A dress, fit for a wedding…?

I still remember when boyfriend stuttered out those words, every girl dreams of hearing, “will you marry me?” As his hands shook, opening that tiny ring box, exposing a ring that I could see that he worked hard for, stumbling his knees, I felt nothing back that cliche, magical moment without hesitation, I squeaked “yes” and for a brief moment, I thought I was happy.

Happy someone finally accepted me, that’s what you do when you want to marry someone, right? Accept them?

It was only until I had the realisation that I had to wear a dress, in front of not just my soon to be husband, but his entire family. Was I ready to let everyone see my scars? Would I get to live the dream of feeling like a princess, looking to my king as he takes my hand and makes me his wife? Or would I have to sit there, and look at my wedding pictures, knowing that I asked the photographer to photoshop what the make up isn’t covering, and feel like I’m hiding myself again, and let it eat my insides because I ruined my body?

So it left me with the same bullshit thoughts and the feelings associated with the constant battles about my self harm, and suicide attempts. Do I hide myself, like always or do I expose myself, and let the world see me? Am I actually strong enough to do either or those options?

I’m not sure, with having thought about this, if he was to ask my hand again, if I would say yes or no. He is such a beautiful man, loving, caring, gives me support like I’ve never known.

Why am I not thankful?! All my life I’ve begged and pleaded to be loved, and to be loved by someone who will never hurt me, and now I finally have it, I’m constantly questioning if I’m making the right choices
Making him, happy. A beautiful soul deserves nothing less than everything

He has talked about the infamous white dress, with nothing but passion and excitement squeezing into the pitch of his voice, giving me detailed thoughts about the moment he sees me, wearing a stunning couture gown, strapless, perfectly fitting my body.

strapless

Exposing my scars, making that beautiful dress, and that wonderful moment, tainted by my hate.

I want to be proud, stride down that isle, a woman becoming a wife, maybe I should expose myself, let his family see, let them talk, let them as questions BUT how will those questions be answered to his younger family members?

she’s sick, she has bi-polar, she can’t help it

I’m so uncomfortable with letting people see, let alone children, who’s innocence is beautiful.

Maybe I should cover up? Maybe lace sleeves wouldn’t be all so bad, I would be the same person I am right now, hidden, covered up from the world. I’m yet to find the reason why both those ideas seem so uncomfortable and depressing.

Maybe because, I feel being married is an opportunity to become a newer version of myself? Maybe it’s the day where my life actually begins.

And maybe that’s also the terrifying part? Because I will be changing? Maybe I’m terrified that I won’t change, maybe the fear is coming from the thought that it I don’t deserve it. I think, maybe, I just don’t deserve him.

Opportunities happen constantly, some rewarding, some punishing.

What helps us to decide when to take that leap of faith?

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