Scar Tissue

Wow can it really be?

I have made it this far. I’m still here. I’m alive. I’m in a healthy relationship. I am taking care of myself better. I have goals. I am going back to school. I still have so much I want to do. I’m not completely on my shit like I haven’t written fiction properly since NaNoWriMo last year and I think about how I used to write some stories nearly everyday or every other day because of a message board I was apart of. Honestly, it was good I wrote there but I felt it took me away from my real life too much.

Now I want to revisit that fantasy world, those stories left unwritten.

Today I was taking a shower and I shaved my legs (it’s summer soon…) once I dried off to put lotion on I look at an old scar. This scar has faded significantly. In its infancy it was this pulsing burn that accompanied the pained memories of that first violent act between my ex and I. I remember how it looked like it would never heal. I thought my legs are ruined with veins and hair and cellulite now this constant reminder of what he did. It felt it wouldn’t even turn into a scab. I asked my sister in law for help and she recommended using honey as an antibacterial. It would help dry it out. Which it did. Months later I had this white spot on my knee and I felt even more self-conscious of it. A year passed and I hadn’t left him yet.

Two years after, I was free yet heartbroken. On a whim, I flew to New Orleans and I wasn’t thinking about my scar as much as I wore shorts. I was happily distracted with my new paramour.

Three years now, I forgot about it.

The end of this month will mark four years since that fateful night and I look at my knee. It is barely noticeable. I thought it would mark me forever and now I feel like myself again. Still imperfect with veins, ingrown hairs, cellulite but different scars while thoughts of that night drift further away. I still think about him every now and then.

I see the coral I picked up from Hawaii, a trip I took when I loved him. I remember picking up these stones and coral, I was alone on that beach because we were already quarreling so much. I wondered if I should discard them but I remembered I picked those rocks for me, not to remember him. My curiosity got the better of me recently and I looked him up. Despite that, I am so relieved that he’s not apart of my life anymore. Like so fucking relieved.

The Things I Carry

The other night I was plagued by nightmares. They were all unrelated yet stirring in that dark place inside where all my traumas reside. One moment I’m asleep beside Stephen the next I’m wide awake reliving all those awful memories from my spoiled childhood. I haven’t looked at those skeletons in a long time. I forgot them purposefully but my subconscious dragged me back. It tends to do that because my nightmares tend to bring out the child in me.

When I awake in a fright, I seek the comforts I rarely had as a child. Someone to soothe my concern, someone who is warm and kind and hugs me back the present. Even now it’s hard to face the demons of my past and to acknowledge them, that proves twice as difficult. I have to face them but I was getting by on ignoring it. I thought that would work. When I awoke I thought perhaps it’s time to share what haunts me with the one I want to plan my life with. I changed my mind instantly.

I already told him about the horrors of my last relationship… to lay bare all the burdens I carry seemed too cruel. I didn’t want to give him my pain even if he wants me to share it with him. I don’t want him to carry it too. He already carried so much for me this past year.

So I lay there as he comforted me with a tight squeeze and he fell back asleep. I was paralyzed. I thought about all the shit I witnessed as a child, the times I was expected to be the adult, how I wanted to solve my parents’ problems but I didn’t know how and suddenly a book popped into my head. The Things They Carried was a book I had to read for my English class in high school. God, I hated that book. I didn’t know I hated the book until I reached the end. Some of the stories were intriguing: all the perspectives of different US soldiers fighting in Vietnam, the author was gifted but then I found out that these tales were a work of fiction. Or rather fragments were real and some weren’t. I felt fucking betrayed. I was livid. I was a very angry teenager as it was. Upon finding out this book was a fraud, I wanted to throw the book out the window like Bradley Cooper did in Silver Linings Playbook when he too found himself disappointed with a book’s ending.

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