Stitches

There are memories that each person has, be they good, bad, bitter or sweet. Some are a healing presence, and every time you think back to them, you feel better, empowered, and can't help but smile. Others are scars, reminders of hurt long or recently past, and teach us a lesson or refrain us a twinge of frown when reflected. Memories are key to helpings us be who we are, and I am pleased to say I have many memories over such a relatively short period of time.

I have one memory that doesn't really fit the previous metaphor. This memory is more like broken glass, stuck deep within the skin. Any looking at the scar lets me know it's there, but any scuffling of the area starts a new cascade of pain and subsequent healing effort to be expended.

This scar I got long ago, nigh on 9 years ago. It was probably through a series of my own blunders and assumptions, but suffice it to say, it hurt me badly. Psycho-scarring, and nearly in a life-ending way for me. This was folly, but it wasn't the end of the wound.

I made several attempts to convert the memory, try to make it from bad to good. 3 attempts to be precise. These ended unhappily, and the glass went deeper than could be retrieved out of me on the last of them. I lost many happy things to this memory, most again to my own folly, and I'm happy to see it undisturbed.

Recently, it got disturbed. Not scuffled, just scratched. I'm not happy about it, and to try and protect my meager façade of happiness and integrity in front of a warehouse of messy and hateful boxes, I'm not going to go into details regarding what exactly I'm talking about. It's supposedly in the past, and nothing can change it.

To sum my shard of reflection, I think I would rather have been in a train wreck than to endure all this. It heals better, makes for a better story, and doesn't cost you nearly as much.

-The0