Topic: Scars

draco-mouthboy:

Alright, we’ve got some things to talk about.

And help spread this message, reblog to share with someone who might need to see this.

I’ve got scars. I’ve got thousands. I spent years welled up in my room with a pencil sharpener blade as my only company.

Yeah, I’ve got scars.

But you know what? I’m not ashamed of them. I’ve got a pool in my backyard and you know what? I rock that bikini. It’s 100+ degrees 5 months of the year here and you know what? I rock those short shorts. I rock those crop tops. I had kids every year in school sit next to me and stare at my legs during an entire class/lecture. But you know what? I didn’t let sneers or snide remarks distract me and I rocked those exams. I had people ask about the scars and you know what? I answer honestly and unashamed. Because maybe they needed to hear that message.

This is my body.

My scars do not define me. They are not my life, but rather reminders of battles won. They are reminders of the trials I’ve had. They are reminders of countless nights wishing I could end it all and they are reminders of the countless times I lived to see the sunrise. They are examples of my courage and strength. They are tangible proof of my victory against what I thought to be an unbeatable fight against my own mind. They are my body, my skin and flesh, they are my weaknesses shown to the world that served to only make me stronger.

They are my scars, and I am not ashamed to share my story. I am not proud of the things I’ve done, but I am proud of my ability to overcome the past and live my life unhinged from them.

I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve learned and grown from them.

I see the girl who once asked me about the white lines along my flesh. I explain the struggle and I see the hope that flickered in her eyes. I didn’t need to see what was beneath her clothes or inside her head to know that I had given her a brighter light at the end of her seemingly endless tunnel. She’s still living to this day, with battle scars of her own.

I am living proof that there is hope, and I know I am not alone. She is living proof that there is hope. And maybe you are too. Maybe you think your scars show how weak you are.

So maybe you’re still struggling, so maybe you’re still fighting. Don’t give up. Don’t be ashamed. You’ve gone through hell and are still kicking, that’s a feat in itself.

Rock those short shorts, rock those mini skirts. Rock those crop tops. Rock those tank tops. Rock those bikinis. Rock those swim shorts. It’s your body, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of it.

And so maybe you aren’t comfortable with sharing your battle scars with the world. You know what? That’s okay. Maybe you won’t ever wear shorts sleeves or shorts, that’s okay.

It’s your body, do what makes you comfortable.

Be proud of it, and if you don’t think others like it, forget them. It’s your body, not their’s.

Don’t be ashamed of your body.

Those scars? They’re apart of you, and show the battles you’ve won. They don’t make you weak. They show just how strong you are. You fought against a million troops alone and came out with a few scratches. That’s a feat so many haven’t accomplished. You are strong, and brave, and persevering.

Maybe you are still fighting. Maybe you’re still battling. That doesn’t change anything. You’ve made it this far, and you are strong, and brave, and persevering. Keep fighting, win that war. You are strong and I know you can. Don’t be afraid of the scars.

Don’t be ashamed of your body.

Be proud of yourself for living through hell even if it was just long enough to read this message.

Be proud, and if you don’t think your worth being proud of, know that I am proud of you. I don’t need to know your name to understand that you are worthy-

that you deserve happiness,

and pride,

and love.