Damage

For as long as I can remember, I have felt like damaged goods.  I have felt like I'm not good enough, clean enough, pretty enough, thin enough, or whatever other adjective you'd like to insert there.  I have felt this way since childhood.  My mom taught me to swallow all the bullshit I could handle so nobody would leave.  I learned very early on how to hide my damage so that only I knew how damaged I actually was.  Lately, though, I'm hiding that damage less frequently because I'm coming to terms with my laundry list of issues.  Yes, I'm BP.  Yes, I have fibro.  Yes, I'm a big girl.  Yes, I'm lazy and would rather sleep than sweat.  But that isn't what is on my mind today.

What if I just accepted that I am damaged goods and moved on?  Wouldn't that be freeing?  Yes, I am damaged.  Yes, damage has been done to me.  Yes, I'm even in therapy for my damage.  So what?  It doesn't make me any less damaged to hide it, and it doesn't make me any more damaged to not hide it.  What if it just is what it is and that's it?  And further, what if I took a stand and said "If you can't take me as I am, damage and all, then move along" ?  What about that? 

Right now, this is my truth.  I'm flawed, fractured, and damaged.  And right now, I'm ok with that.  Half an hour ago, I wasn't.  But someone said something to me that made it all make sense.  I'm damaged.  So what?

Aren't we all?