Growth and Decay are One and the Same
At one point in my life, all my arms carried were scars leftover from wars lost against myself. For many years, my arms were shadows of shame always hanging by my side, holding onto memories from the darkest time of my life. The first time I ever addressed the scars I was terrified, but I swallowed my pain to help hold the hand of someone needing my strength. I told this person for six years it was me and a blade sharing secret exchanges behind locked doors or bathroom stalls. For six years it was hoodies and long sleeves in 90 degrees St. Louis heat. I still remember the look on his face when he said he had noticed the stars but was too scared to ask because he didn't know what memories would rip open. The truth is, we all walk around with scars on our bodies, we pack up our trials and tribualations and haul them everywhere with us. Some wear their scars like medals of honor while others tuck them away like symbols of shame. Me? For a long time, I was the latter; until I got older enough to wonder what good came out the time spent in agony.
