What is in a reflection?

Today is twelve years since the car accident.  It is strange how something can feel so close yet so far away.  I think about it every day as if it just happened but every second that passes carries me further and further away from that moment in time.  I can sense and feel things that take me back to those exact moments.  Its like I am clawing my way back as time is pulling me forward.

I almost always write about this time of the year.  Even though today isn't the day it happened, I know what today represents.  There is always a weight on my chest because there is nothing that can undo it.  I wanted to write from a different perspective.  As always what I write is always personal, and takes courage.  I do not expect comments or acknowledgement.  These thoughts are a weight on my chest and I find that by releasing these feelings and words, I am able to release the power and hold it may have on my life at that certain time.

I thought I would write about what it is like to look at pictures of myself from before the accident. Of course that is silly. I look the same but just a little different. Actually I know when I am looking at myself but it is like looking at a stranger.  I have said before that I don't see any resemblance to the person in the photo but others say they do. I guess I'm so used to seeing myself with scars that its hard for me to see myself without them.

From time to time someone who did not know me before the accident will ask to see photos of me from before...and usually the first thing they say is "ooh you were so pretty!!!" then there is this awkward silence followed by.. "I mean...you are pretty now...but you were pretty then too......." and I say Thanks because I'm not sure if that is a compliment, or how to even respond to something like that.

A couple of weeks ago a friend shared a photo of she and I on my timeline.  It was one I had never seen before.  I am guilty of staring at myself deeply in the mirror every day..so this photo was something new, something I hadn't been desensitized to.  I found myself looking at it over and over again.

Looking at myself in this photo reminded me of a time before the accident when I would find myself alone in front of the mirror.  The fourteen year old I was disgusted by the reflection she saw. I hated my big lips. my cheeks. my nose. my eyes. my ears. I hated every part of my body.  The person I was did not feel beautiful. As often as I could I would take a shower immediately following dinner so that I could throw up everything I had eaten just a few minutes before.  The running water masked the sound of my purging. Admitting this is difficult because I sit here typing this, a 26 year old woman..and I actually think I look really pretty in most photos of myself from before the accident.

There are times when I can look at a photo and I feel like I am dreaming.  Every second that is passing is simply something I am imagining. The 14 year old me was unhappy with life and spent many nights crying myself to sleep. That is what I remember about myself.  Then I start wondering why. It wasn't hard to bring to life the feelings I had.. just by reading my journal.  I truly believe writing is good but I decided to delete a few things after going back a bit in time. There were things I had forgotten and reading it made me sad.

The thing is.. I'm not the same person that I was in the photos. I won't ever be the same person.  No matter how long I stare at myself in a photo, or the mirror.. I will still have this body. I will still be in the present time.  I grieve for my body and I grieve for this person whom I have deemed a stranger. Its interesting what time can do. the girl in the photo picked at everything she could not change. It makes me sad to hear others talk down about themselves.  I can only imagine the length they'd go to feel better about themselves.  My recovery has helped me appreciate myself. Even if its just by not verbally tearing my body apart.

There have been times when I have contemplated life, wondering if this life of mine is a result of not being appreciative of what I was.

I can't find the words to describe the numbness I feel looking at this photo.  Pretty sure I still had dry blood in my hair. I