The Ugly Truth

I recall the days I used to sit huddled in the corner of my home bathroom crying my eyes out – it wasn't because I was in pain from my KTS, either. Truth is, at that time, I was in a great deal of pain from my KTS, but that was not the main issue on my mind. When I was home from the hospital and in high-school, walking down the hallway in-between classes and using flights of stares was enough to evoke a flood of pain. Yet, that wasn't all too significant to me... what really mattered to me, as I touched upon in previous posts, was how I perceived the way in which I looked on the outside. I hated my appearance so much, that at times it was all in which I could focus on within my head... The only real distraction, I suppose, was doing my schoolwork in isolation. Perhaps that is why I got such remarkable grades, especially for a person who was forced to miss school as often as I was. Yet, whenever I found myself in a throng of people, my head went into a complete tizzy. “Why can't I have hair like that girl? Her nose is so much better than mine. I'll never be able to prance around in a cute skirt like that. Why couldn't my eyes be a striking blue or at least hazel? I'll never have any of that. No one will ever want me. I'll never have that perfect life.”

I guess I should note that at this time, not only was my leg expanding in size tremendously (compared to how it was in size when I was a child) but that I had also developed blebs in my genital area (more toward the inside buttock). These areas caused me so much pain on a daily basis, that much I can tell you. When placed under water, they would sting immensely. When I had pants on, the material would rub up against them and cause them to get irritated. I still get these blebs periodically, and have a surgery to remove them once they are ingrown about every two years. They are terribly uncomfortable, and for a while I carried around so much shame associated with these tender areas. I felt like I was not worthy enough for any guy to ever want to be with me...

So, as I touched upon in the last post, I felt the need to overcompensate in regards to other aspects of my appearance. I hated my eye color, so I changed that with the ever so fake looking colored contacts. And, by the way, this is not to demean anyone who wears them! Most of the time, though, I just chose colors that looked awfully unnatural on me. I died my hair probably every color in the book. The one good thing, I will say though, is I never had an eating disorder or worried about my weight. However, in terms of all other revenues related to physical appearance, I was constantly trying to achieve perfection. Still, I wasn't satisfied no matter what lengths I went to to altar my physical appearance. I didn't understand that there was more to this obsession...

One time, I remember getting all dolled-up for an event at my Grandmother's house. I had been looking forward to going, as I always enjoy time with my family immensely. Yet, at one point, I looked in the mirror and thought there was no way I could be seen like this. I remember I was dressed in a gray sweater, had my blue colored-contacts in, and was sporting a full face of makeup. Still, I felt so incredibly...ugly. I felt ashamed of myself, and like I needed to come up with a plan to be “prettier,” so to speak.

I lied to my parents and told them my leg was hurting and that I really just was not feeling well...they had no idea what was going on at the time in regards to how atrocious I felt inside. Nor could they or anyone else, it was perhaps my best kept secret back then. I wish I could say my Grandmother's house was the only time in which I did that, but it was far from it. I used to shower four times a day, not only because I was petrified of bacteria and constantly feeling dirty(stemming from my overt OCD, undiagnosed at that time), but because I also thought I was washing away some of the ugliness that occupied my body. Eventually, all of this internal frustration turned to utter shame and I was not forced to acknowledge these issues until I had a full-on breakdown at the age of 18 in which I could not stop hysterically crying for several weeks period prior to an antidepressant.

Now, I still struggle with this stuff to degree. As I wrote in my last post, the mild acne onset from the Sirolimus was enough to merely cripple me emotionally. Yet, here I am, still dealing. Now a days, as a way of practicing exposure therapy, I run out here and there without makeup. I try to take pictures of myself without makeup, where I have my natural light brown hair and clear-colored contact lenses. My natural beauty is something I try to cherish, and perhaps more importantly I realize it does not dictate the rest of my life.

So, who wants to see a picture of me in a far from perfect state? I took this upon waking up this afternoon, and I am not wearing any makeup and clearly my hair is, well, you can see for yourself...hahaha

I consider small things like this to be exposure therapy.

Until the next post, Arianna