I've been pondering the different kinds of scars one racks up in a lifetime the last couple of days. There are the obvious scars we get from injury to our skin. Like all the scars I have from the multitude of IVs I've gotten. Or the rock I still have in my knee from a bicycling accident when I missed the pedal and dragged my knee along the pavement for a few feet. That was a bloody mess! By the time I got home, crying and damn near hysterical, I had blood all down my leg, soaking my sock and shoe. My knee looked like I had dragged it over a cheese grater. The rock still embedded there is a thing of envy for my nieces and nephews, who like to run their fingers over it and hope they get so lucky some day.
Then there are the MS scars that can only be seen on an MRI, but show their presence by my gimping walk, lack of balance and inability to really see something unless it is mashed into my face.
But the worst scars, by a landslide, have to be the emotional ones. The scars that can't be seen by the naked eye (what other option is there for the eye? The well dressed eye?). The ones that cut so deep you carry the scars for a lifetime, regardless of whether anyone knows they are there or not. My 2 biggest ones I would like to expand on because they are noteworthy and I feel the effects of them too often in spite of all I do to try and make them go away. Alas, the nature of a scar is it's permanence and ability to change you for life.
The end of my marriage.
Good gods, this one has torn me up (from the floor up). No one gets married thinking about divorce. Or most people don't. I didn't. When I got married, I was so happy and sure I made the right choice. I still don't think I made the wrong choice. We were very happy until MS came to stay. I shut down and pulled away from everyone and he started drinking more. We all know how this story plays out so I won't reiterate it all. He and I talk about where we both went wrong and how we could have been one of those couples that were happy until the end if we had only ________. We had the makings to be a great couple, but we handled things the wrong way.
For all his faults, I love how he still likes me best out of everyone in the world. That he is so generous, even to Princess. The last time I went up to see him, she came with because we both wanted to spend the weekend in the pool with him to grill for us. He took us shopping one morning, while we were waiting for it to be warm enough to get in the pool, and let Princess and I pick out what we "needed" without even caring what the price was when we checked out. He has always been like that. When Princess and I still lived with him, he didn't care what we bought as long as we were happy. He fixed up Princess' bedroom, painting it the color she wanted and even painting her nightstand and bookshelf a matching color. He never waxes poetic on my ass, but he doesn't need to. Actions speak louder than words.
That one relationship that messes you up for a long time.
When I was a young warthog (when she was a young warthoooooog!) I fell in love in a way that one should never fall in love. Where you love so completely, even though you know better than to love like that. I loved him more than I loved myself. I loved the sound of his voice, listening to him talk, his touch, being with him, everything about him. Sadly, there was no happy ending in the cards. I can't speak for him, even though I'm going to and say that he did not feel the same way. Or if he did, he hid it very well. I would have married him and been content to make love to him with great relish the rest of my life. I think he might have married me but things got so messed up by a series of breakups-and-get-back-togethers, that we both were scared of letting the other know the depth of our feelings. Hmmm, again, I really shouldn't speak for him. Maybe the depth of feeling was only on my side, but somehow I don't think so. I think he was too much of a coward to say how he felt for me or try to stop me when I left, when a word would have changed my mind. For years I felt like we were 2 halves of the same whole, and sometimes I think we still are. Not that that stopped us from going on and having lives, but I always think of him saying that we would never escape each other and how prophetic those words were/are. We still keep in touch, sporadically, and the depth of my feelings no longer rage and storm inside me. I loved him enough to let him go and find happiness elsewhere, because he obviously didn't find it with me, and with no bitterness. Isn't real love about wanting the best for someone regardless of whether you are a part of it or not? I think it is.
While turning over in my mind these different kinds of scars, I decided that getting a rock in your knee is the best kind to have. It makes you cool and causes the least amount of pain.
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