Scars Years later, i look down at the little lines.. They not look like faded lines some longer, sone shorter.. Some are crooked, never matching eachother. Some are on my wrists, some of them are on my legs. What are these lines you ask? Are they scars? These are scars but they are far much more than permanent indication of pain. These scars were the demons I fought at 2 am. These scars were signs of both strength and struggle. The nights where I saw no light, just utter darkness. These scars became welcoming, the darkness swallowed me until the scars faded and I put those demons to rest.

Sober At 22 There's really something to say about being 22 years old and sober. Some say how proud they are and how they could never accomplish such a thing. Others scoff while they finish their beers or tip back the last shot of the night. I used to be one of those people. First one at the party, first one drink, first one to pass out or have to be taken home. There's something to say about being taken away from family and friends and moving halfway across the country for "30 days".. 2 years later I have seen and been through more than I have even seen on tv. I wouldn't change any of it. Sometimes I ask myself why I was dealt these shitty cards in this game called #life. Other times I thank god I have been faced with these challenges.. I can give back. Look at a young girl who is beaten down and broken who uses men, self harm, and everything else to numb out the pain and say to her.. It will be okay. And not a cliche "time heals all" I know because I have lived it. Here's to 2 years.. Sober. This second year I found the key to happiness. "First ones on god, second ones on you."