Scars

As of right now I feel like I’ve been working on things for school for about 14 hours, and am much too fried to write anything clever, and am also feeling decidedly unsexy.  But wait!  There’s post inspiration in my mailbox!  Must discuss! 

I’m trying out one more product on my scars before I give up.  I’ve been through Mederma and another product that had a dubious name like “scar-away” or some such.  Now I’ve moved on to silicone pads that supposedly will fade even old scars if you wear them 12 hours a day for a few months.  I’ve also proven that I’m gullible enough to buy beauty products that have good reviews on Amazon, no matter how bad my luck may have been in the past.

Those of you who have seen me in real life are wondering why I’m so self-conscious, probably because you’re all trying to remember if my face is disfigured or if I’m too shy to wear a bikini and are drawing a blank.  Either that, or you’re pounding your fists saying “Finally!  Sanguine’s going to fix them damn ugly scars!”  I prefer to imagine the former. 

So, what is the big deal here?  Why would a sensible person buy more crap like that when she could spend that money on books and whiskey?  All my surgeries have been through existing orifices, so no scars there.  I’ve never been in a bad accident, and I’ve never been one to self-harm.  Yet, I have several small scars in various places.  My knees are pretty well covered from an active childhood, but I don’t mind that.  One is from falling out of a tree after I was well beyond childhood (I’d like to note here that if you fall out of a tree after the photographer’s gotten some good shots of you draped sylph-like along a limb, you are still a perfectly good model.)

All the others are from someone else.  Most faded to invisibility fairly quickly.  Others are tattooed over, and others are never visible so long as I’m dressed.  A few stand out clearly on my arms.  Why the arms?  I’d like to know, too, but I’m not going to track down someone I never want to see again just to ask, “Hey!  Why did you fail to consider my future cosmetic concerns?”  My general feeling has shifted quite a bit.  At the time, I loved being marked by him and was proud of them all.  After everything had turned too bad to salvage, I hated them and wanted them gone more than anything.  Later, I was indifferent, and later still I regained a bit of pride in having survived as well as I did and felt I’d earned a small reminder of coming through that fight alive.  Now I get annoyed.

The placement, combined with, I don’t know, Oprah or whoever making a big thing about “Young girls cut themselves!  Everyone look at this epidemic and feel pity combined with moral superiority!” has made me self-conscious.  Particularly so when plenty of people feel entitled to say something.  I’m not making light of the fact that some people actually do self-harm for psychologically unhealthy reasons here, but it’s the same feeling I got when I was much thinner as a teenager and got fake concern about having an eating disorder.   It’s a trendy issue, and lots of people really want to see some poor girl so they can regard her as they would a sideshow exhibit; they’re not bringing it up because they actually have a concern and want to help make the world better for young women.  

Even people who should know better get stupid.  Someone asked about one of the more hidden ones once, and silly me thought it was okay to say it was from . . .  someone else.  The person asking gave a knowing nod and casually said, “Oh, knife play!”  Nice try, person who has only fallen further in my estimation since then!  Sometimes, even those of us who seem really slutty have actual relationships.  Sometimes those relationships involve some intense or unusual expressions of love.  Sometimes, assuming the girl with the scar has been at the kink buffet for a casual sampling of Things That Can Be Done To Her is WAY off the mark. But I digress.

I’m tired of carrying around marks that can be publicly viewed when those marks are from an emotionally-charged experience that I cannot explain to anyone who asks.  I’m tired of people asking. 

So with that, I’m starting off this final experiment.  Wish me luck.  And if you’re a sanguinary type yourself?  Fine, carry on, just stay away from the arms.

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