Every scar tells a story. Write a story of a scar you know well—yours or someone else’s.
Gazing into the mirror, his gaunt eyes and sunken chest reflected experiences that continued to haunt him. Ribs protruded from flesh and irises normally surrounded by white were bloodshot, speckled with veins crying for sleep.
He absent-mindedly scratched his side, fingers catching on scar tissue that left a unique kind of ache. A mental ache of the pain and a recovery long past.
It’s hard to imagine that one’s body has the capacity to fail so spectacularly, but it did. It’s also hard to understand it’s amazing healing properties, at least in flesh.
When it comes to trauma of the mind, however, instead of healing old scars and wounds the psyche is skilled in delusion.
He was broken, a husk of young man that walked life in a daydream, numb to everything except the recurring nightmares that left bed sheets soaked and a dearth of oxygen in the room as he gasped for breath.
It would never end. He knew that and tried everything possible to tuck the memories away instead of continually failing at confronting them, trying to find reasons or ways he could’ve avoided what had transpired.
Hindsight is 20/20, but he continually blamed himself. And it was eating him alive.
Pessimist Poet’s Words for Thought
“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” -Rose Kennedy