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I read on Cantaloupe’s links page (when she had descriptions) that I “often blog with aplomb“. I had to look up what that word meant, because I didn’t know what it meant. And, at first, I rolled my eyes and assumed that she was inferring that I was/am conceited.
As I kept blogging and reading my past blogs1, I slowly started to realize what she meant. And it was a slight wake up call: Contrary to what I’d thought, I was still blogging and acting like the person I wanted to be, not who I was. I was me, but I wasn’t and haven’t been myself. One example of this would be the time and happiness post.
I was putting Band-Aids on the scars and hiding them, pretending they weren’t there. But they were, they are, and they probably always will be in some places. My cuts may have healed, but the scars remain. “The scars remind me that the past is real,” the song by Papa Roach says, and it’s true; they do remind me that the past actually happened. And it’s a constant reminder.
I hid them on my thighs. Some of my shorts2 make them visible, and they remind me that I don’t really need to leave my room wearing them. Because I hide them.
One is from 2009. I was dating CG. at the time. It started out with Mimi’s dog, Annie, jumping up on me and scratching my leg at the gate. And it was gross. But it felt nice, and it reminded me of a time when I had an offline escape. As it healed, I’d remove the scab and make it deeper. I eventually confided in Chris, who asked my mom. My mom said that I didn’t cut. Yet, when she needed a way to burn me, she’d say that I did, indeed, cut. He broke my heart when he broke up with me3 and talked to me over the phone simply because of what he did. “I asked your mom about your cut. You lied to me.” He took her word over mine despite everything I had told him about her. -.- Mimi once confronted me as if it was a bad word and an illegal activity. I denied it, because her facial expression was that “crazy idea” expression that people do, and I had realized that I couldn’t tell anyone.
And it’s still there. I don’t know how long they will all last, but it’s still there!
I have a scar on my left knee that’s difficult to see but exists anyway. It’s from my mom’s ring that lard gave to her. It scratched my knee when she was tackling me on the floor in an attempt to take away the phone that I had paid by myself for simply because I used it to contact my dad, therefore taking something away from her that she was controlling before. I can write letters and letters, but the scars will still be there.4
And then, I have mental scars. They’re more long term, I think, and come in many different forms. They give one an invisible illness that is portrayed differently in the media than it actually should be that gives the impression that it’s simply this, or simply that.
An attempt to start the healing process starts tomorrow, the day of my first counseling appointment.
And I’m not telling you because I want you to know or anything. I’m blogging about it because my memory sucks. And because each mental health post increases awareness. And I’m not blogging this out of aplomb; I kind of feel indifferent and nervous about it.