Today I saw a girl with a tattoo across her breast bone that said “beauty is a curse.” I made me think, what this girl had gone through to so publicly advertise her pain. I believe too that beauty is a curse, and while I don’t wear it on my chest, I wear it with my whole body. You see I was made to believe that beauty was a cruse every time my grandfather abused me. It was my beauty that drew him, so it was that same beauty that caused me the pain I received at his hands. I came to believe that if I could strip away anything that was attractive that I would no longer be desire, I would not longer be abuse and in pain and I would be left alone. Now I wear baggy clothes, short hair and a lot of extra weight, so no part of that young girl’s beauty is able to peek through.
In the last couple of weeks I have been working on a slide show of pictures for my sister’s wedding. It has required me to go through the 10 or so photo albums and a huge box of pictures, looking for just the right ones. In the process, I have noticed something. When I was really young, three,
four and five, I was happy. Every picture of me is me smiling, with a smile that went soul deep, and there were so many of me. As the years pasted the look of me changed, it started in my eyes and it slowly encompassed all of me. The other thing I noticed is that the pictures of me got fewer and fewer till they were almost non-existent. If I wasn’t someone who knew better, looking through those albums, I would think that I had died. And I guess in a way that would be correct. The innocent, sweet, beautiful girl that I had been died, and left in her place was just a shell.
To this writer, beauty is a curse whether it is tattooed across our chest or in every manner of our being. It is something I have to work on – the fact that it is not beauty’s fault I was abused, and that I no longer have to hide behind a cloak of unattractiveness. That once again I can step into the
light and be the beauty I was meant to be.