Giddy Giraffee #4
I have 488 little “things” that make my life happy. Mind you 488 is an approximate number, but the official count has to be pretty close. If the doctor’s calculations were correct I have a +/- 4% buffer zone.
I lost skin pigmentation on the front part of my lower abdomen when I was 13. The area affected stretches from hip to hip and at the largest point is about three inches tall and at the shortest maybe a half inch. This area was completely albino white, until about 3 years ago when I started taking medication and skin pigmentation began to slowly return. My pigmentation returned in a spotted, dotted, speckled – insert adjective of personal preference – pattern. Simply put these tiny little things, these spots make me smile, but it hasn’t always been the case.
I used to be mortified of my markings. Any situation that makes a 13 year old pull her pants down repeatedly in the doctor’s office can be a hard thing to handle. Combine that with the fact that my mother gave permission to have my condition photographed for research and you might be able to grasp the intensity of my spot complex. I refused to wear a two piece swimsuit, low cut jeans were out of the question, and on several attempts I bought fleshed colored markers to see if I could fix the problem myself.
Surprise, Surprise, makers didn’t work, and gradually I came to accept the fact that my spots were permanent. (unlike the promise on the marker package.) For the most part, I did a good job at hiding my disfigurement. These few inches became completely taboo, no one got to see them and absolutely no one got to touch them.
The first time I realized I couldn’t hide forever was about a year ago. I was with a guy who was very special to me, as our relationship grew, I knew that eventually my shirt would come off. My spots would be exposed and I was certain that this meant the end of our make out sessions, dooming me to a life of being a virgin forever, in which no one would find me physically attractive, eventually leading to death- alone, bitter and spotted.
When the moment finally came I laid back on the bed and asked if I could show him what I was so afraid of. Dramatically I revealed my forbidden 3 inches. After what felt like and eternity of silence, I slowly opened my eyes. What I didn’t see was a look of disgust, I didn’t hear was a shriek of terror, he was smiling and from what I could tell laughing slightly on the inside. Slowly he leaded over and tenderly kissed my spots.
His acceptance of my greatest insecurity was life altering. Following his example I gradually came to accept me. After I worked on loving my spots, I moved to my thighs and then my elbows. My body never changed my attitude did. Physically I’m not perfect by any means, but when I was finally able to loose the chains of insecurity and release the weight of anxiety, I became happy.
I am a unique, exciting, beautiful person. My tiny little spots are a manifestation of this. For the first time ever I am a proud owner of a two piece swimsuit. If you see me at the pool this summer notice my smile, then look a little closer, if your lucky you’ll be able to see my spots.
I lost skin pigmentation on the front part of my lower abdomen when I was 13. The area affected stretches from hip to hip and at the largest point is about three inches tall and at the shortest maybe a half inch. This area was completely albino white, until about 3 years ago when I started taking medication and skin pigmentation began to slowly return. My pigmentation returned in a spotted, dotted, speckled – insert adjective of personal preference – pattern. Simply put these tiny little things, these spots make me smile, but it hasn’t always been the case.
I used to be mortified of my markings. Any situation that makes a 13 year old pull her pants down repeatedly in the doctor’s office can be a hard thing to handle. Combine that with the fact that my mother gave permission to have my condition photographed for research and you might be able to grasp the intensity of my spot complex. I refused to wear a two piece swimsuit, low cut jeans were out of the question, and on several attempts I bought fleshed colored markers to see if I could fix the problem myself.
Surprise, Surprise, makers didn’t work, and gradually I came to accept the fact that my spots were permanent. (unlike the promise on the marker package.) For the most part, I did a good job at hiding my disfigurement. These few inches became completely taboo, no one got to see them and absolutely no one got to touch them.
The first time I realized I couldn’t hide forever was about a year ago. I was with a guy who was very special to me, as our relationship grew, I knew that eventually my shirt would come off. My spots would be exposed and I was certain that this meant the end of our make out sessions, dooming me to a life of being a virgin forever, in which no one would find me physically attractive, eventually leading to death- alone, bitter and spotted.
When the moment finally came I laid back on the bed and asked if I could show him what I was so afraid of. Dramatically I revealed my forbidden 3 inches. After what felt like and eternity of silence, I slowly opened my eyes. What I didn’t see was a look of disgust, I didn’t hear was a shriek of terror, he was smiling and from what I could tell laughing slightly on the inside. Slowly he leaded over and tenderly kissed my spots.
His acceptance of my greatest insecurity was life altering. Following his example I gradually came to accept me. After I worked on loving my spots, I moved to my thighs and then my elbows. My body never changed my attitude did. Physically I’m not perfect by any means, but when I was finally able to loose the chains of insecurity and release the weight of anxiety, I became happy.
I am a unique, exciting, beautiful person. My tiny little spots are a manifestation of this. For the first time ever I am a proud owner of a two piece swimsuit. If you see me at the pool this summer notice my smile, then look a little closer, if your lucky you’ll be able to see my spots.
posted by Anonymous at 8:56 AM
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