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Skin

June 13, 2015

We are always growing new skin; shedding the old or repairing the wounds. When we grow our skin is there with us. If we grow too fast or too large it doesn’t just split, it stretches with us, leaving ripples in its wake.

When we are cut or scraped our skin repairs itself from the inside out. As it heals it pulls and gathers, itches and burns but you know if you can just resist itching it or pulling the scab it will all be over soon and you’ll be as good as new. It can just about drive you insane sometimes, trying not to scratch those healing wounds.

We never really think about the skin we grow and shed and repair emotionally. When we are stabbed by life’s lifeness is it really any different? or when we are forced to grow too quickly? Our skin will stretch beyond what we ever thought was possible and it can be split open so deeply you’d think not even staples would be able to close up the wound but still, somehow, we repair ourselves.

Through all the wounds you either develop a thicker skin made of scar tissue to protect yourself or your skin becomes thin. Every hit life throws you breaks down the skin more and more and every touch becomes misery. Eventually you’re just an open wound.

Your skin becomes a road map. Where you’ve been, and WHO you’ve been and what things you’ve recovered from and come out on the other side of; every stretch mark, scar, burn, or discoloration and scab is a diary that you cannot hide with a lock and key.

My brother died a few hours ago. Both of my brothers are gone now. The boys who were my playmates, who I baby sat, and made dinner for, and drove me crazy in the way that only little brothers can, are gone and I am alone.

My heart is breaking even more so for my parents, havingΒ the unimaginable happen to you twice seems like it could prove to be unbearable. This morning I had to tell my crying father the same thing he’s told me many times before. You’re strong dad, you can do this. My dad who has fought countless battles for his kids and his wife and is fighting for his own life, trying to hold on through this cancer, replied back to me, “it’s one more thing I have to get through in this life” before the grief took over and he had to hang up. I have no choice but to wonder just how strong is the human spirit? How much can it stretch before a jagged tear rips through it and even the strongest staples and stitches are no match?

My skin continues to grow thicker. I’ll remind myself to sit with the pain and let it pass through without trying to scratch it open too much and I’ll surely come out the other side of this stronger yet, but FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK.

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