“MAMA, DOES SHE HAVE A BOO BOO?”

My dear friend, Carly, has the two most beautiful, smart and charismatic daughters I have ever been lucky enough to meet.  She has an adorable 8-month old and a curious 3-year-old.  I went back to my hometown today and met up with Carly and her lovely family to say hello and catch-up on four months worth of time spent apart since I moved away.  I love both her daughters for warming up my heart in ways other children never have.  Her eldest daughter today pointed at a finger on my right hand and inquired about the yellow teddy bear band-aid  it was enveloped in.  She looked up at Carly with

WHY DON’T YOU SEE WHAT I SEE?

I look in the mirror and see an insecure me. The me that can’t see beyond the big, brown, wondrous eyes traced in emerald green eyeliner and thick black lashes.  The me that can’t smile because the red, irritated skin, peels so much it begins to crack and bleed.  The me that can’t smile because the skin underneath my nose and corners of my mouth feel rigid and tight.

I look in the mirror and see a scaly monster, the monster everyone at school and at work sees.