make up

I just spent the last thirty minutes in the bathroom. Hang on folks this isn't something weird. I think. Actually it's always weird. Every second of every day since I was born and until I die.

The first ten I spent looking at myself. Doing the usual. Wondering how on earth I can be so freaking different yet still some how look like every body else. No horns. No strange colored eyes. My teeth are all docile. I look absolutely mundane.

Then I find what I always find. A scar. The length of one of my fingers vertically and a few centimeters  from the top, a one inch line across. A cross. Just above my navel. Just below my sternum. One night in one of THOSE dreams, I dreamt that I was being CURED. the only thing they could think of to alieve me of my burden was to excersice it out of me.

But it hurt. And when I woke up, there it was. A burn the shape of the cross marrying my skin.

It was so long ago. Today it is only a fading scar. Still too noticeable for me to wear a two piece but I have hopes. I saw it today. As I have every other day and it looked absolutely hideous. I snatched up some foundation from a glittering make up kit and attacked it. Piling it on like a weighted prayer. I knew I was asking for too much. That hiding the scar that no one but my mother and sister knows about accomplishes absolutely nothing. That the scar is there wether I can see it or not. I will never be "normal".

Still, I spent twenty minutes pretending to be covering a birth mark or a childhood accident. But as I looked again for anything else that set me apart and found nothing left, I found myself even more devastated. I felt like even more of a shameful mutant. Even more of a blemish on my family tree. This abnormal girl. This gentle abomination will always be hiding in plain sight. Why bother trying. I'm doing such a great job at unwanted solitude anyway.