Summer and scars

Oh Summer.  A time that while on one hand great for your mental health because of all the sun and all that, also can be so hard because you’re forced to face other demons.  They might be having to wear clothes that might reveal the “flawed” parts, or clothing that reveals scars.  Sometimes it feels like a choice between being sweaty gross and uncomfortable, or cooler but still hot, gross, and uncomfortable.

I took the bus yesterday and saw someone on it who had scars all up their arms, but had tattooed on top of it.  I don’t know how other people feel when noticing those scars (nor, really, do I care), but I feel sad, and so much love and compassion.  I know what it feels like to want to do that.  I know what it feels like to show them, hide them, hate them, love them, I know that life.  I know how much pain it takes to get to the point that you want to do that, and contrary to what judgemental thoughts might tell you, its not selfish.  It is the least selfish.  Its putting others first to such an extent that you truly believe that their lives would be better off without you.  Its waking up everyday with so much pain that you can barely breathe, wishing you didnt exist, but going through the day anyway because “what if I hurt them if I end it”.  Its needing to feel anything to feel alive, punishing yourself for never being good enough, its so much pain you couldn’t imagine it unless you felt it.  They aren’t noticeable now, but I have scars too.  Probably hundreds.  In high school it got really bad that it happened more than once a day, but I always did it in places no one would see, and where the scars are more faded than your wrists, so now unless you’re looking for them you cant see them.
For a long time I was full of shame.  They were right up there on the list with stretch marks, my stomach, my size, my emotions… On the list of all the things I was ashamed of.  I read this book that said that those marks on your body are like paint on a canvas,  all the stretch marks, scars from injury, self inflicted or accidental, tattoos all that.  They told your story.  They all spoke of all the hardships you’ve fought through and won.  They were the paint that made you beautiful.  While I totally agree with this, there are these voices that convince me I’m the farthest thing from beautiful that could exist, I know that this is probably as the result of mental scars, emotional scars, that I have had to fight through.  I have to remember that I would speak to every single other human being with so much love and compassion in this vulnerable of a situation.

Scars are scary.  Whether they’re old or new, they have so much history, emotion and vulnerablity in them, in bearing them.  I always send a lot of love, but I also always feel so proud that they own it.  Owning your pain, your story, your ‘shit’, is the biggest, and most healing step you can take because it takes you to the next ‘what the fuck do I do now’ phase.

These are my half asleep ramblings for today.  I beg you to please be kind.  Empower one another, be proud of each other, build each other up.  Sometimes all it takes is telling someone how happy you are that they exist to make their day.  How easy is that?  I wish more people could be that blunt.  Even that is ‘owning your shit’

Over and out

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