Oh Doodle, It'll Be Ok: You Should See My Scars

Scars are sexy. I firmly believe this and don't know that I've ever met anyone who doesn't agree.

But my scars? No.

I'll admit that I'm a biter. But you should never, ever bite someone's scars unless you know it's ok. Asking permission really is better than asking for forgiveness, people. And it's much less likely to slam the brakes on sexy-time and send people home alone.

Scars are both hidden and visible. For the most part, I prefer to keep mine hidden (then why am I airing them here to the interweb? Good question. Because Sharing is Caring?)

It's now 4 years later and my "track marks" are finally gone, unless you're determined and know where to look. I even had a lab tech tell me recently that I had good veins. I laughed at her. I still think she just got lucky, but anyone who can stick an IV in me on the first shot has to know something. I've had far too many visits to labs where it took seven tries before there was success to completely discredit her knowledge or skill.

I've had a classmate accuse me of having a Hickey on my neck, and then refuse to believe it was anything but, causing a rather embarrassing scene in front of the rest of the class. I can always tell when new people in my life are looking at my neck scar, curious but too polite or sober to ask about it yet. My favorite thing to do is make up stories about my scars. The neck slash is usually the result of a bar fight I was in "back in the day." You should see the other guy ;)

I haven't worn a low-cut shirt in years because of my port scars. Forget bathing suits. I'm sure they're far worse in my head than they are in reality, but the incision sites keloided when they healed and I'm not comfortable displaying them to just anyone. (Inner Voices once left me a voicemail where he made cheesy Port jokes the entire time and I will always love him for that.)

The reason I never wear shorts is split. First, I really am very allergic to the sun. I make jokes because it's something that is honestly funny to me, but exposure to the sun hurts like nobody's business. But the secondary reason is my knee scars. My divots. It looks like someone once played golf on my knee and did not follow proper etiquette and replace them. Bad knee golfer! This analogy amuses me greatly because when I had a cane (2 lovely years-because of my knees) we used to play golf in the office with it. Some of the handles make great putters. Being the resident cripple was a tough job, but damn we had some fun times.

I still occasionally (though thankfully less frequently) require the stability of a cane and it's not something I like to admit to needing. I even keep one in my vehicle at all times. Yes I own more than one cane. (This does not lessen my desire for a Cane Corso.) Don't stare like an asshole when you see someone under the age of 60 rocking a cane. Yes, you may call them House, a Pimp, or (much more rarely and depending exclusively on the person and the tone used) "Handicapped Whore-Bag." Please recognize that you're nowhere near the first one to think of the nickname.

I have a ridiculous level of self-confidence and cocky. I am rather in love with myself and don't try to deny my narcissism.

But sometimes all of that is bluff and bluster, a disguise to hide my scars behind, a shield to make sure no one can get close enough to peek underneath.

It's been almost 6 years now since all of my unhealthiness began and sometimes I really just want to pretend that I have a normal life. That I had a typical twenties experience. That what you see is what you get with me. And sometimes I can pretend very well. Until I meet new people. Or until the old people ask, in that concerned tone that doesn't let you lie to them, "How's everything going?"



Doodle takes Dad's scissors to her skin,
And when she does relief comes setting in.
While she hides the scars she's making underneath her pretty clothes,
She sings:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?

Fun Fact: No Doubt and Garbage are both rumored to be in studio right now. This isn't the first time over the years that I've heard such things though, so I wouldn't recommend holding your breath. If they decide to tour together again my fangirl heart might explode. If they were to bring Spinnerette (the Distillers' front-lady Brody Dalle's "new" project) along for the ride I would surely die on the spot. They are amazing live acts and to see them on one stage is something that should enjoyed as often as possible. Bring earplugs. Long live 2002!

Trust, Love, Friendship, Loss, Vulnerability

I don't trust easily. I don't trust completely, no matter how long I've known someone. Every slip of information, every shared detail is something I have analyzed and decided is acceptable to share. Unless I've been drinking; Drunk Kay has no qualms about sharing all of the things that sober me is much more guarded with. As a result there are a very tiny number of people I trust enough to drink around anymore.

There is specific information I am comfortable sharing on the interweb and more information that I am not. This blog exists in some weird sort of vacuum. I will share some of the most intimate thoughts that I won't even speak out loud, but I won't post a picture of myself. Pictures of me are not something I am comfortable sharing anywhere on the interweb. From time to time I will update my profile pictures, but I don't feel entirely secure having my picture anywhere online. Just because everyone else does it doesn't mean it's safe. Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you ;) My close friends get emails or texts to update them, to let them know what I look like when I make a change or when I'm bored and want to make faces at them. My immediate family doesn't even know what my current hair color or style are. I should probably email them...

Admission: I am absolutely the worst at personal relationships. Friends, family, associates. I adore people, I treasure personal connections. I have a habit of retreating into my head and forgetting to check in with others. And then I lose track of time. I don't realize I haven't seen or talked to someone in a month, I can recall our last meeting like it was only a day or two ago. If I don't have some reason to see people regularly, the relationship starts to fade because I simply don't realize that I'm not checking in. Super-douchey, yes?

This is the technology age, there are many ways to keep in touch and remedy this line-of-sight problem. So I suppose here we are. I email. I Skype. I blog. I hate Facebook and try to avoid it as much as possible. It sucks all of the happy out of my soul. The most reliable way of getting in contact with me is email, and sometimes I just don't know what to say, so I don't. A line I read in a book by the Dalai Lama a million years ago said something about never needing to unsay that which has not been said. That is probably the most true statement I have ever read and one that runs through my head a lot lately. My own father emailed me 2 weeks ago and I haven't replied yet. I just don't know what to say to him.

For someone who has taken so many English classes, who decided upon English as a major, you'd think I'd have all the words, all the time. But I can't lie. And sometimes I can't or don't want to share the truth right now. And then there's really nothing left to say.


As soon as things get awkward, as soon as someone else makes me feel uncomfortable because of words I shared or some vulnerability I let them see, I let go of them a little bit. If someone else lets the drifting start to happen, I don't stop them. I don't like awkward. I don't like goodbye.

I will miss the shit out of you and I will never stop caring about you, but I think it's better to keep the memories of good than let it turn into bad. Today I actually wrote out a list of all the friendships I've let slip away. It wasn't a short list. It didn't feel good, but I really don't know any other way of functioning.

There are too many people I love, spread too far apart, and I am running myself into the ground. If you make the first move I promise I'll try my best to make a counter-move, but I have no first moves left in me. I am drained. I don't need you any less, if anything I need you more than ever, I just can't let anymore pieces of me go right now. I am plagued by crippling self-doubt. I need to get my cocky back. I've lost so much Kaylena, I need to find her. I don't even know the first place to look.

I have none of the answers and far too many questions.