"Scars are tattoos with better stories"
We've all heard this phrase hundreds of times and it's one of those things you just smile at. Well, lately I've been wondering about my own scars. I have many littering my body and I've always liked them a lot. I liked the way they looked, I liked the way they made me look strong, and I liked that I could wear them proudly, with no shame. To me, they were beautiful. They often make others feel uncomfortable, not because they're ugly, harsh scars... But because of the amount. People aren't sure what to do with themselves when they become visible. I used to have the attitude that I just didn't care what others thought about them because I was PROUD of them. I wasn't weak and no scars or previous wounds could affect me. But as time went on I realized I treasured my scars. I loved them even. I didn't like people looking on them with disgust and wrinkled up faces. Who were they to be able to do that? So I began covering them. They were my own. They were reminders of where I'd been and where I wouldn't go again, no one should be able to be bothered by that. So then I kept them to myself and things were better that way. I thought so at least... But as everyday goes by and I'm constantly having to face these memories and stories that plague my skin... I wonder if they are as good as I once thought. The more I look at them, the more they don't look beautiful at all. The longer I stare, they just begin to seem like imperfections that can't be erased. CONSTANT reminders of how I've failed and how others have failed me. I don't see any redemption when I look upon them... I can't even enjoy the way they look, because they hang with shame now. I don't like them anymore, but I'm stuck with them. I guess I should've thought about my choices before I made them, but I still know I would've chosen wrongly. Though it makes me wonder, should I be ashamed of them? Should I cover them up as shameful tokens of my sin? Because I don't know how to wear them without thinking they're beautiful. They are apart of me and I'm not able to think of them any other way unless they are shameful burdens...
After everything is spread on the table... People still say that scars are tattoos with better stories. Sometimes I would agree, but not in my case. I don't have nice stories. I don't have an incredible adventure where I nearly died and I escaped by a hair. No, I don't have that. I have lonely memories and stories that would mean nothing to anyone else. I know each story and every lie that traces my scars, but no one else would like to hear of those. I have tattoos that I can't escape and their stories would be held onto as tightly as if I told you I went to a tattoo parlor and paid for them to create them.
No comments:
Post a Comment