Going deep

Last night I went to bed at eleven but couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned wondering why it feels different this time. In the past I've always felt the desire/urge to get healthy and lose weight. This time there is nothing. So I searched last night for the answer and it came. The truth is I'm so angry about this scar on my chest not just because it's a blazing red signal to everyone of what I consider a private matter, but because, for me, it symbolizes my bodies ability to turn on me, to let me down.
I've never considered myself a vain person, but maybe I am. I hate having it. I hate that no matter how healthy I am or how much weight I lose I will have a scar that belongs on a 70 year-old's body when I am only 30. I hate that I put on a shirt with a v-neck and take it off because the nasty voice inside me says "Yuck! No one should have to look at that!". I hate that it is there to remind me of one of the most scary times of my life. I know it speaks of healing and of making it through and of courage, but it also speaks of the opposites of those things.
Mostly, it reminds me that doing all of these things to make myself more healthy will tip the scale in favor of me being and staying healthy but it in no way guarantees I'll stay that way.