Scar Project

CASE #1327

2010-07-28T06:29:00.001-07:00

At a young age my MOM asked me if I would have liked a younger brother, I said Yes, she told me about a younger brother who had died at 2 days old. Then I know just to share she mentioned how while she was carrying him in her belly, she was up with me walking in the house one night when I was 2 years old and I kicked her belly and was she sore, and another time while still carrying him and walking holding me she fell on a hill in the neighborhood and was also sore. I know she never ment to make me feel guilt or blame for his death but boy I did, even at that young age of I estimate 6 - 10 years old. Never would I tell her, how I felt, she died in my home some years back the day after Thanksgiving and I never mentioned it to her. the next July I decided to honor my brother and mother by placing a large butterfly balloon at his grave with a sunflower on the day of his birth. Two days later on the day he died I went back to his popper grave marked only with a number and released the balloon. The scare of that pain I had is still they but I have grown. As a result I will always remember my baby brother Joseph, the brother I know I liked. I would have liked to make my story into a book to help people suffering loss, thanks for the possibility of makeing it kinda a reality in a book, Yours truely, Leo G. 01/20/59, my divorce after 28 years did not leave the same type of scar. Thank You

CASE #1326

2010-03-23T08:08:00.001-07:00

Newly married, new baby, 1986, new lump, age 31. The words were hard to hear, have surgery to remove my left breast. I had a baby, I wanted to see her grow up. Would I see that?

Happy Birthday to me, my 32nd birthday, my left breast was removed. Three months later the right breast was removed. Twenty-four years later I am cancer free and I have never regretted what happened to me. I saw my daughter graduate from college and become a nurse. My son was born in 1990. Cancer did not rule my life. Everytime I look in the mirror I think back to 1986 and I say I am a beautiful woman!

CASE #1325

2010-02-08T08:26:00.000-08:00

On August 10th,2009 , about 4 days after I found out I was 3 weeks pregnant, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Never did I think I would be diagnosed at the age of 23. But it happened. After being told by 4 drs to terminate my pregnancy, I decided to leave it in gods hands and said if he wants this child to be here he will let it happen. I just had a misscarraige in Oct. 2008, so I figured god sent this baby for a reason.

On October 8th I had my bilateral masectomy with removal of my lymphnodes on the right side only. We found out it was a stage 2 and it had not spread. But for better results I had to start my chemo. I started the first week of November 2009, I go into the hospital for 4-5 days and get my chemotherapy so they can monitor the baby. I am currently on my 4th treatment and am due to have a healthy baby on April 6th, 2010.

I think my story and scars will help get out an important message to young people all over, that being diagnosed while pregnant does not only happen to woman in their late 30s mid 40s. It can happen in your 20s also. I think I had more of that chance because my mother was also diagnosed with breast cancer in her late 20s but was a stage 3b I believe. But regaurdless of passed history or not. It is something that should not be taken lightly as I did. I was told to do a preventative masectomy at te age of 19, and look where waiting got me. From DD's to painful tissue expanders. But I am happier than I have ever been in my life and really wouldn't change a thing.

Well that's my story, if you need a photo, please let me know. I am writing this on my I phone at 5 am while getting my treatment right now.

Thank you for reading my story,
- C

CASE #1324

2009-12-04T07:50:00.000-08:00

Bad knees run in my family.
Myself and three brothers had surgery.
I had it done first. Left knee cartilage removed in 1976 before orthoscopic techniques were around. I was playing basketball with a tennis ball with my friend Rodney in the cafeteria in 8th grade. Pivot and hookshot...arghhh!

CASE #1323

2009-12-03T08:29:00.000-08:00

I'm the youngest of 5 kids in the family. When I was one year old I grabbed a glass and started to run away drinking whatever was in it. I fell and the glass shattered and cut me from the lip up to my nose.

I'm told that my mother had to get my older brother and 2 older sisters into the car while holding my lip shut on the way to the hospital. If she let go it would spurt out all over her.

When she reached the hospital the nurses asked where she was hurt since she was cover in my blood. Meanwhile, my oldest sister came home from school and was horrified to find an empty house and blood all over the kitchen... I think it traumatized her for life.

Personally, I don't remember any of it, but my brother sticks by this story. According to him, I saw the glass and yelled, "Beer!" and took off running. He may be right – to this day the taste of beer makes me nauseous.

