Scars

I look at these scars on my body and wonder why did I do this to myself. I mean I know why I did but now I have to explain them to everyone but I can't bring myself to tell you what they are actually from. So I make up stories of great adventures that ended in injury. All the while knowing exactly what happened but your face lights up hearing of my "adventures" and I cannot bear to tell you that my scars are from me. That at one point in my life I was so low I cut my skin open to feel something. That I sat and watched as the blood trickled and the sight, the feeling, brought me peace, brought me comfort. Because all the blood and the pain meant that I was still living even though it did not feel like it.