Let's talk about today

First off, Happy Veteran's Day: Thanks to all who have served, do serve, and will serve throughout the world. Not amount of thanks could equal what they all do but it doesn't hurt to try.

Second, I want to give a special hello to those reading me overseas! Particularly excited hello's to those in Italy, Spain, and Ireland (that's where the majority of my international views have come from, also I'm Irish with some family and loved ones there). I am incredibly lame and love looking at the "stats" of the blog and seeing where people are who are looking at the blog. I am crazy flattered that people outside of my immediate family are interested enough to take a look!

Now onto some discussion. I had a whole topic in mind for today and had done some fancy artwork to decorate it with and everything, but I did something earlier that made me change my mind about today. It is going to sound really stupid and strange but it freaked me out and I'm still thinking about it. Let me begin:

One of my near and dear mates was in a horrible car accident on Tuesday and totaled his car. That's all we really need to continue, I think (I'm working on my brevity, though in person, forget it, I'm a roundabout mess). So longer story short I told him I'd be happy to take him to his job today since he is currently car-less. Before work we stopped to get some yummy delicious Chick-Fil-A (I am accepting sponsors, by the way, Chick-Fil-A, and I am more than happy to be paid in chicken nuggets and Polynesian sauce). We sat down with our vittles (and there was some really great, friendly service, shout out to Chick-Fil-A on 150 and the sweet woman worker who offered to get me a refill!) and chatted away.

My drink had a lid on it and thus, a straw. I'm not a big straw-user. I have nothing against them, but I normally just don't go for the straw, I'm not sure why. Well, I wasn't sure until today. Now I know my subconscious is way smarter than my conscious...or something. Crap, there I go roundabouting again. Anyway! I picked up my cup to take a leisurely sip of my cool, refreshing water (I know, I should write advertising for soft drinks. Or water. Although nothing can beat the label we saw on a Sprite Zero in Japan, "Sexier than water"--that's advertising genius, they should have that in America, too. Crap, there I go once more)

and somehow miscalculated the distance from the straw and my mouth. And it happened: I inadvertantly hit below my mouth.

Most all of you are saying, "So what, at least it wasn't your eye." However, if you have read my backstory and seen my nothing-short-of-museum-quality art you know that my big, very sensitive scar starts with my bottom lip and pretty much encompasses the majority of my chin. So a direct hit to the scar, scar tissue, etc. was pretty much a full-scale disaster for me. I am really paranoid about all my scarrage (new word) and don't let anyone who doesn't absolutely have to touch it (meaning my oncologist and occasionally my well-intentioned dentist who says bizarre things to me that give me a slight complex--see last entry). When I even sense someone's hands coming near it I instinctively cover it, turn my head, and swat (and by "swat" I mean "smack as hard as I can") at their hands. It's reflexive (mostly).


So anyway, I held it together pretty well when I did this. Meaning, I didn't flip the table, throw my cup, burst into sobs, or start screaming. Mentally, however, it FREAKED. ME. OUT. In fact, this happened about two hours ago and I am still kind of freaked out. I cannot describe the horrible, scary, awful sensation that occurs when I feel something touching my scar territory. Although I can't feel much in that area, what I can feel is dramatically unpleasant, to say the least. But the worst part is that now I keep wanting to touch my scar as if to reassure myself it is still there and okay or to reassure the scar that it was an honest mistake and I meant no harm and please don't turn against me and get bigger and redder and meaner.

You would think after 9 years (thas a lot of years) I would be used to this kind of thing and it would be no big deal. Apparently not. Apparently some things stick with you, like gum in your hair. Well, bad example, but I think you see where I am going with this. I wonder if other people who have scars of some sort, from anything, feels the way I do. Like, "I know you are looking, but don't touch. Ever. If you want to keep your hand." Maybe I am extra paranoid and weird because mine is so--in your face (well, my face) and large and in such a prominent area. I see it every day whether I want to or not, and if I don't put make up on, so does everyone else. I wonder if I freak out about it so much because it causes actual physical sensation or if it is just something really personal to me and that isn't something I want others to be a part of. While I am okay with talking about things and my experiences, it doesn't necessarily mean that I want or am able to share everything. I still have my own little (or moderately-sized, or large) struggles that I work through each day, just like everyone else. Perhaps because the appearance of my scars, and now my story, are so public, I subconsciously want to keep something just for myself. No matter what you've been through, or how much people know about you, or how unique or rare or different you are, no one wants to feel like a side show (carnivals are sketch). I felt like that for a very long time, and it was awful. I know that up close and personal I am permanently changed and different from other people as well as who I was before. I know I am different, but I don't always feel different, if that makes sense. Sometimes I feel like I am like everyone else, and other times I feel as if there are worlds between me and the next person (not just because I am awesome and funny and have a great dog). The trick (and I have yet to master it) is finding your normal and staying true to it and to yourself. If anyone knows any short cuts, I'd love to hear them!