Scars
Photo by Jessica Caisse
By the time you read this entry, I will be in India volunteering at an orphanage in New Delhi. If you’re here through LiLu’s TMI Thursday, Hi, Hello. This story is a personal journey. It is a vulnerable one. And I will be back on February 8th to let you know how my journey to India went; blogging from a new place in Asia. The rest of 2010 will be spent in the Philippines. Hope you’ll stick around to read my accounts in different cultures.
These scars measure me. Define me. Give me wings like I am reborn or stones to drown me.
I’d like to say they have some amazing story behind them, but not really. I was nine years old when I got the chicken pox, and I itched the itchy spots. I was compulsive. I was impulsive. Whatever. It just itched. And no one told me I shouldn’t scratch.
When I realized the three most sensitive spots became permanent I was mortified. One on my chest, one on my left shoulder, and the biggest one on my upper back. Countless times I recounted in my notebook journals. Me, age 11. No one will ever love me! I wrote. God, how can anyone love someone so ugly? God, if you’re there, why me!?
Such is the melodrama of prepubescent growing pains.
My parents encouraged me to get them removed. A particularly mortifying visit to the doctor told me otherwise. No way was I going to trust the doc. No way in hell. He took one look at me, one look at them, and said “yeah, they’re ugly”.
Fuck you.
11 year old impressionable psyche. My face burned a deep red. I had my back toward him and I could feel his eyes digging into my skin. My eyes filled to tears. I just cried and cried. You might as well have told a fat girl “yeah, you’re fat.” I mean, do you have to tell me the obvious?
Fuck you.
Watch your manners, Floreta, Mom would say. Don’t use those words.
I didn’t get them removed because frankly, I’m a big wuss. I knew they involved painful cortisone shots to the scar tissue itself and I hated needles. The things I learned about these scars-these foreign invaders on my body-were that there were no guarantees of removing them successfully. They could actually get worse with treatment. No way was I going to risk something like that. No way in hell.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I guess I felt that this was my body, and I should learn to live with it. I mean, they happened for a reason, right? Everything happens for a reason… As tough as I knew it would be, I was going to love myself. I had to. There’s no turning back what happened. I was going to love myself and someone will love me too. I had to believe that. 13 year old psyche. I had to believe I was still lovable. God, how could I go on if I wasn’t? How could I be so shallow; how could anyone? And if they are, they don’t deserve me.
My parents kept telling me to get them “taken care of”. Did they not love me? Did they not accept me? Did they deserve me?
I cried some more. Cried for the perfect skin I will never have. Cried for the demons of self-acceptance that I couldn’t quite grasp.
I went all through high-school without dating. It was very hard for me to be so vulnerable to anyone, let alone naked. I grew very self-conscious. Never wearing sleeveless shirts, bathing suits, or anything strapless. I still don’t really. But I’m the closest to accepting myself as I’ll ever be.
My first boyfriend dumped me the day after he saw me naked and I had given him my first blow job. Perfect timing. And by perfect, I mean fucking lousy.
I cried for months. We only dated for 6 months and it took me that long or longer to get over him. He didn’t deserve my tears.
Being naked in front of men was a struggle for me. I was never comfortable or confident. By the time I settled into a long-term relationship-the one I’d be in for five years-I felt more at ease but still, I would try hard never to face my back to him. I was always conscious of where I was in proximity to where he was in proximity to where they were; my scars. I began to slowly accept them as part of me, yet I still had that mentality.
See, I decided back in middle school that these scars would be a test. A test for myself and a test for my lovers. I knew that while I didn’t feel strong now, it would help me become stronger later. If I wasn’t comfortable, then they weren’t right for me, and I wasn’t “ready” to love another because I still had work to do. And if they didn’t accept me? Of course they weren’t right for me. These scars were a physical measure of what everyone goes through: acceptance, love, comfort, finding “the one”. I’m not sure if I believe in “the one”, but I’m sure I believe in settling down with one. I convinced myself it’d be a good thing, because I would be that much more aware of an incongruous situation, and of how far I have come to be comfortable in my own skin.
As I get older, I continue to grow more comfortable in my own skin. I don’t know what it is, or how I got here. I’m by no means perfect, and my scars tell me so. But all I know is that each new lover feels more and more comfortable. The last man to see me naked, a month ago, was the most comfortable I’ve ever felt. I don’t know if it’s me. Or him. Or me and him combined. But I felt beautiful. And comfortable with my back turned towards him on the bed, and my sleepy eyes drifting to sleep with a slight smile on my face. That doesn’t mean he’s “the one”, or even one (I’m not jumping to bold conclusions), but it means I’m closer to truly accepting myself and my imperfections.
