Drawing Over Old Scars


I started having sex when I was seventeen years old. I didn’t lose my virginity to anyone I loved and it certainly wasn’t special. I lost my virginity because I was in the middle of a rebellious breakdown. My method of backlash was simply to do the exact opposite of anything that I had ever been taught by my harshly conservative Christian parents. This meant drinking to excess as often as possible, sleeping with anyone who would have me, taking drugs immediately without asking questions as soon as they were handed to me, and simply trashing my body and my life. I had a couple of friends warn me that I was living too compulsively and recklessly, but pretty soon I drove away even those close friends. I could not be given advice or told anything.

I had a pretty fucked-up five or six years before I got wise. I don’t think I can look back at a single event as the straw that broke the camel’s back, but I trashed many friendships, broke several hearts, was arrested two times and fired three times, solidly wasted my college career and experience, wasted thousands upon thousands of dollars on drugs and booze, and failed to give myself the respect or time that I needed. Halfway through this difficult and lost time in my life I also lost my father. This was salt on the wound. I can barely believe that I have made it this far.

I just turned twenty-six three days ago and have never felt more bittersweet. I have given up being a drunk. I have given up being a slut. I have been in a healthy and rewarding relationship for about three months now. I have given up being a druggie. I even gave away all my Adderall. I recently left on a backpacking trip through South America, but before that I was a tolerable and (I’d like to think) valuable worker at both of my jobs. I have been doing yoga and running, and those two exercises alone make my mind and body feel fit and active. I routinely write in my blog and receive positive feedback from those who read it.

All in all, things are looking up. There are many things I wish I could change about my past, but I realized that the present is all that matters. It’s what time am I getting up in the morning and what am I Googling and who am I helping and how am I learning today and what am I spending my money on and what kind of questions am I asking and am I calling my mother and my grandmother and how gracious am I being to my sister and how can I be a better person and what am I planting and what am I feeding my body and my mind and what am I cooking and what book am I reading and am I writing and how am I being…

It’s tough, shameful, and embarrassing to have a past like mine. People don’t ever forget the girl at the party that no one invited who fucked their boyfriend. But it’s too late to change the past and I think I am finally over it. I am drawing over those old scars with the life I am living today, and for that I am truly thankful.