It can take a long time for troubled situations to come to light. I spoke with a former friend and thanked her for helping a woman in such a situation. I meant it genuinely. But behind it was the memory of many years hiding and being unseen. One time I was so upset, I took off my clothes and slouched down in a corner. My hands became like the paws of a lion ravenously swiping at my body. By the end I was covered in marks and scratches.

I felt like I had made a special kind of art. Here was an outlet for my pain that wouldn’t hurt me. If no one else could see it, if no one else cared, if no one else knew, I would at least not be a liar showing up as I had been. I was inflamed. I was marred. I was letting my pain be seen in a visible form and not just something that was coming out audibly. I felt proud of my body and the will that had harmed it, like I had finally shown up as my true self.

The marks retreated and healed. They were like laser beams crossing over this way and that way. I can still see their angles and feel the amazement at the amount of them and the wonder that I was capable of making such beauty. It’s nobody’s fault for being blind to the struggles and I have no place to hold a debt over anyone. Even now as I write I can feel an odd change, like more of me has been freed to love deeper, without hurting.