Scars don’t define me

I imagine someone could build up an interesting psychological profile of me based only on what I write here. And, as frightening as it is to admit, it would probably be rather accurate. I respect intellect, strength of character and vision, and truth. My belief in the 1st Amendment is unwavering. I have no tolerance for racism or sexism. (Not real thrilled about ageism either).

I once told an ex that she would make an excellent writer, but she was afraid that too much of her personality would be exposed in her writing. (Something that CAN be true. I imagine things are exposed in my fiction as well. But nothing, I think, that I’m unwilling to admit to here).

I’m not good at facades. I’ve never been able to build and maintain the mask that many people wear to get through everyday social functions. Something Bruce Banner said in The Avengers resonated for me. “I’m exposed. Like a nerve.” That’s what life has always felt like.

Ah, the 70s. Back before child abuse. Child Protective Services? ROFL. I didn’t learn what that was until I was an adult. “We got to play outside” people announce proudly. Yeah. I used to suffer being scruffed and tossed out the door in the middle of a good book. It’s not as though I didn’t like going outside and doing things. I did. But I wasn’t really fond of hanging outside by myself. Only made the loneliness worse, especially as a teenager.

Maybe that’s why personal connections matter so much. Was warned recently that I shouldn’t engage therapists as people. Funny, I don’t know how to do otherwise. One therapist remarked that I tended to be more feminine in this respect. I build connections. It’s a hard won skill, but I believe it’s a necessity.

Keep in mind, I don’t make these connections because I get anything out of it. My wife can testify how hard it is for me to ask for help. I’ll do it myself, dammit. I don’t know what that’s about. Tired of asking and being turned away? I don’t know. Spent my life with very few people in my corner, who I felt I could trust completely.

Until I met my wife. Took me too long to realize I could trust her. I’m just glad she stuck around.

There are few people whose opinions of me actually matter.  Took me a lifetime to learn that.  But what you see is what you get.  Don’t like it?  Tough.  I took my bruises and managed to grow up more or less intact.  Not to say it didn’t leave its scars.

But those scars don’t define me.Image