CASE #1322

2009-03-10T08:47:00.000-07:00

My kneecap just would not stay in place so they had to get really aggressive. My scar is just a part of me and my story. Because of my scar and all the surgeries I will be able to walk.

CASE #1321

2008-06-25T06:14:00.001-07:00

I don't have pictures of my scars but I ave a fair few scars.
I have one below my bottom lip because when I was younger I fell and bit through it.
I ave one trough my right eyebrow because i fell and split it open.
I have one on my left side from slipping onto a draining board and landing on the knife that was in it.
I also have one under my nose because I fell off a wardrobe

CASE #1320

2008-01-16T13:26:00.000-08:00

Cell phones and the way many people use them can be pretty annoying. You wonder why they use them so much. But the one time when a cell phone comes in right handy can be a good thing. Here's one of those times. I was on my way to an appointment with my primary care physician in New York City to consult with him about some puzzling internal bleeding I was experiencing. As I exited the subway I collapsed on a bench and could go no further.

A passer-by seeing that I needed help, promptly whipped out his cell phone to call 911. Then he called my Sweetie with the news. The next thing I knew was waking up in the hospital with tubes and transfusions and monitors surrounding me. Ten days later I woke up in the ICU having had a pancreatic tumor removed and a giant scar gracing my abdomen. The downward curve echos the way I felt about things, but if you turn the page upside down, it then says that the unfortunate experience turned out well. Tumor gone, health returned, and a permanent reminder that good people with handy cell phones are nice to have around. Sometimes.

CASE #1319

2007-09-28T15:15:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful day at the beach. My cousin Joanna and I'd just won a game of bacci ball with the help of one can of Miller Lite. In celebration I jumped into the ocean to cool off then hopped on my bicycle to go across the way to grab some garlic powder from my aunt's beach rental. I'd been slaving away in the kitchen most of the afternoon. Embracing my decision to take the summer off of work and be a "non-adult". Screw bills, waking up in the am, the pressures and stressors, I was going to be a kid. It was 4 days into my summer vacation and I was celebrating by making Mexican dinner for my twelve of my aunts, uncles and cousins, thus the garlic powder - gotta love guacamole! I was actually happy, in the moment bliss. I was gliding along the empty street on my bike with my beach bag on my shoulder and a smile on my face. My mind was wandering to the variety of adventures I had planed for the summer. I saw it up ahead and took a deep, happy breath as I continued over its yellow hump. Just then the bike, the speed bump and I rumbled (Totally "Calvin and Hobbes" style). I woke up under my bike and attempted to pull myself up off the sun-baked pavement, when the searing pain in my left arm matched the deformity I was staring at. Seriously! I'm supposed to be on vacation! I turned over and started screaming help. Over and over again, help. The empty street soon filled with no one. Then I heard foot steps, a random fellow found me then got my aunt and uncle as I writhed in pain. I was so hopped up on endorphins all I wanted was a picture. I wouldn’t shut up about it. My aunt was so upset she couldn’t figure out my camera, so the fellow (an off-duty fireman) snapped a shot then started taking my blood pressure. Soon my whole family was above me as the ambulance sirens whirled around. A bumpy ride, a horrible ER doctor, 6 hours, copious amounts of morphine and a great surgical team later, I am the proud owner of 2 four inch plates, 12 screws, 2 very heinous scars and a new nickname “guacamole girl” – compliments of my surgeon. Convalescing sucked. Alas, it hasn’t stopped me and hopefully the everlasting evidence of my summer of “non-adulthood” will help me stay young at heart and away from speed bumps. (ps: I could only get a picture of one side of my arm to upload, I couldn't fit both scars in one shot.)

CASE #1318

2007-09-26T08:13:00.000-07:00

If you are looking for a fresh scar, this hickman catheter was removed from my 2-year-old's chest a couple of weeks ago. The bandages below it are covering a knarley scar from where a tumor was removed from his sternum.
As you can see, he photographs well :)

