walking into Auchan (the grocery store) and I was wearing my iPod. The Scissor Sister song "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" was just coming on. I turned the song up and was flooded with the most amazing memories of my nephew Matt and his lover Tommy (my nephew in law). I know it sounds absurd but it felt like they were there with me. I cranked the volume up to its max and continued about my shopping. One woman stopped to give me mind about something but I could not hear a word. In my mind I was happy and dancing. I was bouncing along with Tommy hugging me from the side and Matthew out in from with his sardonic wit carving the French fucks into Swiss cheese.

I needed the Scissor Sisters to go shopping for the next few months. More importantly I needed the love and loving memories of my nephews to help sustain me both then and now. Sometimes you truly do have to be at you lowest to see who is sitting there next to you telling you to get back up. All you have to do....is get back up!

I can happily go out and about anywhere I choose in France. Now that Im mastering the language I find they are no match for me. Not to mention a good screamy meamy translates into just about any language. Once again I am on top of my game as it comes to self esteem. It's hard but it's totally manageable, but if you need some help just tap into the Scissor Sisters.