...ears, that is. They've never been pierced. I've never wanted them to be. I don't really wear jewelry and the thought of putting holes in my lobes has never appealed to me.
So imagine my surprise when I found myself sitting in a chair with a piercing gun on my earlobe.
I drove home, walked into my house and said to Darrin, "I just had my ears pierced. I don't know why."
And for a day and a half I've been wandering around wondering why I did it. I don't like it. I want to take the earrings out right now. They bug me. And I'm supposed to keep them in, day and night, for more weeks than I want to think about.
But on the long drive to Utah today I figured it out. Darrin was snoring in the passenger seat and I was thinking about a number of things and it dawned on me: I got my ears pierced because I CAN. For the first time in my memory, I'm able to allow someone to get that close to me, to touch my face, my ears, without me panicking or having flashbacks. I don't necessarily want the piercings or the earrings, I just wanted to do something because I'm able to--and I wasn't before now.
I'm not sure what I want to do next. Part of me wants to say, Okay--I did it! and take out the earrings so the holes will heal up. The other part of me wants to keep the piercings as proof that I was able to overcome my fear of touch in that area of my body and allow the close proximity necessary for the piercing to take place.
I can't decide.
In the meantime, I really dislike having things in my earlobes. Sigh...