histiocytosis

CASE # 1317

2007-09-14T07:34:00.001-07:00

On Nov. 7, 2002 I began my shift as night maintenance mechanic. I had worked on a piece of equipment the night before and decided that the first thing I wanted to do was to check on it to see how it was running. The first shift was still in production so the equipment was running. As I was making my observations this piece of equipment started to move. I felt something touch my leg and realized immediately that it was the safety bar on the moving piece of equipment. The safety bar was supposed to stop the equipment if anyone got in it's path. The only problem was the equipment moves in two directions and the safety bar only worked in one direction. The machine doesn't move very fast but it was fast enough that by the time I felt the safety bar touch my leg it was too late to move. My foot was up against a 4" high concrete curb and the bar hit my leg about 6" above my ankle. Since my foot had nowhere to go this 10 ton machine with the bar sticking out tried to go through my leg. I felt the bones snap and I remember crying out help as I fell and looked down to see my foot flop over the bar. I saw a gush of blood come out of my pants leg about the same time as one of my co- workers came to my aid.
I spent seven days in the hospital and had three surgeries to repair what doctors described as a near amputation of my left foot.
After 5 weeks with an external fixator I was put into a cast and returned to work. I had two more surgeries over the next two years and through it all I continued to push myself to get to work every day. The company I worked for had treated me well throughout this ordeal and tried to be good to them. I wasn't the same person after the accident. Being in pain 24 hrs a day changes a person but I kept trying. Then suddenly at the end of June of this year I was called in and told I was being let go after 28 yrs in the industry.

The photo shows an area where a large chunk was taken out of my leg and has had a skin graft. The verticle suture line is from the ankle fusion. There is also a suture line that goes almost all the way around my ankle that does not show up well in this photo. The fresh wound is from a recent fall in my workshop. I also have many photo's that were taken soon after the accident.

CASE # 1316

2007-09-09T16:39:00.000-07:00

i have at least 4 scars from 2 surgeries from a work injury that happened when i was 23. i'm now 28 i just had my last surgery about 2 months ago today actually and i can tell that the emotional toll is far greater than the physical one of course but its a constant reminder to me which isn't a bad thing. its of course a long story as anything in life is. i surely hope that you do contact me because i do have a great story to tell inspiring ? maybe. unique ? absolutely. i've only included one photo of my most recent surgery.

CASE # 1315

2007-09-08T15:22:00.000-07:00

I was born with Cycstic Fibrosis. It's a genetic disorder that affects the lungs and pancreas. When I was 26 I received a double lung transplant due to my lungs deteriorating.

CASE # 1314

2007-09-05T12:26:00.000-07:00

Last September 16, I was headed to a park to have lunch. It was about 11:55am when the accident occurred. I was driving north bound on and I somehow ran a stop sign. I don't remember running the stop sign. I don't even remember coming in contact with the other vehicle that was in the intersection heading in the opposite direction. Well, the other vehicle spun, striking a pole, ultimately trapping the passenger in the car. The car that i was in came to rest in a field nearby. I was unconscious. The man who was driving the other car managed to escape but unfortunately the woman who was the passenger died after a fire broke out and she was unable to escape. About a month after the accident, I was charged with vehicular manslaughter. I was not under the influence of any drugs or alcohol at the time of the accident. Doctors had believed that I suffered from some blackout possibly from hypoglycemia. I went through a few months until I thought the worst was going to be over. Unfortunately, in December I found out that another man died at the intersection where my accident happened. He also ran the stop sign. Then later on in January, I was notified that the man that was driving the other vehicle had suffered from a heart attack and died.
In March, I was charged again with the man's death and was sentenced in both cases. I ended up losing my license for two years and was placed on probation for three years in addition to having to serve 3 1/2 months in a correctional facility. The picture that I have attached is of me about 7 days after the accident. I have others to submit if you'd like to see them.

CASE # 1313

2007-08-31T06:17:00.000-07:00

Now i don't know if you can notice this one, but it's got heart. First i slid down a grass hill and an iron spike slashed my knee down to my calf, then, me and the brohammer jumped off a bridge onto a moving train and my knee hit a screw sticking out and knocked the scar clean off without hardly any blood at all. This knee is kind of numb now, it's weird.

CASE # 1312

2007-08-31T06:07:00.000-07:00

ear infection, doctor stuff, had to get it cutoff...i don't know.

CASE # 1311

2007-08-31T06:06:00.000-07:00

A fan sheild hit my forehead, i had sex with it's sister and i think i might have owed it money.

CASE # 1310

2007-08-31T06:02:00.000-07:00

STEAK KNIVES GONE WILD!

CASE # 1309

2007-08-31T05:59:00.000-07:00

I jumped into a broken windshield. (My brother had already jumped into 3 times.) It was like a ride that you find at some underground amusement park in the junkyard.

