Surfacing Scars

I remember it as if it were yesterday. All I have to do is gaze, deep into the big brown eyes staring at me from behind the mirror. There they are. Daddy and his baby princess. He was her King in their giant castle. He was the one she trusted to make all her bizarre dreams unfold, one by one. Each night, a new story told, which her wild imagination would come up with. When she hurt herself, or felt sad, she would run to daddy.  Now, with each day evolving, a new scar was being revealed and it has started to become a lot more evident in her smile. There’s only so much one individual can hide, or guard against feeling. Eventually something tiny will shatter the years of attempted protection, and there will be a vulnerable little girl, standing there in the state she tried to prevent from the start.

No one will understand my intensity of pain, because in the eyes of other people I am a privileged, young girl. I couldn’t agree more. I have the most amazing mother, along with three best friends who I call my sisters. But my perfect picture couldn’t be more incomplete.  I envy all my friends and how they can just speak about anything to their fathers, as if they were long last friends. How they can laugh at nothing. How they can wake up in the morning and see his face. I feel immensely jealous when their fathers fetch them from school, dressed in their business suits, knowing they’ve done all they can to make sure his little girl gets exactly what she needs and deserves.

After the divorce, things were manageable.  It was all new, raw and confusing. But being apart of the Garson family, we made it through together. Years passed and things started to slip. Situations got nasty and messy, leaving me one opinion of my King, one I didn’t want. Plenty times I tried to cut him out of my life completely, all out of irrational hurt and confusion. Other times I felt like he was all I needed at the end of a bad day. And the worst feeling of all, was when I would lie in bed and cry myself to sleep at the thought of what once was. My family was so perfect. Flawless. Yes we had troubles, but anyone normal does.

Now as I get older, wiser, and start to understand more, it seems to be hurting me repeatedly. I’m at the time of my life where a father figure is usually a major necessity and life is incredibly short. I feel as if a divorce, a pile of papers and countless fights, has ripped the true soul from me.  I feel so torn and I don’t know which way to turn. I can feel myself closing up to everyone, blocking them out so they can’t see the vulnerable little girl whose being exposed. I try not to cry, because someone once told me crying is a sign of weakness. I feel my shell hardening, resenting the people I love most. I’m beginning to trust no one but myself. I am lost and insecure. And it’s all because my a silly divorce shattered my heart. Its taken me time to admit it. But I've come to a realization that if I can admit it to myself, the person I truly can trust, then I’ll be ok.

It’s quite a drastic change, going from ‘daddy’s little girl’ to the ‘resentful teen’. Maybe I do need to pull myself together. Regardless of the aching I have in my heart. Perhaps it’s just not significant enough to be acknowledged. Maybe I'm being an immature drama queen or a selfish adolescent seeking unnecessary attention. No matter what peoples opinions are of me, or how I handle my situations, I'm not going to change. I’ve been molded by a 5-year divorce and I'm tired. This is me, my past shaped who I am, and that’s nothing I can help. I have a lot of anger; hurt and frustration in me and as a result of this I have developed insomnia and bedtime tears. I am possibly too sensitive, but can you blame me? I am stuck on the fact that there is no such thing as happy endings, and I’m scared.

Beauty without Arrogance

My Beautiful horse, Strider

“Hello boy”, I whispered as he gently placed his velvet muzzle in the palm of my hands. Gazing into the deep pools of his eyes, I suddenly became aware that I was staring through the window to his soul. I fell into a world of love, serenity, courage and kindness. A world that had no place for judgment, anger, resentment or hate. His world.

Side by side, we quietly skipped through the long grass, which was swooshing around our adjacent feet. There was not a person in sight, except myself and my regal companion. He held is head high in the sky like he had not a care in the world, the sun beaming golden rays on his chestnut coloured coat. He was the most magnificent creature I had ever seen. I couldn’t help but fall into deep admiration for the gift God had sent me. As he grazed upon the luscious green grass, I sat beside him, telling him my secrets.  He shook his head eagerly up and down as if he was listening to my every word. I lay my back on the ground and stared at the sky whilst I embraced the sounds of the birds singing around me.

As a little girl, it was all I ever wished for. As a teenager now, it’s all I could ever wish to keep. In my eyes is nothing remotely close to the untainted love of my horse.  

Walking Away

I spent four days a week at the gym, an hour and a half each time. That’s six hours of exercise per week. As I stood my bare feet on the cold bathroom floor, and stared at my naked body in the mirror, I realized this wasn’t enough. It was at that moment that I made what I thought would be the best decision for my current situation. I was incredibly wrong.

Being a sixteen-year old girl in a boarding school doesn’t really follow the expression, ‘sugar, spice and all things nice’. Infact, it’s nothing like that. From day one, you get caught up in the idea of fitting in. There was always the girl who came from the perfect family, the girl whose parents drove the most fancy cars and even the one who had the biggest home. This however, all meant nothing to me. I only had one insecurity, “why doesn’t my body look like hers?” Don’t get me wrong, to the public I had a perfectly normal and acceptable figure of a sixteen-year old, but in my eyes, I was far too fat. I decided that something had to be done about the crinkles, which I referred to as roles that had accumulated upon my tummy. That was when the whole big idea completely consumed me.

Ironically, meal times became my favourite part of the day. The satisfaction most people got by going to do hours sweating in a gym, I got that same feeling when walking out the toilet cubicle, especially knowing that the food I had just consumed would take residence in the drain pipe rather than upon my hip. Weeks passed and I began to notice the only positive aspect of this crazy plan. I was losing weight! Seeing such a difference in my body, encouraged me to carry on, and this of course made the people around me, start to notice the negative impacts. My plan backfired and I ended up being monitored like an eagle monitors its prey from the treetops. I was terrified.  It took endless days of taking my measurements and recording my weight, and people telling me what to eat before I decided to put a stop to this. I was tired. I wanted to be healthy again. I missed the feeling of accomplishment after an hour in the gym. I missed eating food and actually enjoying eating it. I missed me.

Sometimes I ask myself, “What was the point?”  Because it still makes no sense to me now. I had no idea what I was thinking back then. Was it a cry to be loved? To be accepted? To be wanted? Finally after endless nights of convincing myself that I could, I walked away. I was back on track. I was always the girl who looked for an easy way out and I got that, but I ended up having to pay double the price, and for what? Yellow teeth, emotional stress, and low energy levels?  When I loved myself enough, I realised that I was never alone. I found the pride and the dignity within me, to walk away with my head held high. Because I am beautiful!