It's the scars you can't see that hurt the worst. You can see those big gashes on my chest, but what about the fear that no one will ever see me as attractive again? What about the thought of growing old alone? What about the thought of never being loved by a man? What about the thought that I'll never have sex again? Body image doesn't even begin to cover it. Am I beautiful? Am I a woman? Am I human? I don't look like other people. I don't have the same anatomy as other females. I don't feel the same as I used to.
There is sadness and loss. How do I work through it with all these drugs running through my veins? I'm scared of letting go and grieving. I'm scared of giving up the medicine that masks the pain. I'm afraid to drink. I'm afraid not to drink.
Am I brave or am I in denial? I'm so tired that I'm not sure if I have the energy to work through all of these questions. So, tomorrow, I will start this hard work. I will take one question at a time, and I will fight back. If this is grief, I refuse to let it take over my life. The real battle begins now, and I am a warrior.