CASE # 1308

2007-08-31T05:56:00.000-07:00

Simply being a 13 year old boy with things on my mind.

CASE # 1307

2007-08-31T05:52:00.000-07:00

Got this at a GWAR concert.

CASE # 1306

2007-08-29T14:11:00.000-07:00

The scar is very faded now, barely even noticeable really, but it's still there even after 13 years. I was about three or four when I got it, and it was Easter morning. I had done something to anger my older brother, who was 7 or 8 at the time; I probably stolen some candy out of his Easter basket or something stupid like that, and he was chasing me around the house. I bashed my face against the convex corner where two walls met and I had a gash on my forehead and a broken orbital. And while I had to go to the emergency room to get stitches on the middle of my forehead, my brother sat on our neighbour's porch and ate ice cream. I've never let him live it down, either.

CASE # 1305

2007-08-24T13:41:00.000-07:00

Love this idea!

When I was 18, I was out for a very drunken night with friends. Once it got very late, I realized I was going to be late for curfew. My friends weren't ready to leave yet, so I stole one friend's car and drunkenly tried to drive it home. While goofing around, I managed to flip it over and throw myself and a friend through the windshield. Needless to say, I got a DUI, a trip to the hospital, and this awesome scar on my shoulder.

-Heather

NOTE: It's not too prominent in the attached photo, but with the right light, it's a healthy 3 inch scar.

CASE # 1304

2007-08-20T13:41:00.000-07:00

CASE # 1303

2007-08-20T13:38:00.000-07:00

We had just finished fixing a pipe that was broken about two feet deep in the ground. The pipe was fixed and we were just finishing filling the dirt back in to the hole where the pipe was. It was around 9 or 10 AM. I hear a loud tire squealing noise and a crash almost simultaneously, so I look up and there is a dark green volkswagon about 4 feet from me and moving at a high rate of speed.

BAM!!!!!

I go flying 48 feet through the air and land in the field near where I was working. I come to and there is a small crowd of people standing around me and asking me questions.

"What's your name?"
"Who is the president?"
"Do you know where you are"
and so on but you get the idea, I had no idea why they were asking me all these questions but I was answering the best I could.

"Tim"
"George Bush and I'm sure this is somehow his fault"
"I'm in Yorktown on route 17"

By this time I'm pissed off coz I just want to drink my coffee and smoke a cigarette coz it's got to be around break time. I ask the person who is standing on my leg to please kindly get the fuck off my leg so I can get my coffee. They told me to stay put and help would be there shortly. I pass out.

Wake up in the hospital ER which seemed so surreal at the time. Nurses were asking me tons of questions which I dont remember except them asking me to rate the pain on a scale of one to ten. to which I reply, "Fucking fifteen, give me some drugs!!!"

I pass out again and wake up in a hospital bed with my family and friends around. This is when I am told what happened. Some 78 year old lady made an illegal U turn at a red light and hit the side of the volkswagon which then careened right in to where I was working and hit me right in the middle of my leg. Snapped both bones in my lower leg right in half. The guy I was working with later told me that my heel was touching the back of my knee. Wish I had pictures of that.

CASE # 1302

2007-08-17T13:37:00.000-07:00

CASE # 1301

2007-08-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

I was born with an autoimmune disorder, requiring the removal of my spleen, tonsils and adnoids. I have a large scar running just under my ribcage, from side to side, and another smaller one on my ankle, where the docs took a bone marrow sample (in 1967 when I was born) to ensure it had not progressed to the bones.

That's the major scar, I have a few minor ones from motorcycles, an illness, parrots and reptiles but those are not as interesting perhaps to you.

CASE # 1300

2007-08-16T07:43:00.001-07:00

CASE # 1299

2007-08-16T07:41:00.000-07:00

CASE # 1298

2007-08-14T15:11:00.000-07:00

CASE # 1297

2007-08-14T06:27:00.000-07:00

CASE # 1296

2007-08-14T06:26:00.000-07:00

CASE # 1294

2007-08-13T10:39:00.001-07:00

I have a circluar scar on my right wrist from when I was younger, and a door was slammed in my face, my hand went through a plate glass window, and took out a perfect circle of skin on my wrist. I spend a lot of time explaining to people that I was never a suicidal person, it's just unfortunate injury placement.

