The Ones That Don’t Show

I have my fair share of scars, most of them gained from those playful moments that end up going wrong. There's the one that runs across my wrist, one down my knee, and another on my ear, just above my piercing. Each white, knotted, jagged scar will always be something I treasure all my life, because they hold memories of my childhood. However, the scars that cut me the deepest had not even broken my skin. They're scars carelessly left on my heart, placed by those I felt I could trust.

To put it simply, my childhood was full of crapy friendships. I felt as if, no matter where I turned, I always turned to a knife, whether it be to my back, my throat or my heart. I was used, deceived, manipulated, but I was either too naive or too lonely to leave. My life seemed to only have two paths at the time. To stay friends with those who abused my trust, or to be alone.

I don't regret having the friendships, but I do regret everything else. I regret not leaving them sooner, and accepting that as my life. My biggest regret was blaming myself. Saying I wasn't strong enough, smart enough, or good enough. However, like my physical scars, I treasure those that were left on my heart. They made me tougher, and allow me to prevent a repeat of the experience.