My Name is Purple Majesty, But It’s Potato in Reality.

I love potatoes. I always have, if I had the choice of 2 sides for my meal at a restaurant I would choose french fries AND mashed potatoes! In 7th grade art class the assignment was to make a paper mache art piece. I decided that I was going to make a giant french fry and go around smacking those who deserved it. “French Fry Power!” was my slogan. My vision of me with a giant crinkle cut fry marching down the halls of my middle school was ruined because the art teacher didn’t agree with my humor. “How about something else?” I wasn’t actually going to go around smacking people, I was getting bullied, even though I told teachers that I was getting bullied nothing was being done. The asshat who was bullying me was in the same art class as me. So I started voicing what I could like how I was going to smack people with a giant french fry, but only those who had it coming. I ended up making a mask, with red pupils and black instead of the whites for the eyes. The idea of french fries being powerful stuck though.

The hardest thing I ever have to do is accept myself. I’m still not at that point, I’m closer than I was, but I’m still not where I want to be. If my life had the ghost feature like in Crash Team Racing I would be passing the ghost of my former self. This year is when calling myself Potato really soared. Calling myself Potato felt like connecting two puzzle pieces together. (I have so much difficulty with puzzles, I couldn’t figure out a preschool level puzzle when I was 18. How are puzzles relaxing?) That super rush of “yes! I did it!” I put two pieces together, the rest of the pieces can stay a mess on the floor, because I may or may not have flipped the table while searching for myself. (Tables are the metaphor I use for my life.) I changed my name tag to Potato at work. Every customer asked if my name was really Potato. “Yes.” I even convinced a middle aged couple that Potato is the name on my birth certificate. Being able to call myself Potato was giving me my ticket for the quest of accepting myself. When my coworkers and managers began calling me Potato that was the push out of bed to start my quest. Just being greeted as Potato, is so uplifting to be accepted. My Soul Mate in friend form declaring me Purple Majesty was her giving me my giant French Fry of Power. I have my Power Fry, my ticket, and my push, so why is the stride to accepting myself so difficult? I’ve tried so many times to turn back, go back to my bed, go hide in my blanket burrito. I  can’t though, every step forward I take is a step closer to my goal. I can’t turn back.

From the moment I learned about fantasy realms, I wanted to go to my own realm. I wanted to escape reality, be free from the darkness and depression clouding my mind. I need to go to this place that I day dream about so badly. But I think in order to get to that realm I need to be okay and accept myself. Once I accept the darkness I can move on to the rest of the adventure. There’s so much uplifting moments I want to have more of, I want to unlock the door into my realm. I am currently not at this point, the light at the end of my tunnel is so tiny, I only know it’s there because I see a sparkle if I move my head a certain way.

There aren’t any cons to calling myself Potato, even when I googled “potato jokes” no cons showed up for me. Urban Dictionary’s definitions for Potato aren’t offensive to me. Here are 4 examples:

  1. People get confused when sentences don’t end the way they potato.
  2. An object of poor quality. Usually a video camera or microphone.
  3. Someone who’s forever alone and no one would want to touch with a 10ft stick.
  4. A person who is brainless and unaware of anything.

First definition checks out: I am confused by so much.
Second definition checks out: I don’t have a smart phone, I have a basic potato phone.
Third definition checks out: While my self talk may be frowned upon, it’s a coping skill I use. I tell myself such horrible things so I can get to the stage when it doesn’t bother me anymore. That definition does not bother me anymore.
Fourth definition checks out: I am completely unaware and brainless about unnecessary gossips.

See? No cons. Here are some pros:

  • Depending on my mood I could be any type.
  • Japanese Sweet Potato
  • Sweet Potato
  • Spud
  • Yukon Gold
  • Purple Majesty
  • Russet
  • All Blue
  • Red Gold
  • French Fingerling

If you dare call me Hot Potato I hope you receive a recording of someone saying Moist. Or whatever word you can’t stand.

I claim to have “Potato Moments” which is when I do something stupid then laugh at myself when I realize what I did. These moments of realization can be anywhere from a beat after I did the stupid to 5 months after I did the stupid. Potato Moments are wonderful because they’re a learning opportunity, and Ermahgerd I say some stupid things. Example: the library archives at Colby-Sawyer College is not a country. I asked my professor where the library archives are when I was a freshman in college. She responded with directions on how to get to the library. My response? “Oh! The archives aren’t a country?” I laughed at myself and face palmed the rest of the class laughed at me as well. I made myself look like a fool in front of a hot senior. It was amazing.

I used the name Potato as a negative for so long, but what good was that doing? I would sent texts such as “there are so many attractive humans downtown today. Then there’s me. Potato.” At the time those texts were sent I was not in the right friendships. I would hang out with someone who made me feel like shit, I would only hang out with her because I was lonely. I would listen to her make me feel like nothing then tell me “I’m only doing this because I care about you.” I had enough, I cut her out of my life, it’s better to be lonely than deal with someone like that.

Despite all this, I don’t consider myself strong. I’m a Pansy who has 7 tattoos, is sensitive to temperature, and is desperately trying to accept myself but at my own pace.

I’m Potato.

~SirChangeling

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