painful nostalgia.

It's so strange to look down at the scars on my arms. I almost have this weird out of body experience, like I'm looking at something someone else did. But at the same time I know they're mine, because I remember them all. I don't necessarily remember when, but I remember doing them. It's weird thinking back on the person I was at that time. I was so different. So hopeless.

Sometimes I wonder if given the option, I would choose to fade the scars, you know with those creams and stuff you can get at the drug store. Thinking about it now I don't think I would. They remind me of how low you can go and still get back up. You're never really lost. Even when you think you are, there's always some sign that puts you back on the right path out of all that darkness. Getting rid of them would be like trying to forget, and forgetting our past is how we repeat it, especially the mistakes we made.

I know there have been people in my past who've seen my scars and shied away from me because of them. I know there will be people like that in my future. But there have also been those who haven't in the past, and there will be those who won't in the future. Many people who are in my shoes hide their scars, but I don't. They're part of me, part of my past. It's a subject that will have to come up someday, in the course of friendship. If they can hack it, they're gaining a great friend. If not, it's their loss. I used to hide who I was, but I don't anymore. Life is to short to let a few scarred skin cells get me down.