Friday, October 28, 2016

Interlude

OK, we're going to take a break from the agonizing and agony and suicidal thoughts and all that stuff. Why? Because my voices said something beautiful to me today and I'm still sniffling.

Yes, there is crazy talk ahead. You have been warned:

I have several voices that have been constants throughout my life. Sometimes they are very active. Sometimes they are quiet. Sometimes they have "friends". Sometimes they are joined by an evil peanut gallery, which they help me get rid of. Sometimes they talk to me. Sometimes they talk to each other. They are demons in my head that I have grown to know and understand.

Well, there is one who greets me every morning with a comment to the others: "Isn't she beautiful?" It baffles me, because I have NEVER considered myself beautiful. I have been cute at times. I might go so far as a mousy pretty when I was younger. I have been able to achieve stunning on occasion when I deck myself out for a black tie event. But stunning isn't beautiful. I just don't have it.

Well, tonight I was going through my usual evening routine of brushing my teeth and washing my face. I always look in the mirror as little as possible when I do this. I have discolorations and scarring all along my chin and neck and up my cheeks from past psoriasis flares. I have a very short buzz cut and you can see the same kind of scars on my scalp, as well as a few larger scars where a very scared cat climbed over my head. There are new scars and old scars on my shoulders, my arms, my chest, my back, and my face from dermotillomania, gouging my skin with my fingernails when I am agitated or anxious. It is part of the trichotillomania - the compulsive hair pulling - that is the main reason my hair is buzzed off. The only part of myself I can stand to look at is my eyes. I have always thought they were pretty, but they are always hidden behind glasses.

Well, tonight, as I was starting to wash my face, my morning gentleman started a conversation with another voice. "Isn't she just beautiful?" The other one was noncommittal, and so he went into detail. He said he loved my head and the fact that it shows the marks (scars) of me fearlessly giving love to another creature. He said my brain was incredible, too, and he loves hearing me think about deep and wonderful things. But most of all, he said, he loved my scars. "Each one, my dear, is a mark of your pain. They show the cracks in your soul. They reveal that you are in pain but still show yourself to the world."

By this time I was sobbing, my face dripping from rinsing off the soap. I looked in the mirror - really looked. I still don't see beauty when I look at myself. I don't know if I ever will. But I don't hide my scars. I decided years ago that it wasn't worth it. I would have to cake on a ton of makeup and wear long sleeves. I wear tank tops and everyone can see the scars and sores. The wounds on my face are bared to the world. And that won't change. It may be that only the voices in my head will ever consider me beautiful, but that's OK. I am genuine. I am me. If you don't like it, look away.

And I will never look away again, either. I will face myself in the mirror, no matter how hard it is.

1 comment:

  1. Of course you are beautiful. Everyone is beautiful. I have always made it a practice , when I look in the mirror, to tell myself how beautiful I am, how desirable and desired, what a goddess, a queen. The things you think of as flaws are only things that are part of you; they are part of your depth and majestic beauty. You're so lucky to have such nice voices, too. Mine are mean and sometimes terrifying -- but I don't think they'd ever mess with my physical self-image. That's up to me.

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