"It's a shallow life that doesn't give a person a few scars.”

I've got quite a few scars on my body. While I might not remember how I got each one, most of them truly do have a story attached.

The small dot of a scar on the inside of my right wrist? Hospital, 7 years ago, when I almost died.

Weird dark scar on my right elbow? Tubing on Lake Keowee this summer. It might go away later in life. It might not.

Numerous scratch-like scars on my hands and arms? Um, hello. I've had cats all my life. You antagonize them enough, they aren't happy.

The funny one in my belly button? That's where I had a mole removed during college.

The small one on the right side of my chin? Same as my belly button.

The double scar on my right knee? (Is anyone seeing a theme here with the right side of my body?!) It's from two totally different accidents. The first was falling off of my bike while racing my dad when I was in 5th grade. The second was right before Christmas. I was "tripped" walking across a parking lot. It was an inadvertent trip. I kind of did it to myself. Someone's leg just happened to help me fall.

Then there are the scars on my kidney from the staph infection. I can't see them, but I know that they are there. And if I have any scans done, doctors will see the scars.

The worst scars I have though are the scars that no one can see. The ones that I know are there. The ones that the person who caused them knows are there. And they are probably the ugliest scars I have.