I feel pretty, oh so pretty...

I can't identify the last time I felt pretty, let alone beautiful. I wear dresses five days a week because I truly enjoy them and they make me feel pretty... until I look in a mirror and see this short hair, these scars on my legs, bruises that constantly seem to appear and this smile that never reaches my eyes. I felt prettier bald last year, my disease was in plain view.

There was no question why my pale, bald head was on display. No concern that I bruised and scarred easily, it was due to chemo. Strangers didn't judge me for my appearance; I received questioning and pitiful looks but no looks of disgust. I have never felt as unattractive as I have in 2017. I have never felt such an urge to explain why I look like I look.

From the hair to the legs to the unexplained bruising; the resting bitch face, look of sadness; the stomach, belly button, breasts and both sides of my chest. I had a guy look at my stomach scar this year in utter disgust and immediately want to get as far from me as possible. I have been told by at least one guy that he would never date a woman without nipples.

The sight of me naked disgusts me; my scars are so vibrant, so in your face... My once attractive legs are now only attractive from the back. My once voluptuous body is now a constant reminder that I can never go back. I can't exercise enough, can't have enough surgeries to improve this body known as mine.

Prior to intimacy, there now has to be a conversation; an explanation of what to expect under this dress. I have to hope that the opposite sex will somehow look past the obvious imperfections, in addition to the normal ones (stretch marks, extra weight, prior scars received previous to cancer).

I truly didn't expect, or consider the possibility of being treated the way I've been treated this year by men.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder...most of the time, the eye is blue, behind a pair of glasses, with a prescription registered to Randi L. Arnett.