Scars form elaborate mind-maps on my once delicate skin. The memories haunt me with a visceral fear. I can’t wash away the lingering images of my broken flesh I can’t forget the intensity of those moments: the hate followed by catharsis. I know I am no longer the girl huddled, bleeding in the bathroom; but I drag her memory like a ball and chain. Each scar connects me to her forever. I trace their shapes back to feelings, to desperation, to shame and I cannot escape the girl I used to be.