Written by Nancy Hickson on April 08, 2021
—Nancy Hickson
Virtual Open Mic is a chance to share your truth and find healing through stories. All submissions are published without editing. Write your story, share a video, or record a podcast.
This writing was inspired by the first virtual peer support I attended a few weeks ago. May this give back to inspire others! Thank you all, especially Jessica Irven for encouraging me to share this here. She called my writing art! - With those words, I found another "piece" of myself (and my voice).
In Gratitude,
Nancy
Sensory overloads!
Processing smells, the pain, the hospitals.
The need to be alone yet wanting support. The pull and tug!
The mental, emotional struggle is sometimes worse than the physical pain.
Not knowing what to ask for, what I need- yet!
Maybe it's the shock!
Definitely wishing and hoping time would speed up, to pass this recovery phase.
Maybe then I will be normal once again.
I know this is not true, nothing will ever be the same again.
Open wounds, every surgery, each skin graft, even infected donor site pushes me back.
Oh, the mind, so fragile!
Starting over again,- the reset, it brings me back to the beginning. This vicious cycle, the internal dialog,-
Is any of this making a difference?
Does it even matter?
Are these surgeries making me whole again?
Doctor visits, poking and prodding at my body. Their Intense looks to analyze,
to learn, to help.
It feels intrusive!
They discuss, ask questions, but are not directed at me.- doctors, medical students and staff, my parents, discussing what process to take. How is it best to proceed, to fix this? “Am I a project” -thinking to myself.
Why do they not discuss things with me?
Why not Include me in this?
Am I not the one living this experience?
I AM still me!
These moments send a message, the realization that maybe “I am not enough”,
not “perfect” as I am?
I look in the mirror, it's hard to see me, who I have become, -the glimpse in the mirror, reflecting (mostly) my scars. They have become "me", who I am now,
that little girl that was burned.
Does this now define who I am?
It is difficult to look. I don’t like what I see.
How could anyone else accept me, like me, as I am?
My scars are hidden. You are lucky, they say.
A burn survivor's wish,- to not be treated differently, this rings true for me.
To be seen past the scars, to be seen for who we truly are.
Hidden scars seemingly easier than those with visible scars.
The visible scars are “out in public”, maneuvering, managing the daily stares. Hidden scars, this person perceived potentially as "normal', yet challenged by the awstaking stares, shocked gaze when we put a bathing suit on or shed a piece of clothing. Scars unveiled, no longer protected. The secret is out, no longer hidden by garments.
The need for mental preparation for these situations, to be ready, to explain my appearance.
Triggers, they bring me right back to the accident, making it hard to talk about or to be in those situations. Avoid them, isolate yourself from it all. I convince myself this is best. The hiding takes over, buried from the feelings, the ones I know I need to shed light on. The darkness is easier, to introduce this to myself first.
Time! Necessary for the healing to start.
To accept this has happened.
Without shame I learn to fully embrace my story! To honor it! It has changed me.
I look in the mirror, see myself fully.
Less as a “victim”, now calling myself a survivor.
This takes practice! It is worth it, I am worth it!
To heal,-the moments throughout time, all I ever needed was to allow myself to feel!