“How di right side ah yuh body suh chop up?”
I’ve always found it easier to make a joke out of my own situation or personal flaws before someone else points it out and tries to ridicule me about it. I can be pretty sensitive about my appearance, although I try my best not to make it too obvious. I’m sure I’m not the only one, after all we are human, and we all possess some level of self consciousness within us. I just try my best to conceal them, some days I’m quite successful at doing so, while others days… not so much. I like people to see that I’m strong and I’m highly aware of all the physical flaws I have, so in order to mentally and emotionally prep my self for the glares, questions, and teasing, I simply beat everyone else to it by making my own comical relief about them. Before the accident, I had a few scars, that weren’t so obvious or bothersome to me because over the years I learned to accept each one. Ever since the accident, I’ve received more than I bargained for.I should be grateful for the scars, it’s either them or death. And honestly a much as I hate the scars I have, I’d choose them over an eternal nap in a 6 foot hole.
My new scars are all in places that I used to admire and show the most appraisal to: my stomach, my right eyebrow, and underneath my right eye. So when this was said of course in reference to the visible and apparent scars on the right side of my body. The scar on my upper right arm, one on my leg, and the newest additions to the scar collection includes the one on my stomach as well as the cut between my right eyebrow.
I often hear jokes or questions like this about my flaws. Honestly, I’m extremely self-conscious about each of my noticeable stitched scars. It’s bad enough I have to see them everyday and live with each one. I can’t really hide them in certain clothes. To be honest I’ve stopped trying. I no longer see the significance of hiding what I’ve been through. We all have scars, it just so happens that mine are visible and easier to see. No one is perfect, and I will never be.
My scars do not define me. I won’t allow them to change me or hinder me from getting what or where I want. Scars aren’t the most attractive things to look at, but a person has to offer is so much more valuable than their appearance. I hate these scars. But, if it weren’t for them I doubt I would be the person I am today if I hadn’t endured these painful incidents. It sucks having to be the center of jokes, stared at like a wounded pitiful animal, or constantly being questioned.
I am not my scars.
We’re all mortal beings, which means the bodies we are in are only temporary, therefore we are expected to return it when our time is up. Words can be shallow and hurtful, but I believe my soul and personality are worth more, than attractive scar-less flesh. There was a point in my life I allowed fear and opinion of others to prohibit me from wearing any type of clothing that would reveal the slightest bit of my stitched scars. Not anymore.
The reaction I hear about my scars aren’t new or shocking. Those who are brave enough just stare at them, as if I can’t see their eyes beaming at my scar. They ask questions like:
How did that happen?
Does it hurt?
Did it hurt?
How many do you have?
Life happened. At that time it hurt, but no longer does. In total I have 5.
MESSAGE For Scarred Women:
Your wounds may be visible, never allow your wounds to damage your spirit. You are and will be amazing.
Signed with love,
A physically scarred young woman.