Scars

there's a lot pent up in me right now.

I know this place. I know the terror of holding in, the excruciating pain of the overflow, the bubbling out, the aftermath of a flood.

I am terrified and comforted by the presence, the rebirth, the revisiting of past mistakes. I know their problems, but I also know what they are not. There is comfort in the known pain so much more so than the unknown.

I think it may be a lack of vision. That I forget that there is better, that there is beauty around the corner, that pearls are made from messes, that diamonds are a product of pressure.

I hide under the guise of "realist" but sometimes I am convinced that I am downright pessimistic. And other times, I think I simply don't know any better. That life, she is sometimes a bully, and that she has scared me into thinking sometimes that I can only be who she has said I can be, who everyone and everything has outlined my life to be.

I'm done with being bullied:) I am daring to be punched in the face. I will wear my black eye proudly, because it says I stood up.

Didn't remember til this moment, but I was thinking about black eyes on the ways to work this morning - not that I want one, certainly - heavens no, don't think any of those thoughts silly. TWLOHA. But it's been a long time since I had one, and I was just thinking, regardless of what it might be, a black eye says that there is a story. No necessarily a good one. But it could be.

Scars say you've lived a little. Scars say you survived something hard. Scars tell you you're still alive.

I'm ok with my scars. I'm ok with reminders - physical and mental and emotional - that remind me of where I've come from, what I've been through, who I was, and who I became. I am damn proud of them.