Everyone has scars. Maybe it came from the time you fell off your bike and split open your knee or maybe it's something deeper like the scars on your arm from self harm. Every scar has a story...whether that scar is physically visible or not.
When I look in the mirror at my body, I have many scars. I have one underneath my belly button from the time I had surgery to fix a hernia. My other scars having a different story to tell. They at one point were deep reds and purples; now have faded with time, but cover my sides and my stomach. Some women get theirs from something beautiful like pregnancy, I got mine from something dark. My scars come from my attempt to fill a void, to make myself happy in a time of constant struggle. They are a reminder of what I used to be, but also a reminder that I will never be perfect. They aren't the only scars I have to remind me of that. I have emotional scars that on certain days there simply is no way of hiding from them. They are scars from nights where a dad in a constant drunken state told me over and over again of my imperfection. "No one is ever going to love you", "You are only making yourself fatter", and "No one will ever want to impregnate that". They sting in my mind like that of a whip licking the skin. "I'm not going to sugar coat it" he tells me.
These scars in time have calloused me over. I'm so detached from emotions. I repeatedly have watched myself run from it, convincing myself that I'm better off and so is he. It's not their job to clean up these broken pieces and I can do it myself. I don't want them to cut their hands on this mess that isn't theirs. I don't want to be responsible for a scar on their hand from touching me. These emotional scars that I am continually working on repairing have made me scared of a lot of things, but mostly I am afraid of being unraveled by someone and them finding nothing they want in here.
Anymore though, I run in hopes of some healing from it. I keep so much pain inside myself. I grasp my anger and loneliness and hold it in my chest, hoping that as my heavy breathing comes with each mile I'm exhaling it out. It has changed me into something that I never meant to be. It has transformed me into a person that I do not recognize; but I don't know how to let it go.