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Tuesday, Mar. 18, 2014
8:23 p.m.
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Cicatrix ] >>

Got asked about my scars today. Not the sort of thing that happens often anymore. When I was sixteen and pissed, everyone in the world thought it was their business, and most of the people I was surrounded with didn't have enough tact to shut the fuck up. Nowadays I'm around families who wouldn't dare say anything to my face, but whisper theories to eachother after I leave. The way their children love me is my saving grace in those moments I can't reach.

Fourteen year old me thought about twenty-five year old me all scarred up, but dismissed it as a distant future scenario we'd deal with "if I [made] it". Here we are, now, and twenty-five year old me is the poster child for the light at the end of the tunnel. I don't wear my fourteen year old pain with shame anymore, but it's not the sort of thing I broadcast, either. The way I told my clients' nanny is the way I'm telling you; I'm happy to answer questions because I'd rather you get it straight than make assumptions.

Some day people will be able to see past my pain. Some day I will, too.

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