Lately I have had a recurring nightmare that my face is melting off. It’s terrifying and not the least bit sexy (is face melting ever sexy? … Is it weird that I asked that?) and it has been deeply disturbing to me.
My counselor says it is a side effect of the anxiety I have been experiencing post trauma. My Dad says I’m cray cray (or at least he would if he said things like “cray cray”).
You see, dear reader, I was recently horribly disfigured.
Ok, that is technically an exaggeration. I was not “horribly” disfigured; I have minor facial scarring that looks more like acne than the after effects of breaking a car window with my face (this was not done intentionally). But in my mind it’s a horrible disfigurement and I am more than a little devastated. I won’t go into details about the accident (because I don’t want to, so there) but let’s just say it was not fun. Like, really super unpleasant. Like, mind blowing-ly awful. Get the picture? Good.
There have been many consequences of this accident, but the facial scarring has been a big deal to me.
I mean, if you are going to get a scar, it should be a wicked scar (or at least a lightening bolt!). Instead I get to walk around looking like I had too much sugar on the weekend. Where’s the fun in that?
(Although I suppose I could invest in an Iron Mask like in that Leonardo DiCaprio movie … that could be fun. Though it is summer right now and I imagine an Iron Mask would be awfully warm. And in the fall I’m sure the rain would drip behind it which would be unbearably annoying. Perhaps this is not the best idea? … Moving on.)
But more than the horrible recurring nightmares and my new tendency to sit like this:
How annoying to finally discover the extent of my vanity at the time in my life where I feel the least attractive. Though I suppose that’s how it goes for most people. Oh well. At least the hand on the face pose makes me look pensive.