It’s just the same old bullshit. Significant people in my life totally denying the fact that i’ve been hurt by them and demanding that i forget what happened before I continue to have a relationship with them. And me being really pissed off but confused at the same time because of these damn emotions. And holding onto that one shred of validation that is my scars. The journals have been burned, the files are unreachable, the witnesses are silent, the aggressors are in totally denial, but my scars love me. They tell me I’m not crazy. They tell me I am allowed my confusion and my anger. They hold a history for me that i cannot destroy or forget. Maybe the only time i actually like my scars.