Scarred and Scared

The Rain Room Is Unveiled At The Curve Inside The Barbican CentreI have scars; so many scars I am self-conscious of them.  I had 15 surgeries in three years; 11 just on my feet.  My feet were not the most attractive to look at in the first place, but who has pretty, anyway, right?  I used to like to look at them with one eye closed and then the other, and in just the right light I would pretend they were Fred Flintstone’s hands.

Before my surgeries I could pick up a pencil with my toes, I was quite a talent.  I would wear the highest of heels at least five days a week; now, I am relegated to ugly flat shoes, and for the life of me I cannot figure out how to “dress up” in a pair of flats.  They just are not sexy.  I have three scars on my right foot and two scars on my left one; some look worse than others because I experimented with Vitamin K and I think it must have worked.

Painting my toenails only draws further attention to the ugliness because I had to have surgery to remove my big toenails, so I have to paint the skin, and it just does not look “right”; at least to my critical eye.

I have other scars; I have a small one on my right forearm where my donkey, Cinnamon, bit me once when I inadvertently threw her hay on the ground outside of her stall and reached in to open her pen.  I should have let her out first, and then retrieved her breakfast; lesson learned.  My wrist is scarred from an ill-fated suicide attempt, but when I see it, I know how far I have progressed in my life.

My list goes on, as I am 44 years-old, and have not merely sat on the couch as life has passed me by; at times, but not every day.

However, the physical scars are not the marks that scare me the most; they are not the ones I run from or think others will run from when they notice; at least not people who matter to me.  If somebody notices the scars on my feet, wrist, or any other perceived imperfections, I can imagine they are somebody I do not have time to waste on them anymore.  I think I am too old for such a selfish attitude.

The other scars I carry, the ones deep in my soul, the wounds affecting my heart, my mind, and my spirit, they scare me.  They have caused me to build walls, to close myself off to relationships, to walk away from people without looking back, and to be lonely.

I am flat on the outside, but I am bursting at the seams, trying to get out.

14 thoughts on “Scarred and Scared

  1. Scars are inevitable…It is a sign that we are able to heal…
    Hey… now…. I just came up with that… but even I have to admit… that one… is one to chew on… maybe a little? My 3 Dimensional friend…
    Yes???? Maybeeeee?
    I’m gonna make you smile long enough to use all your pain for good!
    Your writing is amazing… gather up all those scars and write a book! Start today…
    Go to Word and click on NEW PAGE!!!!

    • Excellent piece of prose!

      Scars are a sign of healing… I must embrace mine immediately (I say sheepishly as I look down at my ugly feet). Still, they are what they are. Emotional or physical.

      I have always told others, regardless of how sordid my past, I would not change one minute of it because it has shaped who I am today. And, good or bad, I am here… living another day.

      Thank you for your kind words.

      Always, Me

    • That is an awesome thing to say! Thank you, you are so right… it is pretty tough. I think that is why so many people have such a tough time getting through to me – if only they knew; when they do… it is so worth it.

      Always, Me

  2. I can relate to this. I have scars too. Everyone does, even the ones who seem to be perfect. We have nothing to be ashamed of. I believe that scars give us strength. We find hope in the fact that if we could survive those scars then we can do much more. Again, it depends on one’s perception.
    And so I say, live learn and revel in them, they show experience and they are unique in their own way, they separate you from the crowd, its what makes you different!

  3. If we were to meet today, right now, this very minute, I would ask to see your scars. I would want to examine each long enough to see them, to get used to them, and to accept them. In the course of knowing them, they would disappear from my sight like a picture on the wall that is always there but seldom glanced at. Scars are surmountable, but they are an impassable barrier while trying to ignore them and pretend they are not there.

    I want you to know that day after day as you show us the scars behind your eyes, as we examine the blows life has dealt you, one by one each imperfection becomes invisible and you become more and more beautiful to behold.

    Each time you do this, each time you lift a veil and reveal another part of yourself, you show by doing how we too can become more open, more healed, more beautiful ourselves. Such a great gift you are, an angel come to lead the way, to reveal a path that was always there: that perfect path, that scar in the meadow.

    • Thank you, Sir.

      I can only hope to inspire. I want others to feel free to express themselves openly, to look within and find themselves, to expose their scars… emotional and physical.

      Thank you for accepting me.

      Always, Me

  4. A person who has trouble with your scars actually has trouble with their own. A person who wants to see your scars straightaway should be approached with caution. Why not look at you in total, all at once, and savor everything? It’s all what makes up who you are.

    If you were to ask me “Does this life I’m living make me look flat?” I would honestly say no.

    • Sir, I truly appreciate you comments. I am working quite diligently on becoming more 3-dimensional and allowing others to see my personality; the one I feel inside. Over the years, too many things have happened to force me to hide behind walls of pretend brick, in order to protect my feelings. I suppose that makes me appear flat to some people… when, in reality, it is simply self-preservation.

      Thank you for believing I am not flat at all.


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