Today, my scars do not sink me; they give me wings like I am reborn. I choose to fly. Everything I do is because I want to be better. I want to respect myself, believe in myself, and most importantly, love myself. My scars aren’t something separate from me, they are a part of me. They grow and change as I grow and change. They mold to who I am. They tell stories of learning to love, and travail. And I am stronger because of it.
Five years ago, I would never have posed topless to photograph my scars, but at the tail end of 2009, I did. I am proud of how far I’ve come. And I’m sharing it with you now.
Today, I am the closest to ever loving myself since, well, ever. And I continue to journey into self-acceptance. I am a work in progress, we all are, but I am closer to finding “the one”; and she’s not something outside of me, but within my own self.
What scars do you have? How do you measure love?
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31 Responses to “Scars”
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YES!
Respect for posting this photo online!
This post was fantastic. Truly amazing. It’s so nice to hear something positive come out of this.
very beautiful
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by floreta cui, lionessence. lionessence said: RT @solitarypanda: Scars http://is.gd/6ILPb [...]
Beautiful and brave, Floreta. That’s you to a T. Not in spite of your scars, but because of them.
[...] The Solitary Panda’s Scars [...]
This was a beautifully written post. I can completely identify with you. I have a huge scar down my thigh from numerous surgeries following a car accident when I was a kid. The scar and being in a wheel chair or on crutches all through fifth and sixth grade was really tough. For years after that I had a noticeable limp. All of this made it hard to love my body and myself. I would never wear a bathing suit on the beach because of the scar, and people made fun of the way I walked. Like you, with age has come knowledge and understanding that allows me to accept who I am, flaws, scars and all.
.-= Mara J.´s last blog ..Music is life =-.
Beautiful. I’m so proud of you sweetie. I have a scar on my leg, got it from a dog bite a couple years ago. And it took me so long before I could finally accept it. That scar is part of you and it’s good to hear that you are learning to accept it and love yourself, love your scar. I admire you for posting this. Good luck with your journey to self discovery. =)
.-= chinkygirlmel´s last blog ..Reunited With An Old Love =-.
Great post. I have many scars which define a part of my life whence I was unstable which went on for several years before treatment. Although most are not obvious to a first glance, when looking closely you can see the hash marks up my arms and the x’s on my shoulders. I now look at them more as tattoos depicting my survival.
Thanks for sharing your story.
.-= Justin (Oats)´s last blog ..The Pear =-.
Very well written story about a personal victory.
We are always stronger than what we think.
It is a beautiful picture, and anyone who says otherwise, just send them to me.
Wowsa!!! What a great story. I love your voice… I think we all have scars of some sort that we have to learn to embrace. Good for you! Beautiful!
.-= carissajaded´s last blog ..TMI Thursday: The time it got stuck (not what you’re thinking) =-.
REALLY great post, and I love how you decided to incorporate them into your life. Perfect.
.-= Ari´s last blog ..Not everything on the internet is free for the taking. =-.
Funny, I missed the scars because you know what I was busy noticing? How shiny your hair is. And how smooth your complexion is. And how I’m completely jealous about it. <3
.-= Brittney´s last blog ..Quick Gripe. =-.
You’re really brave and there’s nothing wrong with a scar. Some people may see on the skin but a lot more look past that. It’s personal, it’s your story and I admire you from showing it with such courage and pride
.-= andhari´s last blog ..Love Harder =-.
Thank you so much for sharing and I’m so proud of you and this journey you’re on. x
.-= Emily Jane´s last blog ..A three-week check-in (with video!), and a fond farewell =-.
Wow, I mean…that’s all I can say. If I wasn’t at work, I’d be crying, and most definitely standing up and applauding the computer screen.
This chubby girl
gets where you’re coming from and hopes (someday soon) to be where you are.
.-= Tiffani´s last blog ..The B Word =-.
I am so proud of you, although I don’t know you. I have scars myself, different to your ones but on my chest, and I’ve gone through a similar ordeal to you my entire high school life (and even still now). My self confidence can go rock bottom, particularly when it comes to the idea of wearing a bikini. And here I was thinking I was the only person who suffered this, and that no one was going to love me because of my scars. I haven’t been in a long term relationship, but to know there’s someone out there whose fought a battle, probably worse than my own, gives me comfort that I am not alone! Go you!!!
Long-time lurker emerging at last to say:
You are absolutely, utterly beautiful in every possible way, and your writing is like a clear and polished gem.
My daughter sent me to your blog because I have battled having keloids as you do. Mine are on my back and on my chest. There are are 9 of them and they are hideous. Never would I imagined that my life would be centered around the scars but I can’t help it. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t feel repulsed by them. I’m not as brave as you are to post pictures of them. I still have huge issues with showing them to my lover. He says I’m beautiful and doesn’t see them but I don’t believe him. How can he not see them?