CASE # 1295

2007-08-13T06:25:00.000-07:00

For my eighth Christmas, I was given a ten-speed "big girl" bike. My best friend and I decided that our bikes were invincible, and the next day we were riding through neighbors' back yards and eventually found ourselves in my backyard, with the bright idea to ride along the very edge of my swimming pool. She was behind me but her front tire was right alongside my back tire. She wobbled, which knocked my bike and me into the pool. I remember opening my eyes under water and looking up seeing my bike right above me, and I frantically kicked off the floor of the pool to get to the surface. During my rapid ascension, the kickstand of my bike sliced my upper thigh. I went to the hospital but refused stitches, instead getting the most expensive band-aid application of my life. At the time, and at my small size, the scar seemed to take up so much of the length of my thigh. My brothers called it "the worm" and it took me a long time to wear a bathing suit without longer shorts over it to hide the scar. My parents promised that when I turned sixteen, they’d pay for plastic surgery to buff it down or somehow make it smaller. That idea never really appealed to me, and by my sixteenth birthday I hadn’t even remembered that promise anyhow. Now I’m twenty-five and the scar is about 3 or 4 inches long on my much longer adult leg, and I hardly take it into consideration.

CASE # 1293

2007-08-04T07:14:00.000-07:00

I have two big scars from a neck surgery from june of 2005. I also have a huge scar on my left thigh from a fight that took place 20 years ago in Oregonhill. I was cut by a box knife.

CASE # 1292

2007-08-03T07:11:00.000-07:00

In August of 1996, I was 28 yrs old. I had noticed a large mole on my right calf, but thought it had always been there. Family and friends finally convinced me to have it looked at. My general doc told me it was nothing. I asked for a referral to a dermaltologist. It took me 2+ weeks to get an appt. I went, they did a biopsy, and 2 days later was being told I had to have major surgery immediately. It was a Clarks Level Stage 2/3 Melonoma. This kills people. I had surgery, as this was the only way to ensure getting all the cells, due to the depth and width of the mole. I have no idea how long it had been there.
I have scar tissue on my left thigh from the skin grafts, and a scar from having my right lymph node removed. It took me almost a year to recover physically. Emotionally, much longer. Dealing with insurance companies was a nightmare. My fun, carefree life at 28 had come to a complete halt, and it took me awhile to realize how lucky I was to even be alive. Today I am cancer free, 11 years this very month. As silly as it sounds, I am not self conscious any longer to wear a skirt.
In fact I wear them all the time! For a few years after the surgery I was afraid to, but now I want people to ask me what happened. This is the second most common cancer that kills women today, and becoming more prevelant every day.

CASE # 1291

2007-08-02T07:10:00.000-07:00

My scar is from a ruptured appendix that was misdiagnosed as an ovarian tumor, "not life threatening".Because of that I waited 2 weeks to have the surgery to remove the tumor. The surgeon planned to make a small horizontal incision to remove it, but that is not what I woke up with. When the doctor opened me up he found intestines covered with what looked like "super glue". I had several feet of small intestine removed and 10 inches of colon. The doc said he had a choice to cut out my belly button, or to save it. I am glad he chose to save it!

CASE # 1290

2007-08-02T07:07:00.000-07:00

Karl,

I know I told you the story of riding my bike in the woods in the dark and broke my ankle. Then my self rescue; splinting and hobbling out in the dark. Hell that was easy part. The 2 months on crutches was the hard part.

Good luck
Greg

CASE # 1289

2007-08-02T06:50:00.000-07:00

I don't have pictures of my scars, but I've got a few visible ones. One is on my right foot. A co-volunteer and I were loading up my car a few years back to get ready for the weekly dog adoption stand, I was loading a metal sign when I dropped it on my foot.

During my teen angst days, a friend and I decided it would be cool to carve into our skin with razor blades. We may have been tough as nails, but a little naive and confused. I don't remember any of her engravings, but I was left with an anarchy symbol next to a peace sign on my left forearm. No joke.

I've got a few others, but they aren't as cute.

