I don’t hurt myself like I used to, but I’m reminded of it every time I undress. No-one has ever asked me about these marks, except partners, so either they are embarrassed and scared to ask, or they don’t notice. I guess it’s a bit like overlaying subtle tattoos, and they weave an old but unforgotten story that is as much a part of me as the skin that’s irreversibly scarred. Sometimes I wonder if the physical truth would make me appear attention-seeking to others, or if it lends a certain mystery to my body and mind, but mostly, I think, most of all, it reminds me of a place I will never let myself go again. For that alone, I’d never wish them gone.
I’m reminded of my physical scars because it looks like I’m off for a work trip to the USA in summer, where I will have to wear somewhat more revealing clothing due to the heat, and I’m hoping I’m going to be brave enough to go swimming in the lake this time. Unfortunately swimsuits expose the offending area, and although I’m sure there are prettier people for others to stare at…my historical reticence for skin-baring may make me an unfortunate target.
Do I care? Well, yes and no. I have the right to flaunt my body scars or no scars, before it gets all saggy and wrinkly 😉 On the other hand, I dread being asked what those weird marks are.
You know what? Fuck it! It’s high time that I appreciated my body for how awesome it is rather than hiding parts away that I’m afraid will be judged. Expect bikini shots anon.
“Everything changes, changes for the good
Even the pain hurts like it should
Everything moves, shadows to light”~heather nova, everything changes