Part 8: Scars (CONTENT FOR MATURE AUDIENCES)

WARNING: Please Read First!

Okay, this is an extremely personal post. Possibly the most yet. I want to warn you about the nature of it. It’s awful. It’s not fun. It literally hurts me right now. I’m telling you this because I think somewhere I might be helping someone with their problems. If you’ve ever had this happen, a scar come up out of nowhere and maybe then disappear. That’s your heart expressing what happened to it. I have a scar, that hasn’t showed up in a while, on my little finger. I have scars elsewhere.

If you’re a male reading this, maybe you shouldn’t. This goes out to all my ladies, because only you could really understand what that means to me as a woman. I pray and pray that this has never happened to you and that it never ever will. No one deserves abuse. Nor to be marked permanently in its wake. I won’t ever look really look at myself the same.

It’s gonna take a lot of Grace and a lot of hope to help me remember who I am. I’m His child.

My healing is a story. It’s a processes. I’m not dead, thus my story hasn’t ended. I’m still finding things out. I’ve decided, as of tonight (literally five minutes ago) share with you something that’s been on my mind for weeks, days, months….

I have scars. Both emotionally and physically. Never have I experienced in such detail the after affects of scars. I was 18. I was in the in between healing phase one night when I start itching. I thought, perfectly normal, it’s getting cold I always get like this.

Well, itching turned to really itching and then to like a burning sensation. It was the weirdest experience. I started thinking, “Okay, what did I do?” Did I cut myself? Scratch myself? No. I had not. It wasn’t in a normal itching spot. It was under my breasts. The right side completely burned. I wasn’t sure what was going on. The left side was fine

Now I started to wonder because it now started to feel like someone scratched me. I know what that feels like without a repressed memory. It hurts. I shrug it off and stalk off to the restroom to go get a shower. Maybe I had an irritant on my skin. I’ll confess, touching my boobs is not something I do a lot! Only when needed to get my bra in place.

So I thought, maybe I’d nicked myself putting my bra on. I lifted off my shirt and right under my areola was dashed in bright red. I wasn’t bleeding though. I had a loose fitting bra on so it couldn’t have been rubbing. I’d been sitting pretty much all day.

I jumped in the hot water and right away it stung so badly! I almost hopped out but I washed the surrounding area. I knew if I’d nicked myself with my nails, I’d need to wash up. I do and jump out of the shower and try to look more closely at what was going on.

The sanguine (blood color) had reduced in the shower. Then I could see what was bothering me. It took me a while but right there where the burning had been, three unseen until right then scars took its place. I gasped in shock and tried to go on with my life.

Except there was one little thing. They were human scars. I’ve scratched myself with my nail before recently, and it looks identical. But the thing is my nail slipped. The only way that scar could have gotten there on my breast is if someone would have done it for me. There is not a logical way for me to do that. I was scratched. Purposefully.

It bothered me until I knew I had to move on with it. It didn’t matter now. I did, I have. Until tonight. I had my shirt off again tonight and those thoughts about my scars came back to bight me in the ass.

I was taking a good look at them under a 10X magnification mirror and noticed something. There had been these red marks under my breast for about since I was 12 or 13. I thought it was just some weird discoloration. I have skin problems. I looked more carefully at them and realized, they were identical scars to the three I already knew about!

My mouth dropped but I kept looking. Well, I found three more of those odd red things around the three others. It didn’t look right at first. I always thought there was no pattern to them. I thought, why those three scars there, the ones that aren’t red.

One more look and I realized…they were connected! I frowned and looked harder. It makes a shape, I realized. A letter. Two of them. My scars say something. I wasn’t looking for this, I wasn’t looking for a pattern. It happened just like this. I saw the pattern I’d been missing for years.

They spell: MI

Michigan? Ha, I wish.

That son of a bitch used to always say to me that,

“You’re mine.”

It’s haunted me in my dreams in the day and on my breasts. Just the right side, though. At first, I honestly thought that my father hated that I was a girl, that’s why he scratched me. No. I was his “property.” He was marking me as his property. No one else could claim me, he dug his nails into my skin.

I’m not sure what to say right now. I’m kind of lost tonight. I’m with God but…you know I’m gonna be honest. That’s not always enough. Sometimes you need something so real and so beautiful that it satisfies. In the moment, sometimes it isn’t what you need.

So if you need to turn up that Five Finger Death Punch song. Do it. Or maybe you have to cry. Let it go, my sweetheart. Or scream into your pillow. Make sure it’s fluffy. Go for it. Fine. Do so! I’m right there with you! I’m here. I’m where you are. I’m wondering how many other people I can help with this honest post.

If you feel something odd, or hurting, burning itching, scratching, don’t be afraid to ask your heart. MY father did something to my left ring finger that left a pretty Nasty scar. Though I don’t see it right now, I’ve seen it before. It’s the strangest thing I’ve experienced.

But I’ve learned one thing and that’s for sure. Jesus has held me ever since I was born. He’s the One who holds my heart. He’s the One who shows me what love means every day. He’s the One that would die for me. He’s the one who calls me a friend. He’s the God that made the moon and stars and sun burn so bright for us. He made my body. I am His. And I don’t need a scar to prove it.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s