This is Diana

I interviewed Diana over watermelon pieces and rose hip tea at my place on Friday night. This is a verbatim transcript of her story.

SV: What scars do you have?

Diana: I have scars on my face from very bad acne. Very severe acne that would not let up, even way after puberty. [drinks watermelon juice].

SV: What's it been like for you to have these scars?

Diana: It has definitely... [pause] what comes to me is that they have helped me learn to love myself. I mean, mind you that's a long time coming, but... they're permanent signs of how much I didn't like the way I looked. And now when I look at myself, it's been so long since I've had that problem because i took acutane --

SV: Sorry, what is that?

Diana: It's a very heavy medication that you take for 3 months and it changes the biochemical structure of your face so that you do not get acne but it's so strong...that you can't drink and if you get pregnant it'll cause a dwarfed baby so you have to have an abortion -- you have to go on the pill when you take it. So I did that because I just, I had enough. I had tried everything from creams to gells to antibiotics. So I took it for three months and I did. My last pill I remember I took when I went on my first trip to Cancun and I was like "Yay I'm free!" because I hadn't been able to drink for three months, not even on NY's

But I still had scars. I had severe scarring. But I was told that it takes time -- the meds stay in your system for a year and then they will fade. So I would burn my face. Even though you're not supposed to, I would go tanning I just wanted to burn everything off so I wouldn't put on sunscreen because I wanted to burn it all off. And slowly, over the year, they started to fade, the scars. And I actually enjoy looking at myself in the mirror anymore. No more acne, it was all just scars I didn't have to worry about. And I think maybe a year later, it was a huge difference.

I think with the scars, in a way... I had pretty good self-esteem considering, at the time. So I think it made me look at myself in the eyes more -- I would avoid looking at my face i would look into my eyes more. And I had to see myself, because I didn't think I was fully ugly, I thought 'No, I'm a pretty girl -- it's just these...' So I think that helped me look at msyelf deeper and see more beauty in myself to some degree. So when my exterior [touches face] started to fade, I saw yeah I am beautiful. I got to the point where I couldn't remember what it was like to have the [initial] scars because it had faded so much.

SV: So when are you most aware of these scars?

Diana: There are days now when it stands out for me. The days when I'm feeling fat or bloated or I'm getting my period... I look at them and I say, "wow, I can't believe what I went through" and I remember looking at my face and going "Fuck, this is brutal!" But then there are times when I do look at myself and think "Wow, I'm beautiful."

SV: What do these scars mean to other people? What kind of reactions do you get from other people about them?

Diana: Well now, a lot of people... it's not really... My mom and my sister they're like, "Oh my god, thank god! What you
went through with all those scars!" So I think it had a very huge impact on my mom and my sister. It's like I was wearing this mask of ugliness that they looked at. I think they saw the exterior more than the inside and it's funny how it helped me look inside more. And now my mom will be like, "Wow, look how beautiful you are!" It really affected me in that it made me put a lot of effort into making myself look better. You know, going to the gym, doing my hair. Now people don't really comment so much on my acne. Now it's just me. I would always think people were looking at my scars.

SV: Can you talk a bit about the process you underwent today?

Diana: Microdermabrasion. From my gorgeous friend J---. She's absolutely stunningly beautiful. She does everything. This woman. Every treatment. She keeps her body, you know, top-notch. So I heard about microdermabrasian and I said, "Listen, for my birthday I want that!" and I went. And as they're shaving -- they literally shave off my face -- it was like I was being reborn in a way. It was like: that mask, it's time to come off. I think I was hiding myself. Hiding my beauty from the world. And there's a part of me that's almost afraid to let it out. 'Cause I get so much of a reaction now that it's like: what's going to happen when I'm really all done up.

SV: What kind of reaction do you get now?

Diana: Just, um, people stare and you know. Almost every guy will hit on me, that I meet. And almost in a way, it makes me feel bad to turn people down. In a way I can't wait 'til I get married. And I think you just have to kind of get used to people looking at you.... But yeah I feel like it's really time to take off the mask and really let myself shine thorugh. And now I'm excited. I asked the woman what would be her plan to clear it all up... I said, what would you do? And she gave me a six week plan for six week. And I almost was like: I really wanna do it. I really wanna do it. So I'm seeing if I can afford it or find someone else, cheaper. It's time to let go of the part of me that's afraid to come out. I am so afraid to come out into the world, in a way. What are they gonna think of me?

It's time for me to be myself in the world and not to hide behind any mask anymore. Behind anything. And it's all good timing -- in the past it wasn't time for me to be in that world in that way. And now, I see my physical transforming in a way and -- this is nothing. It's amazing what's gonna happen you know? As it continues to happen. Even like after, you know, after I cry. People look at me and are like "What did you do different?" There's a part of me that's afraid to be vulnerable in the world. Like how am I going to protect myself? The more I feel safe, the more it'll come out and...

This is Mike

This is Mike's story (as told by Francesca):

Dear Svea,

I made a friend last Friday. His name is Mike, and I'm going to try and tell you his story although it may not be as good as his version. You may have to re-write it to make it sound better.

