"...and it begins!"

I am jealous of the scars that you can see.  The ones that you can point to and say, this is from our first Valentines day when a thorn from the roses you bought left an inch long scar on the side of my middle finger.  This one was from when the ceramic jewelry box my father gave me when I was eight shattered in my hand, leaving a scar deep enough to need stitches from the top of my right pointer finger all the way to the first knuckle.  The one on my chin from the little dog that bit me on Christmas Eve when I was three.  Jagged and uneven.  The ones that I don't talk about faded and white on the inside of my left wrist.  Even those.  External.  It's the ones that no one can see.  The ones that line the inside of my stomach and my heart. That keep me up at night and take my breath away.  The ones that will never heal.  It is those I want to tell you about.