This is not supposed to be like this. I mean, I’m supposed to be happy if my brother gets married, not spending such a big chunk of my energy worrying about ME. Being scared because I know I’m going to have to wear something that will not cover my scars. I don’t want to worry about me! I want to be happy for them. But I don’t know what to do!
Do they really want me in the wedding, looking the way I do? I wish I did not have these ugly scars. Then I could just enjoy the preparation and planning, as well as the actual wedding, the way I’m supposed to.
I cannot talk to my mom about it. She knows I’ve struggled with SI, but she has no idea of the permanence of what I’ve done. I’ve thought about bringing up the subject, now and then, but I just can’t do it. I can’t hurt her by letting her see what I’ve done to myself. So I’m going to end up facing a really scary situation alone, again.
I don’t know what to do. Just wanted to write down what’s chewing on me tonight. And ask once again, why did I ever do such a thing to myself?!
It’s like by injuring, I sealed my beauty away forever. I cannot dress in any kind of formal gown, not to mention simple short sleeved shirts, without uncovering my scars. I feel like they’re so ugly they’re going to upset people.
I need God to come through for me, or the next several months are going to be awful.
How do people learn to live with showing their scars? I know I’m forgiven, but… the scars are so ugly I want to hide them to protect my family from the pain of it. To protect me from having to witness their pain. To keep others who don’t know me from judging me.
They’re not going away though, and with each year I understand better what permanent really means.
The worst of it is that I’m going to have to wear my scars in front of my family and relatives. I wouldn’t care so much if it was a bunch of strangers; they don’t know what I might have been through. But my relatives, who know what an upstanding family we have, who know what good people my mom and dad are, they’re going to judge me big time. Because, in their eyes, I have no excuse.
Yeah, right. Isolate the kids from the real world, so that they have no friends and no away-from-home activities. Don’t allow them to even listen to the radio, much less TV. Place adult expectations upon them, then add shame and guilt because they’re so “bad” and “sinful” when they can’t meet your standards. Don’t take the time to build trust and friendship with them, don’t be a father to them, rather, point them to God to meet their needs… a God whom they see as exacting and dictatorial, a God who will mold them into what He wants them to be, not what they want to be.
My childhood wasn’t terrible, but I grew up depressed, alone, believing I was totally evil and beyond redeeming, worth little to nothing. I had to cope with the pain somehow, and in my isolation, I didn’t have many choices. Giving myself what I “deserved” for being so bad seemed to ease the pain and guilt a bit, so I began mistreating myself. Harming myself physically also gave me something to boast about, if only to myself, making me feel “tough” and thus easing my self-loathing a bit.
But nobody knows about any of that. They just see us, a “perfect” family, and me, a “good girl” who would never do anything as crazy as hurting herself.
God, I really, really need somebody to talk to, somebody who can help me work through this tricky situation. But you know as well as I that SI isn’t something people want to talk about, much less deal with the aftermath of. So here we are again, God, just you and me… and I’m scared.