Mike was biking as a kid, down a really steep hill near his house. At the bottom of the hill was a sharp turn, a construction site, and a layer of wet cobbled stones. Mike was going fast down the hill, and, not slowing down enough to make it round the corner, he did a sort of swerve, and somehow managed to fall off the bike, landing head first on the stones. From there, things come in threes... The car coming towards him managed to see him, stop and get out without hitting him, and he had a mobile phone to ring an ambulance (this was a few years ago!); Standing in the middle of the construction site was the project manager who also happened to be the first aid guy, so he ran and got his kit and was able to provide care; Walking down the hill was a nurse just finished her shift. Between them, Mike was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance, where he was given 5 stitches. This part's not so nice... The anaesthetist wasn't able to get the anaesthetic in properly, so Mike had five injections, with very little pain relief, although apparenlty this wasn't such an issue because he'd lost half of his tooth and so was much more focused on the pain from the exposed nerve in his mouth. Aaaaaagh!!

I listened to the entire story before asking if I could take a photo of his scar. As I was taking his picture, I wanted him to relax, so he kept talking, that kind of nervous babble where you change subject and mix ideas and so on. All I really remember from it is something about the nurse telling the construction guy to make sure he was wearing gloves, but I managed to get this photo, and I hope it works for your site.

This is Andrea

This is Andrea's story:

i have a cooler scar than you.

due to much demand: the story.

when i was born (prematurely), i was born with a hole in my diaphragm. my liver and intestines would invade through the hole and repeatedly collapse my lungs, i think about 8 or 9 times. the doctors told my parents that i had no hope of making it... but nonetheless went in when i was 2 weeks old and fixed the hole. they saved me (rather obviously), and left me a fantastically large scar to enjoy. it has never stretched, so you can imagine what it looked like on a 4 pound baby!

the best scar-related comment i've ever had was in grade four, in the girl's changeroom after gym class. cool girl (not me) to loser girl (me):
"i feel so sorry for you! you can never wear a bikini."

perhaps in retaliation, by the time i hit grade nine i not only had a surface piercing in my scar, but had also cut a scar-shaped hole in a tank top the better to display it.

hurrah for living, and for surgeons.

______

Andrea sent me the link to her story on Flickr. These are some of the comments her posting inspired:


"Scars are tattoos with better stories."

"Wow! Medicine can be so amazing. How wonderfully fortunate for you! :o)"

"I agree: wear your scars proudly."

"Thanks for the story. I'm a nurse in a neonatal ICU and it's great to know these crazy miracles babies grow up to be proud of their scars and what they went through."

"Great story, great scar, great shot. ... I cut my finger once. Is that anything?"

"amazing everything."

"That's totally awesome! I say we should all be proud of ALL of our bodies, including the things others perceive as imperfections!"

This is Jolene

This is Mica

This is Barry

This is Cookie

This is Cookie's story.

Perfection and purification. My facial scar is about the sense that my body is full of toxins: pollution that picking and puking will eliminate. When I feel that I have removed some of the ‘dirt’ or ‘oil’, I want to see it. This scar was once a hole through which I wanted to look.

I wanted to dissect the ‘benign facial cyst’ which surfaced on my right cheek when I was thirteen, and which I had removed by a cosmetic surgeon named Dr. Younger. He showed me the mass that he had excised. It was bloody and about the size of a large pea. I had a strong desire to see it cut open, to see what my imperfection was made of. I did not ask to. Instead I left the operating room with my face swollen and bandaged, a young woman one blemish lighter. Before the swelling had disappeared and the bandage removed, I was surprised by my mother’s comment: “Oh, C, it already looks better!” Meant in a generous and loving way, her comment made me very glad to have done the cosmetic operation. It hurt; I felt cleaner.

This is Susanna

Susanna had breast reduction surgery when she was sixteen. I took these photos in her west coast living room. This is Susanna's story:

I had breast reduction surgery two weeks before my seventeenth birthday. I come from a long line of large-breasted women: my mother is southern Italian, and all the women on her side of the family are short, dark, and huge-chested. By the time I was sixteen, my breasts were gigantic beyond the A-DD scale. I wore XXL sports bras with the straps cut and sewn shorter.

I hated having huge breasts. I felt cheated by them: I had all the downsides of big boobs – back pain, difficulty fitting into clothes and bras, unwanted attention from men – with none of the upsides. Squashed into too-tight sports bras, my breasts looked like one giant uni-boob on the front of my body – decidedly not sexy. I could never wear spaghetti-strap or halter tops to show off my chest, because skimpy tops wouldn’t conceal my huge and unattractive bras.

After surgery, once the pain wore off and the bandages were gone, I felt terrific. I can’t resist saying that I felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders – emotionally and physically, I really did. I remember the first normal bra I wore. It was black with grey flowers on it. I was thrilled. I kept flashing everyone my new breasts – I finally felt like they were sexy.

