They say memories are a collection of thoughts; a scrapbook of ideas, emotions and revelations that occurred at a moment in our life that we recall despite choosing to or not. They can be good memories that bring a smile to our face, or bad ones that ultimately lead to tears. Why something becomes part of our mental scrapbook is unbeknownst to us; maybe they're turning points in the novel of our life. They could be big things or little things, and regardless, they are etched eternally in our minds.
Maybe those are the seconds, minutes, hours of our past that we unconsciencely choose to take with us into our future.
Or maybe they're milestones, of different size or significance, that ultimately shape our thoughts, our lives, our world, and when all said and done, we aren't supposed to understand why we remember those times over others.
It has been said that "Time heals all wounds." But what they don't mention is what gets left behind: scars.
And what sort of memory do those become?
When you look back on all of your physical scars, what's the first thing comes to mind? Is it the anguish and the tears that culminate into the memory that serves as a painful reminder of what you endured?
The way I see it, scars are evidence of life. Proof that we lived, that we made choices, good or bad, that we tried and tried and tried. Maybe failed. But we got right back up and tried again. The wounds and the lessons we learn from them are what make us whole. They are what make You, You.
As we continue to move on to new experiences, figure out what make us tick, and discover the things we want to achieve, why not think fondly of these scars? Why not wear them proudly as if they were gifts from the world telling us plain and simple "Look. You survived."
So go forth. Wear them like medals. Make them shine. Show everyone around you that you did not give up.
You healed. And you're a survivor.
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