Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story.

It’s OK to acknowledge you see

what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through
honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy.
Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish
you could “take this away” from me.

Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see
what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through
honesty an There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each
one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some
people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings
back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony,
berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with
back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they are and nothing more. I remain
unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They d openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of
great shame and secrecy. Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me.
Don’t fret that you wish you could “take this away” from me. There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/
that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each
one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they
wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t
cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My
scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are
what they are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my
story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with
embarrassment or discomfort. Only through honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This
is an illness of great shame and secrecy. Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has
happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish you could “take this away” from me.

Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see
what is going on. I don’t mind. There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars
tell a story. Each one represents a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a
piece of me. Some people think of scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred.
Seeing them brings back memories too painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t
stare in agony, berating myself for how I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I
struggled with back then. They exist purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they are and nothing
more. I remain unapologetic.
There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They Only through honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this
disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy. Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK
that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish you could “take this away” from me.

Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see
what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through
honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy.
Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish
you could “take this away” from me.

Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see
what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through
honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy.
Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish
you could “take this away” from me.

Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see
what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through
honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy.
Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish
you could “take this away” from me.

Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see
what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through
honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy.
Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish
you could “take this away” from me.

Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see
what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through
honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy.
Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish
you could “take this away” from me.

Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see
what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through
honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy.
Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish
you could “take this away” from me.

There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They are what they are and nothing more. I remain unapologetic.
There’s a lyric that goes: “My scars remind me/ that the past is real.” My scars tell a story. Each one represents
a journey, an emotion, a torment attached. Each one is a piece of my life, a piece of me. Some people think of
scars as memories they want erased, events they wish hadn’t occurred. Seeing them brings back memories too
painful to live with. But seeing mine doesn’t cause me distress. I don’t stare in agony, berating myself for how
I have permanently marred my skin. My scars don’t renew the pain I struggled with back then. They exist
purely as fact, written on my skin. They It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see what is
going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through honesty and
openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy. Please don’t
continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish you could
“take this away” from me.

Please don’t be afraid of the marks that you see. It is OK to ask for my story. It’s OK to acknowledge you see
what is going on. I don’t mind. Please don’t look away with embarrassment or discomfort. Only through
honesty and openness can we beat the stigma of this disease. This is an illness of great shame and secrecy.
Please don’t continue to let it exist in silence. It is OK that this has happened to me. Don’t fret that you wish
you could “take this away” from me.