The scar on my forehead
I haven't told my boyfriend the true reason behind the scar on my forehead. It's a faint scar of where I had 4 stitches that once held a wound filled with a shameful truth I've never learned to deal with.
One of my earliest memories were of me being woken up, yet again, to my mother's loud screams letting me know I've had to go school. I was still in first grade. I had no friends, and my teacher was mean. I just didn't want to get out of bed; for fear that I will sit alone in break time with my food in hand. My mom didn't care. I lied, I said I was sick and I wanted to stay home. My mom left and came back 10 minutes later. "You are still in bed! Get the f*** up," she said. "Mom, I don't feel well. I want to stay home, please," I wept. She got more and more upset, the longer I've told her how much I wanted to go home.
After all my long pleas, it was already pretty late for school. My older siblings were all ready, and waiting in the car. My dad drove away because he couldn't wait any longer, for he had work to get to. When my mom realized my dad left, she came back furious.
I could see it in her eyes. Mom had anger issues. She couldn't keep herself together. She would totally change when she would be angry. She came into my room, grabbed one of sister's shoes and threw it across the room. It was meant to hit me in the face, and it sure did. Then she came closer, grabbed it from the side of the bed and hit me on my face with it for one last time. "YOU DESERVE IT," she said with so much rage.
She said I couldn't stay in bed. I had to go and study. As I got out of bed then to the door, I couldn’t keep it together. I started to cry. I couldn't help it. It only infuriated her more.
She then pushed me. I fell on the open doors of the cabinet, which my sister had left open earlier as she got ready. My forehead split open.
I blacked out. My only other memory was crying after I've my stitches done. One, two, three, four stitches held together much more than the wound. It was the sign of my weakness. It carried my cross of my shame.
I heard my mom telling the doctor that I'd been cunningly going to the garden to play, without telling her and that's how I've gotten the scar.
That's the story I've told ever since. Not because I wanted to lie, but because it's so much less appalling. I feel nothing but shame for my abusive past. I make almost no mention of it.
I'm scared that one day when people learn of my dark past, they will abandon me. I fear the day that my loved ones leave because I'm a broken person. Who wants to be with a broken person? Who wants to be a no one? a worthless human being? No one.
It's been 4 years into my current relationship. My boyfriend has no clue of my past. I feel so much guilt daily for my shame. I feel like I've misled him into loving me, when he could be with someone who is actually worthy of his kind and tender love.