Blanketed By Scars

To fully explain this story I have to tell you about my mother, Pamela. She grew up with a mother addicted to drugs who never held her as a child or told her she loved her and a spoiled sister. When her parents divorced Pamela lived with her father and new stepmother who were kind but at this point she was sixteen so the psychological damage had been dealt and she refused to talk to anyone about it. Pamela considered her stepmother to be her true mother considering how awful her biological mother had treated her. Pamela was also diagnosed with scoliosis and wore a brace throughout her time in high school and was bullied constantly. Eventually she made it through all the obstacles and met her husband and together they had a daughter.

This is where my story begins. I've led a blessed life, nice homes, always have had two parents and a steady source of income. I've never wanted to complain, but I've just begun to realize how many problems I truly have.


I've always been insecure, perhaps it's just human nature or because the media feeds us information constantly reminding us we'll never be pretty enough, but I always have been. I was tall growing up, always the tallest girl in the class, the biggest girl in the grade. My mother used to tell me I could be a model, but that's not what I wanted to be. I was a tomboy who loved climbing trees and playing in the dirt. So when I'd come back from playing outside and mom would see the cuts on my arms and legs she'd say "With those you'll never become a model!"

I was okay with that. So I'd pick at the scabs, I wish I knew why I did it or how I could've stopped. 

New skin would eventually form, dark, much darker than the surrounding skin. "See what you've done?" my parents would ask me but it didn't seem to matter what they'd say or do, it would continue. Until eventually I hit puberty, and stopped climbing trees and playing in the dirt. However, my legs once tanned and untouched were now marred by large brown spots. Wearing shorts and skirts became a pain, the constant questions of, "What happened?" or "Ohmygod did your parents do that?"

It always made me want to cry.

Eventually my mother taught me about plucking my eyebrows, painful but effective. But at some point in my teenage years it became an obsession. I'd dig with my tweezers until I would finally grasp a tiny hair and for some reason it filled me with joy and relief. Afterwards there would be a bleeding hole in my eyebrow but it didn't matter to me until after the feeling of success had washed over me. Then later that night I would look in the mirror and cry until I found a way to cover it up when out in public. Then I would swear to myself I would never do it again. But those promises failed. Over and over again I would have those bloody holes in my eyebrows.

"Keep that up and your face will look like a hamburger." My mom would say.

Now I can't go out without applying makeup to the puffy scar tissue around my eye brows, now lumpy and filled with hairs growing beneath the skin. Sometime during my teenage years something new started, pubic hair. My mom had always told me it was unsightly and unattractive so I shaved it all off. Constantly. The bumps and ingrown hairs left behind were irritating and painful so one day I reached for my worst enemy. The tweezers.

I can't remember when it started, me digging around that region. Maybe I decided to do it because my mom couldn't see it, it was within my bikini line so she'd never be able to criticize me.

Maybe I'm just a freak, for enjoying the hell out of tearing open my skin to reach insignificant tiny hairs. For some reason I'd even put the tiny hairs on the tile inside my shower and for some reason I liked looking at them. Yes, I'm most definitely a freak for doing this kind of stuff.

I'm a nice girl though, I know you all must think I'm a completely demented soul, I've never told anyone all of this before and I'm terrified.

Now.. that area, within my panty line is spotted with thick scar tissue, hairs hardly ever penetrate through and sometimes at night the scars there will ache and it's terribly painful. I've only showed them to three people, for their opinions and all but one gasped as if it were the most horrid thing they'd ever seen.

I'm young. Almost at the end of my teenage years, and I'm still a virgin and I've never had a boyfriend. I'm kind though. I like to think I'm a pretty girl and people tell me that I am, but these scars, I fear they'll never go away.

My bizarre obsession with plucking hasn't ended either.

Maybe I'm just a weirdo.

Lyxie Lyxie
18-21, F
Feb 11, 2010