Warmer weather means short sleeves. Short sleeves mean exposing myself, my pain and my past to the world. It has been over 20 years since I put blade to skin, 20 years, since I have I have sought to relieve internal pain by bringing it out to the surface where it could be seen, and felt. 20 years and I still carry the marks of my past. My brand, my survivors tattoo, the sign to myself and the world that something went terribly wrong here, and I will never forget.
And we should never forget. The pain you inflict on a child lives in them forever. The pain lives on, whether they wear in on their sleeves or carry in their hearts, it lives on.
Sometimes I forget that they are there. I can go months without giving it much thought…but they remain, 20 years later... are still there…for all to see.
(I accidently published this post here instead of over at Our Foster Family Tree, after much thought I decided to let it stand here as well. This is who I am. This is my life…All of it. This is PTSD, this how much abuse, neglect, abandonment and foster care can hurt)
Since I have decided to out myself here, I decided to add this post to Band Back Together’s Post Busting Mental Health Stigma’s and Taking Names - I am Sunday Koffron Taylor, I am the face (and arm) of PTSD. I am no longer ashamed.
