My scars tell a story that stretches across a decade.

They are plentiful.

They are everywhere.

Some people think I should hide them. That I should be ashamed of them, cover them up, or pretend they don’t exist.

I don’t think so.

I’d even go as far as saying I like them.

Not because of how they came to be, but because of what they represent now.

My scars are evidence of battles most people couldn’t see: battles fought inside my own mind.

They remind me that there were days I never thought I’d survive.

Yet somehow, I did.

I am still here.

I am still standing.

When I look at my scars now, I don’t see failure. I see survival. I see proof that even when life felt unbearable, I kept moving forward.

My collection of scars may continue to grow as life leaves its marks on me, whether they’re physical or invisible.

But one thing I hope remains true is this:

I will keep being here.

I will keep choosing tomorrow.

And I will keep living my story.