The initial elation was a great self-esteem boost, but it didn’t erase my body issues completely. When I showed my new breasts to a male friend, with whom I had been in complicated sexual relationship for a while and whose approval I was desperate for, he poked them disinterestedly and said, “I thought they’d be perkier.” I remember that moment so clearly, how crushed and mortified I felt.

Post-surgery, my breasts were down to a C-cup. Unfortunately, I wasn’t completely done puberty yet, and in the years following my surgery, my breasts kept growing. My breasts are now too big to fit into normal North American bras so I order them online from the UK. I often think about getting surgery again. I am jealous of friends who can go without bras. It seems so freeing, so comfortable and sexy. But generally I feel good about my breasts, scars and all. I don’t think my scars are ugly or weird-looking; in fact, they make me feel a bit special. Like my boobs are uniquely mine.

This is Agi

This is Agi's story.

I have an ex above my eye, an ex above my lips and an indistinct something beside my…hmmm…left eye [I had to check again in the mirror – I never know which side it is on]. When I was a little girl every time I would meet a new kid they would ask me what is that? How did it happen to you? …obviously grownups don’t do that sort of thing really and sometimes I wish they did. Each time as I would answer those questions as a little girl, I would feel special; I would feel like someone wanted to know my story. Like it mattered what happened to me, and it made me feel tough, like I’ve been through something, like I survived.

The one on the left side of my eye, close to the temple was a close brush with the lady of the scythe. It happened when I was five. I used to go away on holidays with only my father. He was a young dad and apparently he could pick up all the chicks with me sitting on his shoulders, holding onto his big curly head of hair. I had fallen asleep one night and he needed to carry me up these very steep stairs. They were in a vacation house in the mountains; part of the highland style housing that is steep in every way. The stairs were almost like a ladder. As my dad was walking up the stairs one of the railing pieces he grabbed came loose and went flying into me. Apparently my father will never forget how the blood was squirting from what looked like my temple. It was a close call but nothing really happened, thankfully I wasn’t whisked off to a hospital, the skin healed on its own and I honestly do not even remember this event. I like the way the scar looks and the fact that I don’t really associate much trauma with it. I’ve seen pictures with a compress over that area but overall it seemed like a small thing in comparison to what happened the next year.

A room full of adults having dinner at a huge round table at my grandma’s place. There are two children, the first a girl six years old [me] - the other a boy three years old [my cousin]. The girl is thirsty and is given compote to drink out of a small glass cup – the boy jumps onto her just at the moment when she has the glass cup in her mouth – it shatters and splits her lip in two, close to the crease on the right side, a small shard also cuts a small wound above her right eye. The blood is thick and dark crimson in colour. The girl is wearing a striped turtleneck, the pink and maroon stripes quickly turn to crimson and vermillion. That site she will never forget. Sitting looking at herself in the mirror of her grandmother’s oak vanity she sees herself soaked in blood, waiting for help to arrive. Two of them finally arrive in an ambulance, they tell everyone to clear the room, she’s left alone with them, one of them holds her, the other one sews her up, no anesthetics ...the pain is only a blur. She’ll never forget what one of them said close to the end – “we’re almost done, we’ll just sew this up quickly [referring to the wound above the left eye] it’ll feel like a mosquito bite” – my ass! That was the most painful mosquito bite I’ve ever had in my life! It felt awful to say the least. I was being saved yet at the same time I felt constrained, violated, and thrown into an abyss without protection of anyone I counted on. It felt like a rape of sorts.

This scar of mine is drawn in the history of our family. The guilt they all felt when I was screaming – they said later they’ve never heard someone scream like that. All they could do was stand on the other side of the door waiting for it to be over. I know it was an accident, no one’s fault really, it happened in spite of them – I believe they couldn’t have done much to prevent it - either way. I sat there waiting for it to happen perhaps, testing my own destiny and theirs. Strange the pain you forget, it is the guilt you don’t – even if it isn’t your own. I see the pattern of destruction. I see how that event had the power to shape so much in my life. How a seemingly simple cause and effect brought so much change in my young mind and strained my relationship towards men and my father. He was the one who was supposed to prevent this from happening – or so he feels, but he was unable to predict it. I in turn had to repeat certain patterns of destruction later on in my life to finally feel closure. And the presence of my attraction to pain will always be there – it is a love and hate relationship with myself. It was a loss of innocence in quite brutal of ways. I hate and love these “ex” scars, as they signify pain, and death. Death of what exactly …..?

My father left that year to go to Canada [I lived in Poland until I was ten]…maybe the death of the closeness I felt with him, and the protection he failed to provide. A death of the pure bliss that is childhood, which I am trying to desperately find again - to laugh and play like I used to – and feel like the world loved me for who I was no questions asked, without any doubts. The scars are so small now …. my face grew into them. As I rediscover my inner self and the power and beauty that lie inside, beyond all the externalities – a smile is creeping back into my face more and more.

***

This is Alina

Alina has a small scar just beneath her eyebrow.