I tell myself that it can be worse. Yet, I won’t ever wear a v neck shirt or a tank top or bathing suit. Most of the time, I wear my t-shirts backwards with another blouse covering it so that it will cover the keloid on my neck.
Instead of me writing you a novel, I’ll close and tell you that I admire your courage. Don’t ever stop believing that one day there will be a cure.
By the way, the cortisone shots hurt like heck and didn’t work for me.
I really love you for posting this. It brought tears to my eyes, because I also have things about my body that I find unattractive or dare I say “ugly”, but to truly love oneself and to love someone else means to see past all the perceived flaws of the physical being and get into and appreciate one’s mental or emotional being. I have a vertical c-section scar from navel to pubis, several (uncountable) stretch marks on my belly and breasts, and several marks on my back from an unknown skin condition that has been troubling me lately, but eff it. Who cares? The marks on our bodies are part of our history, part of what makes us who we are, not in spite of, but because of. To hell with what people think.
i have over 10 scars on my body, from various surgeries. i usually try and cover them up, but i’ve slowly come to learn that they don’t bother me as much as they used to – that i’m still beautiful, even though my body is very scarred.
i’m proud of myself, i’m proud of my body. including all the stretchmarks i acquired while pregnant. confidence, i’ve learned, is waaay sexier than just having the right look – if that makes sense….
i’m happy to have found someone who loves my scars, who thinks they’re interesting, and who tells me not to cover up so much. someone who thinks i make a fuss over covering them up, for nothing.
xx
.-= ExMi´s last blog ..TMI Thursday =-.
ps: i think that photo is gorgeous. really, i do.
xx
.-= ExMi´s last blog ..TMI Thursday =-.
Ah!Beautiful n optimistic….the last part was metaphysical n works well.We all have scars…physical n mental.Glad to see u talking bout transcendence…..with wings.Hope u r having a grt tym here in India.
.-= Deeptesh´s last blog ..Snow dreams =-.
Thank you. Such a powerful post.
It is great that you’ve accepted the scars as part of yourself and now have a photo on the internet showing it off
Well written post Florera! We all have scars just some more noticeable than others. Plus, who wants to go to their grave with a beautiful body? What does that say about their life?
.-= AdventureRob´s last blog ..Mid-Week Photo Essay: Adelaide Zoo Part 2 =-.
Sometimes I hate that the saying “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger” is such a cliche… because I think sometimes it just rings so true. I couldn’t help but think of that when you wrote about seeing them as a test.
And that photo is just beautiful.
.-= Princess Pointful´s last blog ..Love harder =-.
I have scar too. I knock both of my tooth the cute rabbit tooth when I was 16. I was riding my bicycle on my way back home from work at around 9pm. The silly dogs chase me and I gave my bicycle more power and i turn my head back to see if i have lost the dog…
Yes was happy…. and I turn my head back on and BAM!!!!! my bicycle come to a complete stop and i knock my face right on the back door of a Pajero truck!
Today one of the tooth left a visible dark color. I suppose the tooth is dead.
I am ashamed of myself and I distant myself from people… that was many years ago but life have got to go on…
I am grateful that I face the world with my ugly tooth.
Your story is something I really can relate. My girlfriend isn’t prefect too… her neck was injured when she was born and it is not straight.
I truly believe everything happen for a reason…
Great post and you are sexy!
.-= netster´s last blog ..Orchid Wallpaper =-.
You are beautiful. You’re scars are beautiful. The “flaw” on your otherwise perfect skin makes you even more beautiful. I’ve always believed that scars are a tribute to all we go through in life in an effort to get where we are now. I’ve seen some “ghastly” scars on abuse survivors, most were self inflicted while trying to cope with horrendous memories. I’ve worked hard as a psych nurse working with these abuse survivors to let them know, and all other people know, that scars aren’t shameful. They are badges of honor, living proof that their soul, and yours, have survived. Even though yours were caused by chicken pox, they are still your badges of honor. They’ve been there throughout your life and in an odd way they’ve guided you into making better choices. The scars are a sign of your acceptance of who you are and who you strive to become.
Floreta,
What a lovely and moving post.
Thank you for both your directness and vulnerability.
And the photo is beautiful: your poise conveys a sense of the confidence you’ve achieved on your way to self-acceptance.
There’s a kind of quiet pride in both the photo and the tone of your post.
Wings or stones? You’ve taken wings that might have seemed to be made of stone and learned to fly anyway. Well done.
Take care in India,
Matt
.-= Matt Blair´s last blog ..Words on a Screen =-.
i like the design fo the site – whats the template?