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May 1, 2013
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At some point in my life I stopped posting pictures that included my left forearm. It wasn't one of those gradual things where eventually I noticed this to be the case and had to search my soul to figure out why.

I didn't need to figure it out. I knew. My left forearm is covered in scars, and scars are not acceptable anymore. I've grown up and left behind the things that made me sad -- or at least I've told myself that I have.

It could just be that I learned that sadness lasts forever when it's cut into your skin.

That's the thing about scars, though. If you're sad enough or angry enough or empty enough, you don't care about forever, until one day you're grown up and someone is looking at your wrist with a question in their eyes.

People keep saying that scars are beautiful in their own way, that they tell a story. Maybe that's true for others, but not for me. You can't tell a story from the lines of white tissue on my arm. Or maybe you can, and the story is as follows:

"Once upon a time there was a girl, and she was sad so she cut herself. Now her arm is scarred."

And that's the worst story I've ever heard.

Or maybe when they say that scars tell a story, they're referring to the stories we make up about them -- telling children that yes, a cat was very angry, or that my arm is the result of some childhood accident, so always listen to your mother!

I don't like those stories either, though.

Maybe the scars tell the stories that others invent about us. "Desperate for attention." "Chemically imbalanced." "Weirdo."

I guess at some point I started trying to forget. No pictures that include scars, then. Not even if I draw something cool on myself in a fit of boredom, or if I want to show off my new bracelet, or if a salamander crawls along my arm, along my scars, leaving tiny wet footprints. And if someone asks me about what the salamander looked like, I'll just have to try to bring to mind the translucent red skin and the minute movements of its chest as it breathed in and out.

Because if there was a picture of my arm, I'd feel compelled to tell a story about a girl who was sad, and who might even still be sad -- and if you're looking for an ending to that story, you'll just have to keep looking.
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:icongypsyribs:
gypsyribs Featured By Owner May 4, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
I'm crying. You have no idea what this piece means to me. 
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:iconestallidos:
estallidos Featured By Owner May 4, 2014  Professional Writer
I can't tell if this is good or bad. I will just settle for thanking you for having read it.

Love.
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:icongypsyribs:
gypsyribs Featured By Owner May 4, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
It's good, it is so very good. It hits home with me a lot. I get the impression we are very similar/have been through similar things. 

Xo
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:iconbros-key:
Bros-Key Featured By Owner Mar 17, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
So, I favorited most of your works. And it wasn't even a, "Hey, I should do this for the heck of it", it was genuine. I love your literature it's very inspiring, and if I ever make it back to school, then maybe I'll put my inspiration to use to some people who can pretend like they care. And maybe, just maybe, I can make them.
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:iconstellevato:
Stellevato Featured By Owner Oct 29, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
This is hauntingly beautiful writing.
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:iconlinney69:
Linney69 Featured By Owner Aug 21, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
"It could just be that I learned that sadness lasts forever when it's cut into your skin"

i have only done a purposeful cut once, and that was to put a stop to everything, i have lashed out a few times and still do when i get very upset or very angry, lashed out in ways that caused me to scab, not just in lines but any form of wound. but i am one of those that don't scar easily, but i will always be reminded every time i go over the little bumps on my skin that i know only i can feel.

i have things under control, which is a blessing - now.
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:iconunholycookie:
unholycookie Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2013
This is painfully relatable.
Once a woman saw the scars on my shoulder, and hit me, and openly humiliated me for them in front of a lot of people.
I was already ashamed of them. I don't want pity. I don't want attention. They are not for you.
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:icontmzerosix:
TMzerosix Featured By Owner Jul 6, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
"You can't tell a story from the lines of white tissue on my arm. Or maybe you can, and the story is as follows:

"Once upon a time there was a girl, and she was sad so she cut herself. Now her arm is scarred."

And that's the worst story I've ever heard."

this might be the best set of words I've ever read.
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:iconamayazero:
AmayaZero Featured By Owner Jul 5, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
This, I hope you do not mind if I say that I Love You for writing it.
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:iconprettycrazy:
PrettyCrazy Featured By Owner Jun 19, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
As to the literature itself: maybe the last line weakens the rest a bit, but other than that, I like this very much.
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