“A pattern of raised crisscrossed scars, some old and white, others more recent in various shades of pink and red. Exposing the stress of the structure underneath its paint”
― Amy Efaw.
Holding my arms together, side by side; representing polar opposites. On my left arm, old, faded scars- episodic visions of terror and distress are hidden beautifully by the tattooed words ” You are loved. My right hand however, displays the happenings of my latest episode…. caused by silence, those voiceless feelings that tell you there is no other option; destabilized rationality tell you that even if you had a voice, it would not be heard.
After the storm, after it is done.
I shake in a beautiful fear, that remains me. I am human and that indeed I so desperately want to survive this pain. . . Gently calming myself, I am sorry baby. . . I sing to myself:
hush little baby, put down that razor, don’t harm yourself. I express to myself how I live the life of a child. My life representative of an inner child in need of protection. My rational self vows never to hurt myself because after all I am just a child, my sensibilities are that of a child.
I pray so beautifully that my irrational self will never again come to the surface, a reality I know is all too good to be true. I can only hope that next time I will be able to fight my irrational self just that little bit more.
Read the rest of the story! Visit That beautiful fear remains me. I so desperately want to survive this pain. | Beautiful Contemplations.
Trigger Warning: Talk and images of self-harm