CASE # 1288

2007-08-01T06:17:00.000-07:00

The scar shown is from my broken front tooth (Bit through from the inside out! Ew!) An excerpt from an email I sent a friend a week after the accident: It happened on the Mayo Bridge. I was biking with Aaron. As you may know (maybe not) part of the bridge consists of metal plates all the way across, covering some kind of abyss through which the flood wall sometimes runs. Well, on this fateful night, two of the metal plates were about six inches apart, and I looked down just in time to see that I was totally fucked: my front tire went in. I went over the handlebars, smashed my face into Hull Street, and blacked out for just a second. I woke up quickly, frantic, and ran to the curb, where I sat and began crying like the newborn I felt I was. "I DON'T HAVE ANY FUCKING TEETH," I yelled between sobs, repeating myself and stuffing my hands into my mouth, trying to locate and smother the monumental pain that couldn't possibly fit in there. Aaron couldn't see where I was bleeding from because I was hiding it; he gave me his bandanna which I then stuffed in my mouth. An ambulance came. The story goes on.

CASE # 1287

2007-07-30T11:45:00.000-07:00

It started with a ruptured appendix when I was 17. Three (and a half) surgeries and 6 weeks later I was released from the hospital with this set of scars. I had a series of infections that wouldn’t go away, and each operation after the main one was an attempt to root them out. 12 points of entry. The wounds had to heal “open” to allow for infections to work their way out. I used to just tell people I was bitten by a shark. I don’t often go shirtless, but it’s more because I’m embarrassed of my love handles than my scars.

My 12 year old daughter (not pictured) sports a series of overlapping heart surgery scars that run the length of her sternum. We go together well. If only her mom had gotten a vertical cesarean, we would all match.

CASE # 1286

2007-07-08T11:52:00.000-07:00

My husband likes to say that he has 'more operations than Iraq'. He came to the states in 1982 at age 18 from Argentina as a dialysis patient. He has had two transplants, the kind that leave scars that wrap around the waist. He has a fistula (now with an aneuryism) in his right arm, a failed graph in his left forearm, scars on both knees from permanent pins to correct knock-knee because of bone problems, one on his lip to his chin from cancer, one on his temple from a biopsy, one in chest from the temporary dialysis entry, on his wrists to correct nerve damage,and one from removal of his gallbladder. Marcelo's first transplant lasted only a month, the second 11 years. He has been back on dialysis since 1997. He has suffered through everything from a stroke to gout as byproducts of this insidious disease but still raised 3 fantastic boys into men (our oldest was discovered last year to have one kidney fail and shrink, but the other is functioning fine). Marcelo ran 3 successful businesses and received recognition from Governors Warner and Kaine as well as Mayor Wilder for his contributions to the betterment of the Latino community. Although no longer able to work, Marcelo continues to promote cultural awareness as a Producer and host for the last three years of a Latin Rock and social commentary program on WRIR 97.3 FM.

CASE # 1285

2007-07-05T11:40:00.000-07:00

I have two scars, from a motorcycle crash when I was 24. One scar is on my right hand, a neat 2" scalpel line where I had implant surgury to fix my broken wrist from the crash. A year after the surgury I had the hand tattood with sacred geometry (long story but I can write it up succinctly if that's the one you decide to profile). Photo attached, this will take careful photography with the right angle of light to show the scar and tattoos together.
The other scar is a large scar in the shape of the norse rune "Kenaz) (you can google that). This is where a very hot shard of my motorcycle punctured the side of my knee, burning while it cut into the flesh. Between this and my crushed ankle, I was unable to walk for about a month and endured a lot of physical therapy. The rune Kenaz, interestingly, signifies stabbing, piercing, burning, and also carries connotations of new life and rebirth. As the rune was made in my flesh, it was piercing and burning at the same time. A joke from the universe. I have never had this scar photographed. You can see my portfolio at this link. I live in Reston VA now.

