It's funny when people say that time heals all. I don't agree. I don't believe all wounds are meant to heal. Furthermore, I don't believe it's a bad thing to carry around our various scars and scrapes and deformities caused by life. There's a lot to be said for pain, and not in some kind of masochistic way in which I seek out pain. I just think it changes us and forms us, and it makes us strong.

I know some of my deformities are visible, even as I try to hide them. I act carefree and optimistic, but they hear that stutter of uncertainty, they see my limp. I am changed by pain. It has affected me and altered me. But again, I am okay with that.

I remember a guy I dated once who kind of lived in a protective little bubble of his own making. It was hard for him to relate to me, and I to him, but we made it work for a while. But then I got in a pretty bad car accident, and it was more than he could handle. I knew it would never get better. I needed someone who knew disappointment and heartache and setbacks. Ironically, when I broke off the relationship, he completely freaked out. He couldn't handle it--it was too painful. He didn't know how to react.

When I think back to some of the most painful things I have experienced, I think they all start with pleasure and end with perspective. I think of the boy who loved to play with my hair, how he said such sweet things to me, how he made me believe that the world would always turn in my favor. You probably all have had those euphoristic moments when you are quite close to floating on the air created by your happiness, when you could look at the world outside and, no matter how hard it was storming, always see the sun. That was me. And when he left me, the world was so dark. I cried on the bathroom floor until someone found me and sat with me and said nothing. My hair felt empty without his hand. That sweet mouth that had spoken words of love now spoke with words of indifference (incidentally, let's just be clear that indifference is FAR worse than hate). But I survived. Somehow I walked away with just some scars, but I lived. Those scars affect me still; they shape the way I act in relationships and the way I view myself. Those scars have damaged me, but they also helped create my independence. How can I mind them?

Time hasn't healed all of my wounds, as you can see, but I am okay with that. I am thankful for the scars and the perspective.