Friday, September 30, 2011

Scars.

I don’t have many scars. I wasn’t a very adventurous child. I never had any major injuries. I fall down, fall down the stairs, fall up the stairs, trip over nothing, walking into walls and doors, and other random things but I’ve never been seriously injured. I’ve gone to the ER once… That was when I was 29. I had the flu and was dehydrated. After a couple bags of IV fluids, I went home.

My first surgery was one summer during college… I had my wisdom teeth out. My second was when I was 26 or 27 and I had my tonsils out. Both were routine outpatient procedures. Nothing serious.

I think I have maybe two scars and I don’t know where they came from. One is on one of my fingers and one is somewhere on my leg. They’re so insignificant that I would have to look to find them.
I have scars though. These scars are not the kind that result from injuries.

I have emotional scars…Lots of them.

I was dumped one too many times for another girl…Usually was cheated on. Enter insecurity and trust issues. I still battle those, although I’m getting better about the insecurity. My ability to trust could probably use some more work.

I also tend to question people and their motives. I’ve been the “butt” of a joke or a hundred at different times in my life. Generally I’d cry, in secret, about these.

“Never let ‘em get to you…”

I kept a lot of my emotions inside. Who wants to admit that someone teased them, used them, or was completely disgusted by them…Because they’re fat?

I think that when I started to get fat I just kept getting fatter because I held so much in.
After all of this being dumped and rejected I started to have a bit of a fear of rejection. I was always quiet and shy (even before being dumped/rejected I was afraid it’d happen). I got quieter and more shy.

Well, at least until I turned 21. Then I discovered the power of alcohol. It really does lower inhibitions. And man, even at 300 pounds I thought I was a sexy, sexy thang. Alcohol softened the blow of rejection.
However, this binge drinking (you know, college…) lead to even more weight gain. Naturally after drinking, my friends and I would go to an all night restaurant (ohhhh Little Chef and Dinner Bell, how I don’t miss thee) or pick up some fast food. Thanks Taco Bell for that whole 4th meal idea. I’m so glad you’re encouraging bad eating habits.

 Insert funny story: Last time I was at TB after the bar (where I may have had 3 drinks - that’s a lot for me) I had “a side of lettuce.”  “Yes, that’s it. Just a cup of lettuce please. Oh and a water cup.” I got some weird looks from the mass of college students scarfing down tacos and burritos and such. I couldn’t do it. Not one bite. I had originally ordered a taco but stared it it, picked the lettuce off, then asked for my side of lettuce. This was less than a year into this journey.

Oh! How times have changed!!

Anyway…Drinking…College…The next day was often cured with hangover food sometime after wakening and coming to life. This generally included Chinese take-out or McDonald’s. Sometimes other places but those seemed to be the main ones. Often this would be the only meal of the day, with some popcorn or chips or something at night. Yeah, that’s not healthy.

I’ve been harassed a time or two. For some reason I tend to “infect” some guys. Some don’t take the hint and won’t go away. I’ve hidden in closets, turned off light and pretended to be asleep. One time I got new windows that I thought were locked. I never doubled checked them…They weren’t. That was the night one of these guys refused to go away. I got my ass kicked. Some day I’ll share pics of the bruises. It’s hard to admit to that (I mean, I have my freaking MSW that is NOT supposed to happen to people like ME…HA! Happens everywhere, kids). I think I have the strength to post the pictures, but it’s hard…. Instead of thinking of this as a horrible nightmare, the pictures make it real.

That night was probably the worst night of my life, regarding something that happened to ME. I felt trapped. I tried to escape my own home…My safe place…A place that this intruder (he was not a stranger) took over. I couldn’t leave. I was thrown around, pushed down, and drug across my floor. I screamed and cried. I was honestly terrified that I might die. I had no idea what was going to happen to me.

Luckily one time when I tried to leave, I managed to get close enough to the door to open it, someone heard me scream for help.

Fear; now that can leave one hell of a scar.

I moved home (to my parents’) for a while after that. I was afraid to be home alone. I had to take Xanax  (only .25 mg 1-2 PRN…lol…I feel like I’m at work. PRN means as needed) to sleep and sometimes that didn’t relax me enough (even when I took the second dose).

This fear is not completely gone. I still cringe if I feel like someone is coming at me in a threatening way. I sometimes tremble if I feel like someone is “yelling” at me (this does not always mean a raised voice). Sometimes I feel like I could cry. For some odd reason, my dark basement freaks me out a little…I have to shut and lock the door super quick after I turn the light off.

DON’T get me wrong.. I’m not some sad, depressed person on the verge of suicide or something. I’m not. I’m actually quite happy… Happier than I’ve been in years.

I’m just saying these are things that led to my scars.

Scars. We all have them. They’re different. Some you can see, some you can’t. The ones you can see look different. The ones you can’t see feel different.

Currently my two biggest physical scars are not scars that resulted from past injuries. They’re scars that are resulting from losing so much weight. 175 pounds is a heck of a lot of weight to lose…Naturally something will be left behind.

My scars are my skin and my stretch marks.

If you’ve read past blogs, you know all about my skin (which by the way I’m less obsessed over in recent days).

My stretch marks came from gaining so much weight. I was chubby as a child but obesity didn’t hit until I was older. Then came morbid obesity. MORBID. What a word. How can hearing “morbidly obese” not scare more people? It terrified me. MORBID…That meant I was killing myself…Slowly and without intent.
As one would expect with gaining so much weight, I got stretch marks. Those damn things don’t go away. Lovely. Now that I’m smaller I still have them. They look different. I think that’s because of the skin that they’re on. Instead of being long shiny lines stretched across large areas of fat, they’re weird and rigid looking.

These scars remind me of not only who I was physically but where I was mentally and emotionally.  These physical scars go along with my emotional scars. If my emotional scars were still major issues (then they wouldn’t really be scars), I don’t think I’d have these physical scars.

I’ll take them. I’m happy with them because I can see how far I’ve come. I hate them because of what I let myself become. Even if I have surgery to remove skin, I’ll have physical scars…. They’ll be from surgery; from surgery I had because I once was fat.

No matter what I do, I’ll have scars.

Scars remind us of who we once were, what we once did, what we’ve learned, what we’ve been through, and who we’ve become.

My scars show the weakness that once lived inside me. I can look at them and smile because I’m no longer a weak, timid little girl. I’m strong.

I’ll never forget who I once was. I’ll always remember how I changed my life.

“And our scars remind us that the past is real…”

XOXO

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