"And from this wound a lovely flower grew
from somewhere deep inside.
Every day another miracle..."
-Sting
1/8/98
Marco Island, Florida (Winter Break)
Scar Tissue
Today, after I swam, and before I showered and washed all that chlorine off of my body, I did something I rarely do.
I stood in front of the many mirrors in my bathroom, naked, and studied all of my scars. I looked at them, touched them, saw them. I never do this because it makes things too real, because I can recall every scar, when it was made. If I don't look at the scars, then I can escape from everything and pretend that that is another girl. That's another person, another life, another set of emotions.
The worst thing for me is having pictures taken, because I don't like to see myself except when I am prepared, like in the mirror in the morning. So I can stand straight and make my foot straight and fix myself up before I look at myself. I hate when I walk past a mirror in a store and accidentally catch myself in it, unaware, and I realize "holy shit, that's me" and it's just too real. The worst is when a store has a video camera display set up with either 20 little TVs or one huge one, and I pass it and the whole store watches me. It's just too much.
But today I looked at my scars, just to remind myself that they were there. Not as punishment, but just to see what my mind would think about it now that I've admitted all of this and am trying to come to terms with it. The scars are a part of me, even though I think somewhere deep down I hope that I'll wake up one day and they'll all have faded.
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