in my eyes if he could still see me.
He was shocked at the question and slightly confused. But he answered anyway; he said he didn’t compare me to anything especially my appearance before the accident.
Maybe he doesn’t, but I do.
Sometimes I actually scare myself.
Yesterday at the grocery store a woman turned around to me in the
line and with an exhausted look she blurted out:
“Oh, I feel just the way you look!!”
I wanted to curl up and cry in the fetal position right there in isle three. I looked away and tears stung my eyes. I wasn’t prepared to have confirmed to me what I had felt earlier that morning after I had scrubbed my fragile body in the shower until it bled.
Part of the deal I chose, I guess.
I guess I should just suck it up and remember my blessings.
But part of me hurts for outward beauty.
When I lie in my bed as still as can be, I feel like the Stephanie before. Out my eyes I feel just the same. I feel perfect. My skin isn’t strained and my joints don’t rip my thin skin over and over with each movement.
That’s why getting up is hard to do.