Echoes of Existence

Healing

I've come to accept that the scars I bear are more than just physical remnants of a painful past. They are the invisible etchings of a soul defiled, resilience woven through the threads of enduring anguish. They say time is a gentle healer, that with each passing day, the wounds of the past fade into obscurity. Yet, for me, healing feels like an elusive mirage, always within reach but forever out of grasp.

I've witnessed others speak of their journey towards wholeness, of how they emerge from the ashes of their pain reborn, their scars transformed into badges of resilience. But for me, the scars remain, invisible yet palpable, a silent testament to the agony I once endured. They are the silent guardians of my past, whispering tales of anguish and despair with every beat of my heart.

And yet, amidst the darkness, there is a glimmer of understanding—a recognition that healing is not a destination, but a journey fraught with twists and turns, victories and setbacks. Maybe, just maybe, this is how I heal—not by erasing the memory of my pain, but by embracing it as an integral part of who I am.

I want to remember the tears that stained my cheeks, the whispered prayers that escaped my lips in the dead of night, the silent plea of dying. I want to hold onto the fragments of my shattered self, for they are the raw material from which I have forged a new beginning. Each scar tells a story—a story of survival, of resilience, of the indomitable human spirit that refuses to be extinguished.

So, while I may never be the same as I once was, I refuse to let my scars define me. They are a testament to the battles I have fought, the demons I have conquered, and the strength that lies dormant within me. 

And though the road ahead may be uncertain, I know that as long as I carry the echoes of my past within me, I will always find the light to guide me home.