Scars tell you where you've been

“Scars tell you where you’ve been, but they do not dictate where you’re going,” that used to be a quote I lived by. However, most people’s scars are within. When people can see your scars, they judge you. The continuous fleeting glances, the hollow smiles, the feigned support, it all effects the way I live my life.

I was just asked a favour from a friend, ‘can I borrow a t-shirt?’. I made up a tale that I only had enough clean t-shirts to last me until laundry day, when in truth I actually don’t own any. It was torture saying no because she just wanted it for the gym and even offered to wash it before she gave it back. I just don’t own any.

My arms are like a roadmap of my life, one scar runs into another. I always wear long sleeves because, in truth, I’m sick of the double take glances, and the judgement. Yes, scars tell you where you’ve been, but I don’t want to be reminded of that every time I look at myself.

I have come so far in the past twenty years emotionally, yet I hate to be reminded of all the pain and suffering that I felt, and still feel, it’s just that now I have the ability to use my words, making the blade redundant.

In twenty years, I have gone from cutting a few times a day, to maybe once a year. I do it when the tension in my body gets so much that I need to let it out. Its cathartic. I hate seeing my scars because they are a reminder of everything I have been through in my life. I can recall exactly what happened on exactly what day for each of my scars. It’s hard because I cannot remember the blank spaces, the spaces that should have been mutilated but weren’t because I used my words.

Words are a powerful thing. Had I known that at seventeen, then maybe, I wouldn’t be left with my roadmap, my journey, for all to see.