the story of one of my scars

when i was young, i got a scar.

i don't remember much of it, maybe it was too traumatizing for my brain to remember at such a young age.

i remember that we had gone to summer camp, and were playing a game in the dark. i remember that we were told to wear appropriate clothing. warm sweaters, running shoes, things that would keep us safe. i did not follow this rule correctly, apparently.

i tripped and cut my foot open, badly. i did not think this was a big deal; everyone was overreacting and panicking that this terrible thing had happened. to me, it was just an event in my life. the adrenaline had numbed the pain.

i was rushed to the hospital to treat the wound. everyone seemed to be worried about me, but the moment they had seen that i was okay, their focus shifted.

why didn't you wear something better? i wore what i had with me, i thought it was okay.

why were you running in the dark? the point of the game was to run away!

why were you being so careless? why is it my fault? why can't it just be an accident?

these things confused me so much. i knew that it was an accident, but everyone kept telling me that i was seeking attention, that i had done this to myself because of what i was wearing and my behaviour. these things were so confusing to me as a little girl.

they used me  as an example in the camp the following night, a reminder to everyone to dress better than i apparently had and to not act stupidly or they too would get hurt.

i don't think it ever healed fully.