It’s easy to assume that I’ve always been a rainbow of light smothered in positivity sauce. As I dance my way through this iteration of life, I attempt to remain dainty on my feet. I soak up as much beautiful energy as I can, absorb it through my patchy skin, and exert it limitlessly back toward others. However, this was not always the case. It was the polar opposite.
For the first 22 years of my life, I hated myself with a vigor that would be too intense for even the most evil of dictators. I refused to accept compliments, especially about my appearance. I knew that I was a disgusting garbage monster made up entirely of a skin disease that depleted me of any self-worth. Say whatever you want to me, my mind was made up. I had painted a picture of myself using puss, ooze, blood, flakes, and steaming piles of excrement, still chock-full-o-corn. It wasn’t pretty, then again, neither was I.
In the same way I love inspiring people, I used to take pride in being able to suck them down into my cruel state of existence. If someone was smiling, I would remind them that mass genocide is occurring every day. If a person was in a new relationship, I would chatter on about divorce rates. If you got a new car, I would stand on the hood and piss through the sunroof while you were taking it for a spin around the neighborhood. My happiness was derived from stealing it from those who earned it. Twisted? Yup. Detestable? Tell me again, Daddy.
I’m not proud of it, but my morality knows that honesty is the best way to atone for my previous behavior. I can’t expect you to trust me without total transparency.
When you hate yourself, no one can convince you otherwise. I had a loving family, lots of friends, a sick pair of rollerblades, I had it made! But when you find solace in a dark hole, it’s very difficult to ever climb out. Wallowing in misery, ain’t it grand?
For years I’ve been working on my attitude toward myself, others, and the world as a whole. Countless hours of reading personal development books, meditation, and positive affirmations have slowly begun to warp my brain into a place where I can experience hot, sexy, unadulterated, raw-dog love.
Three words that come up relentlessly in my process: FEAR. SHAME. JUDGEMENT.
The funny thing about those words is that they are also often used by others as the antithesis of what I stand for. When I go on a show like America’s Got Talent, decked out in a skin-tight bodysuit, getting annihilated by the vitriolic screams of thousands of people, fear is not a word that seems to fit the situation. But trust me, inside, my blood is boiling to a temperature so hot I’m waiting for steam to pour out of my mouth like a human tea kettle.
It’s not that I’m fearless. I tell myself I am but that’s a lie and I’m smart enough to know I can’t fib to my inner-child or higher self. I don’t believe anyone is fearless unless they are a raging sociopath. I have learned how to channel my fear into positive energy through my ever-growing plethora of experiences. I know when to actually be scared, and when it’s merely a case of self-sabotage to inflict unnecessary harm.
I allow the frightening feeling to wash over me. Come on in, invited guest! That tingling through your bloodstream, those hairs erecting toward the sky, that brick sitting in your stomach weighing you down to the floor, all of them are tools in your arsenal. If you remain confident in any situation, those feelings will mutate into emotions of comfort. When I feel the nerves racing through me, it’s because I have everything in my power to KO this experience.
I’ve harnessed this fear for huge performances. I called upon it when I tried to slackline across a canyon 75 ft above the ground. I even needed it when I proposed to my fiance on a floating dock in Hanalei Bay, Kauai. I felt that familiar discomfort, let it run through me, and then break it down so I can remove the negativity and be left with the useful part of that energy.
You can’t lose it so you might as well use it.
Moving on to other super fun feelings that all of us love: SHAME and JUDGMENT!
I’ve often been told that I’m shameless and that mostly stems from how I dress when I’m on TV. Realistically, as much as I love wearing insane outfits lined with sequins and furs, I partially do that to hide from my insecurities. The more ridiculous the clothing, the less people notice my skin, the more empowered I feel. Plus, it’s just more entertaining to be a colorful buffoon.
Sometimes I still have trouble looking at myself in the mirror. I assume that never fully goes away no matter how many trips I take down Psychedelic Lane. But recently I had an experience that altered me past the point of no return.
I was in Sedona, Arizona, decompressing in the desert only three days after my final performance on AGT. I quite the narcotic cocktail flowing its way through the roads less traveled in my head. While it weaved its way through wormholes I had never discovered, it turned down one wrong street and I realized I was about to shit my pants. Fortunately, I’ve done enough drugs to recognize that squeeze in my abdomen was more than me getting totally ripped. I excused myself and floated to the toilet.
One thing I recommend while tripping is to avoid mirrors. However you see yourself without influence will be amplified times a million, be it positive or negative. With my personal view of myself, I tend to lean towards the latter. I stumbled into the brown-tiled bathroom, shirtless, and unavoidably began to stare directly down the belly of the beast.
“Ughhh. Look at you. You’re covered in red splotches. You have tiny scabs on your arms and legs. There are pink lines leftover from scratching in your sleep. You’re flaming harder than 1980’s San Francisco. You’re fucking gross.”
Harsh, I know. I would never talk to someone else this way so why was I OK saying it to myself? I stood there, unmoved, and kept staring. Moments went by before I spoke again, but this time I said the words out loud.
“You’re beautiful. I love you. Your skin is unique. It is your own. Others may not understand it. They may be grossed out, scared, confused, uncomfortable. But those are their feelings. I cannot allow the judgment of others to reign supremacy over how I see myself. No one can make me feel any way that I don’t want to feel.”
I said all of that. As I continued to leer at my mostly naked body, a sense of pure calm released within me. Something changed. I felt weightless. My skin became less fiery as if sheer will had caused it to release whatever negativity and sickness had been causing my eczema. It didn’t physically disappear, but that didn’t matter. After 35 years of loathing, I could finally see beyond the rash.
Powerful doesn’t even begin to describe that emotion. It was a momentous victory over my psyche and also over the thousands of faces that had ever looked at me and wondered what the fuck was wrong with my face. I used to let them influence me, but not anymore.
I’m in control. Repeat: No one can make me feel any way I don’t want to feel.
And bam! Just like that, I had a new mantra as I drift through this existence.
Did I need drugs to have that revelation? Probably not. You can’t lie to yourself while under the influence of a hallucinogen. Truth always wins so while it wasn’t necessary, the combination of that liquid and powder was the catalyst I needed.
Negative thoughts will never fully go away. Even with all the work I’ve done, I still find myself passing judgment toward others without reason. When I see a very overweight person drinking a 64-ounce milkshake, I can’t help but look at them as weak. After that moment, I try to think about their personal struggles and how I have no reason to think ill of them any more than they do when they look at me. If I can flip the script, I’ll walk away stronger. Perhaps I’m looking at a war veteran who was in a horrible firefight, lost use of their legs, and has lost some of the will they once held on to. They deserve that milkshake. And put some fucking Oreo chunks and chocolate syrup in that cup while you’re at it. This man is a hero!
You’re never going to fully erase judgment, fear, and shame, but we can certainly chip away at those words little by little. Pretend you’re a diamond mine and somewhere within you is an unlimited treasure. It’s protected by layers of mud, rock, and sludge. Every time you’re kind to yourself or others, a piece of that sediment is broken down and stripped away. One day, you’ll find that cave of diamonds and realize you can live there in perpetuity.
And that, my friends, is how you will always shine. Jerry Springer ended every show, no matter how trashy and insane with a simple phrase: Be kind to yourself and others. It really is that simple.