Scars

I love scars. I don’t usually like how I get those scars, but I love the way that scars feel, look, and the memories connected to them.

Of course I’m talking about physical scars. Emotional scars are another thing entirely. I can dress up my physical scars, I can work them into a tattoo, I can even have them removed, but those emotional scars just seem to weave themselves into the psyche of a person, even after they’ve faded, they still burn, they never become something that can be dressed up and danced around.

Scars in the psyche are ever present and can’t be hidden. They are visible in our behavior, our personality, our lifestyles and our choices. They are in the center of our eyes, the windows to our souls and others can see them if they look close enough.

We scar each other, sometimes without intention, no explanation and no excuse. Other scars are caused intentionally, human cruelty at its worst. What we forget is that each time our choices cause scarring on the soul of another, we are also scarred, our words, actions and choices, acting as a double edged sword, slicing at our own souls to remind us what we’ve done to another.

Scars are stories. Those who inflict those scars are characters in our stories. Sometimes those characters are heroes like my surgeons who did end up leaving a teeny tiny belly button, and sometimes those characters are villains, like the bullies in school who probably didn’t realize that I’d grow up to be someone who really likes revenge curses.

Which of your scars do you expose proudly, and which do you keep hidden? Which have faded over time and which are still just as screaming red as when they first occurred?

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