Unveiling My Scars: Stories Behind the Bruises and Battles

I used to cover with shame. My scars, marks of my darkest days, were a secret I carried in solitude. But I eventually came to terms with them, no longer hiding behind sarcastic stories or pretending they didn't exist. Now, with each scar, I can look others directly in the eyes and say “I cut myself a lot.” without inflection, without embarrassment. Time has brought me healing and maturity, allowing me to embrace these marks of my past.

For 17 years, from the age of 16 until September of this year, I self-harmed. It was a cycle of pain and then addiction to a numbness that only drugs and cutting could provide. I'm proud to say I haven't relapsed. Those scars first appeared around my wrist, then spread to my forearms, arms, and eventually, my torso. I put cigarettes out on my skin, a painstaking act that was both physical and emotional pain.

Now, I am no longer ashamed. Each scar is a protagonist in its own tale, and they all have stories. Some are tales of woe, others of triumph. My piercings, while painful, are my own homoerotic declaration of defying societal norms. When someone questions me about them with surprise, I smile and say, “I don’t mind telling. That’s from my younger days, and I don’t regret it.”

Timer my knee, elbow, and ankle scars from learning to skate, I’m proudly reminded of the good times at the skate ramp. We laughed, smoked pot, and tried to outdo each other. Each scar is a fragment of a memory, a reminder of my embrace of life, no matter the outcome. How my epilepsy and a spinal injury ended my skateboarding days, each scar stands as a testament to the love and joy I experienced. My wrists, now bent and thinned, are like a visual diary of my past.

Explore every single one. They all have stories:

Skateboarding accidents, like falling off the ramp and hurting my chin, or tripping and landing on my back while on LSD. Each was a moment of danger, each a moment that I overcame with laughter and resilience. Surgical scars from an injury endured while picking up a 27-pound cat the wrong way. These are physical reminders of a simple, everyday occurrence that led to a complicated injury, requiring expert medical care and a long road to recovery.

Surprisingly, I’m proud of each scar, each story behind it. They are mine, my own stories, my own history, and I think they’re beautiful. I’m not ashamed to share them because I earned each and every one.

So, when people ask, I don’t mind telling. I embrace these stories and the memories they hold. If I don’t have many visible scars, the unspoken ones are even more powerful. Over the years, I’ve learned to leave some things a mystery when possible, not because it makes me more intriguing, but to allow others to form their own ideas and stories. It’s not about hiding; it's about embracing the complexities of our past. I’ve earned each scar, and they all have profound meaning.

In conclusion, scars are not just physical marks; they are emotional and psychological scars that tell the stories of our lives. Instead of being ashamed, we should embrace them. They are our stories, our history, and they help us grow and heal.