Various shades of purple adorn my arms; legs; hands. Various stages of physical healing represent stages of healing in my mind. Some of my wounds are so raw they ache; others are mere reminders of obstacles I have overcome.
Sometimes I scratch so hard it soothes me into temporary comfort. Sometimes I don’t know whether the soothing is physical or mental. Sometimes I apologize to my right forearm who carries the brunt of my mindless processing. Sometimes I scratch until all I can see is my own blood exiting my body, and sometimes I see fragments of pain dripping out of me in the droplets of red.
Sometimes I am filled with shame. It is usually when I am momentarily oblivious to my scars that I intuit others noticing. I wonder what they are wondering and I fold into myself without realizing I have allowed outward forces to infiltrate and minimize me. Sometimes I dress in an effort to cover the outward pain that reflects my inner pain. Sometimes I don’t care because I honor the growth each marking represents.
Sometimes I see the beauty in all of my blemishes; each mark upon my body as a step I have taken back to me. I own them all…and sometimes I draw constellations in my mind from the patterns of purple on my body…imagining them to be a beautiful representation of something that I cannot quite define but know has a higher purpose.
Sometimes, I just sit and marvel at the journey that is life. Scars and all.
