STRETCH MARKS

As promised: Stretch Marks.

I have some stretch marks that cut laterally across my abdomen, on my sides, underneath my upper arms and of all places, on the undersides of my knees. I really didn’t pay much attention to them until I was in my mid-twenties. They seemed to just appear out of nowhere, but I guess they are the result of my years of being quite overweight. I hate seeing them for they are reminders that I will never have the toned body that I at times so desperately try to achieve. They effeminate me for I equate them to what a pregnant woman gets from childbearing. I have spent an accumulation of hours looking at them in the mirror and have yearned to erase them from my body. There were times in fits of anger that I would pull at my skin to make it as taut as possible so that the stretch marks would seem to disappear. And there were more reasonable moments when I would place ointments on them to make them less noticeable. Now, I just try to avoid looking at them as I am undressing, changing or taking a shower. There are days when I do notice them more, especially when my body is reflected in the mirror with strong sunlight. Every flaw in my skin seems worse then, but I am at a place where I understand that to be the case, and can quickly move on to other things without torturing myself further on the issue – as I would in the past.

My dislike in seeing the stretch marks keeps me from taking off my shirt at the beach and also from wearing shirts that have shorter cut sleeves. Even though I am becoming more muscular in my upper body, I still don’t act deliberate in revealing my upper torso in public. I envy the guys that I observe who have such even skin tone. I have looked at those guys at the gym and have seen them walking down the street. I imagine the pride they must have in their bodies, and that imagined conceit drives thick walls between them and me. I feel lessened and humiliated. Feelings of emasculation start to creep up and it takes all my energy to not wallow in any self-deprecating mental jargon. I quickly move on. . ..

Friends have told me countless times that I should expose my body more – that my body isn’t as bad as I believe it is. There is a small part (and ever increasing) that believes them, but I am still hesitant. I still have to battle the internal voice, which keeps me constantly vigilant about what others are thinking about me.

My exaggerated attention to the stretch marks may have been the result of a few incidences that have occurred with a couple of men. On two separate occasions men I dated have pointed to my stretch marks and have inquired as to what they were. Although these incidences were quite a few years ago, their memory still lingers. I remember feeling the sting of their question but more so, I remember the puzzled look on their faces as they asked. I felt belittled and abnormal. I felt “markedly” different from them. Their seemingly innocent questions seem to place me in the lesser position because they had no stretch marks. Their bodies were taut and were not inflicted with any reminders of previous indulgent behaviors (i.e., overeating).

I will write more soon.

Stay well,
MBI