CASE # 1284

2007-06-14T11:16:00.000-07:00

This is an excerpt from my blog. I'm a truly different person from those sad days. Finishing up grad school, working on a nation wide study, writing for the university paper, etc. Besides these I have an 8 in scar on my leg from a benign tumor removal. I went into the hospital the same day that my sister went in for a cleft palate cosmetic surgery to her face. I remember hobbling down to the ICU to see her after her 12 hour ordeal. I lay there reading quietly in my room. I'm sure my parents thought the books I was reading had caused the whole episode that afternoon. Hardly. It had been six months since I had come home in shame from my Mormon mission. I'm sure the people in my church community thought I had performed some unspeakable sin to be sent home after only 6 weeks of a two week foreign mission. Hardly. They itched. I was obsessed with Anne Rice's Vampire Trilogy. Her characters so lascivious and rich were like me. As each character, initially human, were turned to vampires, they lost pieces of themselves to the process. I had been loosing pieces of myself for years. I gave up several pieces to my tormentors in Middle-School. After relentless name calling, snickering whispers, and threats of bodily harm, I learned. By High School, I could go through an entire day without speaking or making eye-contact with anyone. I gave up my personality to them to become the ghost that no one noticed. My parent's noticed me acting up at home and my poor grades; somehow they didn't notice I was missing chunks either. They just slapped, kicked and beat the rest of me back into shape, until I learned. I lied, got around, and got over on my parents, until they didn't notice me either. Parts of me were missing that I didn't even know belonged to me. The most innocent, playful me, was locked in a "Secret Garden." I'd left a trusting chunk with my foster brother as he crawled into my bed and in between my legs; he never noticed, after I pushed my way out of bed to sleep on the basement floor in the winter dark, that he had ruined that treasured possession. And I didn't miss it, then. The vampires heightened senses enabled them to see life as an amazing jumble of beauty, depravity, and sense. I lived for the descriptions of sumptuous feeding scenes and tortuous addiction. I hadn't lived for six months. Life is not sleeping, reading, and eating. Life is about crying, laughing and being angry, which I wasn't. And then there was guilt. I had honed my guilt to a razor sharp scythe to slice away unwanted strips of me. That nasty attraction to men, sliced off. I excised each bad habit as it came along. Today, with nothing left to remove, I lacerated my soul. I had gotten into it with my sister. Finally, after being egged on by her, I hit her, like so many times before. I had tried so hard not to do that anymore and I just wasn't good enough. I locked the bathroom door, staring crazily in the mirror. The guilt was cutting me to the core. My soul was so thin, so waffery thin…I broke open a shaving razor to a single blade and placed a half dozen ribbons along my left arm. I cried then. I cried and bled and the guilt was gone. Several years of therapy helped, but by then my alcoholism was in full force. I had just gotten pulled over for drinking and driving in Albuquerque. There would be no ticket, if "bastards" like me walked home, because my cop's children didn't need "assholes" like me on the streets. I stopped into Kmart for some razors and found my way under a road in a storm drain. Like many times before, I opened my skin but this time was different. I looked for my artery. Eventually, I found it in a peacock feather spray of warm blood that immediately soaked me. I lay down to die. God, I didn't want to be gay and I didn't want to be alive. My cut was true and as my body started to die, I began vomiting. Over and over, I retched to the side until I couldn't retch anymore. I lost bowel and bladder control as the physical begun to focus on my vital central organs. I couldn't see and I couldn't move. I waited for God, an angel, or hell to appear. They didn't. IT just said, "It's not time for you to die; there's more for you to do." "FUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!!" is all I could scream. That's when I was found by a Midas Muffler's security guard at 3:30 in the morning. I lived with no real deficits. I am an alcoholic. I was sexually, physically, and emotionally abused. Do you have to have a bunch of trauma to be depressed? Not hardly. There are neurotransmitters that control mood. You could have had the best life in the world and so long as though chemicals or the pathways that use them are messed up, you'll be messed up. Am I a proponent of using medications to make you happy? If it will get you to a place where you don't need the medications, absolutely? If you want to take a pill and don't want to do the work, it doesn't really matter what I think. You won't be happy. You may even have to take medications for the rest of your life—small price to pay to live every amazing moment. If you're in therapy, these are my words of advice. The longer you make excuses to your therapist about how you can't or someone else won't let you, the longer you'll be unhappy. If you've done good work in therapy, you probably won't feel good when you've left. You're standing on the edge of a cliff. You're afraid, but you know to move forward you have to step off. You can go back down the mountain. You already know the misery that is there. It's simple then. You can stay in the misery of the mountain or you can step off. One of two things will happen. You'll fall to the rocks below and get hurt or you'll fly. Either way, you've moved forward. I smashed on the rocks several times. It's the only way I know how to do it. And I promise, if you keep going. You'll fly one day. How do I know? Because, here I am soaring like no other. You didn't choose to be depressed, but you can choose to stay depressed. I'll support you all the way, but you have to take the first step.

CASE # 1283

2007-06-08T11:14:00.000-07:00

I have 4 scar stories.

My first major scar occured from kicking myself in the head. I fell off the balance beam, and upon contact with the floor, my shin collided with my eyebrow and ripped it open. I now have a scar across my right eyebrow.

