Scars

There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with. ~ Harry Crews

I led an active life for many years. I’m looking at my hands as I type this, noting the rabbit bite, the parrot bite, the scar from a broken wrist and the dog bites. Multiple kitchen accidents are also seen in the white marks on my hands. There’s the slightly twisted finger from when I ruptured a tendon. There’s also the “writer’s dent” from firmly holding pens and pencils over the years. Reminders, every one. Little memories that usually make me smile, because they remind me of things I loved.

Now there are also medical scars. IV puncture marks. Ghostly outlines from where tape was applied and carelessly removed. The two 3″ long angry red scars from my implanted ports. The raised keloids from so many surgeries. They also tell a story. These scars illustrate what I’ve gone through to get here. The pain and struggles that most people know nothing about because I keep them hidden.

I hide other scars too. I’ve been and still am bullied. I have flashbacks to not so pleasant experiences. There are some parts of my mind that I consider dark recesses. I think of my mind as a large closet, with each memory tucked away in a box. Some boxes I keep sealed in many layers of tape. Others I gleefully open on a daily basis.

All these scars are part of me. I’m not ashamed of any of them. To me, there is no difference between a scar acquired from a physical injury and one acquired by an emotional injury. They both remind me of how much I’ve grown and changed over the years.

Don’t be afraid of scars. Everyone has at least one.

 

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