I feel like there is some dark secret that I have not talked about here, at least to my memory, that I feel it is time to come clean about. I may have hinted at it here or there but it is time for me to just fess up. I have come clean about so many other taboo issues, I don’t know why this one is so hard for me to talk about.
Here we go.
I hate the way I look.
I find myself constantly looking in reflective windows and wondering who that disfigured person is. I feel sorry for her. “She must have a rough go of it”, I think. And then I realize that it’s me.
I wonder how anyone could love someone who looks like I do. I always find myself wishing I could be like the other people in the room. They all look so comfortable in their own body. I wonder if it is noticeable that I am not. I wonder how many people I offend by what I wear. “I wish she would cover her (insert body parts here)! No one wants to see that!” I cannot blame them. I am not even angry about it. Which is probably a good thing because then I would be that crazy lady who screams “STOP LOOKING AT ME!” at people who just smile and glance at me.
It’s not just a matter of my weight. I know that is out of control. Please, don’t leave me weight loss advice. I know how to fix it. I just worry it is so broken that it is beyond repair.
Even if I did get my weight under control, there is the scars that I feel stand out like arrows pointing to all of the times my body has tried to kill itself and some doctor has had to save me. They are not badges of honor. They are memories that never go away.
I hear some of you saying that these are all “normal things” we don’t like about ourselves. But it only gets worse.
I have the worst skin in the world! Acne on a teenager is not cute but you get that it’s all part of growing up. Acne on an adult is just disgusting. Not to mention that if I don’t wear make up, which I rarely do, I look sickly. But somewhere down the line I decided that not even make up could hide this level of break outs.
I use to say that at least I had a nice rack. If nothing else, I had that going for me. Now, they have dug 2 holes in the top of my chest. Not to mention what being a Mom does to them. I didn’t breast feed and they still never when back to “normal”.
Don’t get me started on the bruising! I know someone must think poor Noah beats me with how many bruises I have.
I bleed uncontrollably from, well, everywhere. The best is when it is my gums are bleeding and I get little dried blood spots in the corner of my mouth. Or a huge clot takes over and I start to choke and gag only to end up spitting blood into a tissue and makes me look like I have TB.
I AM broken. And I would love to say that “I am still beautiful”, but I don’t buy it. I will take it from Noah, sometimes. I would love to say that “it is what’s inside that counts”. But like my grandmother used to say about a front lawn “Lot’s of people see your lawn. Less actually set foot in your house.” So as open as my front door is, most people just get to see me from the outside. And that is not anything I think people like to see.
I find myself constantly building up my friends and those I love. Making sure that they, especially the younger ones, have an arsenal of self-confidence. I just never want anyone to feel as poorly as I do. Looks are not the key to life. But I PROMISE, life is easier for those who are easy on the eyes.
So I am sorry that there is no cathartic end to the post. It’s just something that needed to be said. For my sake. I don’t like who I am on the outside.

PS – I realize the open door thing sounds like a sex thing. It’s not. Promise.


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