My second scar is medium sized scar on the back of my left hand from the removal of a tumor.

My third scar is crescent-shaped. It was the result of reconstructive ankle surgery for three torn ligaments.

My fourth scar(s) are from getting Tommy-John surgery after tearing a ligament in my elbow. I also have two scars from where a tendon was removed from my wrist.

CASE # 1282

2007-06-05T11:08:00.000-07:00

I was born with an Atrial Septal Defect--or in laymans terms two holes in my heart. At the age of 4 and 10 months I had open heart surgery. I have a six inch scar down the middle of my chest--commonly known as a zipper. There are also two marks where my sternum ends, where the bypass tubes were placed--I've had them place but there are still scars there. For a long time I hated it, thought it was ugly and made me ugly too. I'm told it isn't noticable, and it probably has faded with time. I don't hate my scar anymore, I think it makes me unique and perhaps even more beautiful. With out surgery I wouldn't have lived passed the age of 16, so whats a scar compared to life. Due to its location I don't have very many pictures. I'm 5'8, 135lbs and my measurements are 34D, 26, 37.

CASE # 1281

2007-05-21T11:04:00.000-07:00

Third degree burns to lower left leg from a gasoline fire at age 25.

CASE # 1280

2007-05-21T11:02:00.000-07:00

I lost four fingers last year while working on a truck. I slipped, and went to brace myself and put my hand into the fan belt.

CASE # 1279

2007-05-17T10:53:00.000-07:00

I had brain surgery November 3rd 2005 because I used to have a seizures and I had a scar on my brain. It was in Rochester New York. I was in 10th grade at the time and I was out of school for 4 months. I had a tutor come after the first month. It was on a Thrusday and I left the hospital the following monday. I had 49 staples on my head and now have 5 little titanium plates in my brain. It was in the part of the brain called the hippocampus. I'm all good now and I'm still allowed to play sports. And I would love to be in this book of yours unless you already published it.

CASE # 1278

2007-05-03T10:46:00.000-07:00

I try to tell people that I got into a fight. That I saved the girl, that I fought off the bully, and that I was tough as nails. The idea in me that scars are symbols of courage, sacrifice, and bravery.

Not stupidity.

On a bright (sober) Sunday afternoon, I walked into school for an early afternoon meeting. As I walked in through the front lobby doors, something caught my eye. Could have been a familiar car passing by, a pretty girl I'd seen before, or maybe a sound.
When I turned my head back, I was greeted with one of the green concrete poles.

6 stitches.

1 painful memory.

CASE # 1277

2007-05-03T10:33:00.000-07:00

During my junior year of college, I worked at Common Ground, your typical slightly pretentious, poetry Wednesdays, on-campus coffee shop.

After burning myself several times on barista, I was demoted to sandwich girl.

Every morning I woke up dreading the lunch rush. Hundreds of cranky, stressed-out students waiting in line to talk to me about ham, apple, cheddar sandwiches and fruit smoothies.

One Monday, after running out of cheddar, I was sent to the stock room to retrieve more. The stock fridge was purchased in 1982 and had never been serviced. No one told me about the loose glass on the sliding door that wasn't quite attached to its frame.

Because the fridge was washed as seldom as it was serviced, chunks of crusted peanut butter and hunks of provologne clogged the track. Treating the shortage of cheddar as the emergency it was, I blew through the stock room, grabbed 3 more blocks of cheese and used all my strength to ram the fridge door closed as quickly as possible.

So quickly in fact, that I had no time to feel the tip of my left thumb get chopped off and stuck between the fridge's glass and frame. Of course, I realized this upon my return to the gag noises and green faces of my fellow Common Grounders.

Looking down to check if my fly was undone or something, I realized how profusely I was bleeding all over the cheddar. The cheese fell to the ground and I went into mild shock.

Collin Drylie, the barista on duty, caught me before I fell over and suggested we try to find the rest of my finger. Sure enough, there it was, stuck in the stock fridge amidst wilting spinach and chocolate milk cartons.

At the hospital, the doctors said the nub of my thumb could not be saved. They bandaged me up and told me it would grow back.

They were right. Four years later, my thumb has regrown a patch of skin that is both discolored and void of feeling.

Perhaps the whole experience was foreshadowing to the lactose intolerance I developed the next year. I still can't look at cheddar cheese.