“Never be ashamed of a scar. It simply means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you.”
Scars… I got plenty. My body is covered in them both externally and internally.
Externally, they used to be this dark color of brown… glaring marks along my stomach, arms, legs, face, and chest. Marks caused by being whipped with hangers or the thin flimsy rods that hold up small kitchen window curtains. Marks caused by hot food being squished in your face or being cut with a pair of scissors. Skin discoloration due to the constant deep purple, almost black, bruises that kept occurring in the same spots. Scratch marks from my nails because my skin was always so itchy during the bruise healing process. I couldn’t stand to look at myself naked. So how would I be able to let anyone else?
Internally, the constant belittling turned into a very low sense of self-esteem and self-worth; as well as depression and anxiety. I used to have constant nightmares, PTSD, and I suffer from headaches that may or may not be a result from all the times I was hit in the head. I know I really should get a scan done. I had a panic attack the last time they tried to stick me in one of those machines!
Over the past 2 years I have grown leaps and bounds in terms of my internal wounds. I’ve become mentally stronger even though I am sure I have a ways to go. No one is perfect! Unfortunately, I still have my moments of insecurities, nightmares, and PTSD events but they are becoming fewer and far between.
As for my scars I hardly notice them anymore. They have lightened up so much as time passed. They are still there but barely noticeable. I used to be ashamed of them. Afraid to look at myself. Afraid to have others look at me. I used to apologize for them. Imagine that.
I’m okay with them now. My scars are my story of survival. They are my proof that I came through what I thought was impossible. They are my evidence that what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. They are my confirmation that I am stronger than I think.