Bruises

Bruises sting.  They don't sting in the same way that bites or other injuries sting though.  Physically, they don't sting at all.  It's just a dull pain whenever that part of the body moves.  But emotionally, bruises are, to me, among the most painful of injuries.  They ache long after anything causes injury, and they remain for a while as blatant markers on the skin of things that had come to pass.

Same person.  Same bruise.  Two different places.  Two different times.  Then it was my cheek, because I had been slammed against a wall.  And I didn't say anything, because then it wasn't my place.  I knew that, so I shut my mouth, fought back the tears, and went on with life as normal, avoiding touching that cheek because it was this constant stinging reminder of what had happened.

Then the leg.  I still don't fully understand how that happened, although I understand entirely too well why.  But this time it was my place to say something.  And I did.  This is where I am as a result, wondering if it wouldn't have been better for me to just shut my goddamn mouth for once and let it go.  My place?  What the hell is that supposed to mean?  It wasn't my place to complain about something that was my fault.  I know why that happened, and I've got the bruise to remind me.  My stupid mistake, my stupid bruise to pay for it.

Bruises seem to sting more for me than for other people, at least when caused this way.  But maybe that's because of something that happened a year and a half ago that I still have a hard time letting go of most of the time.  That's why bruises sting.  I never really remembered the pain of that completely, and they are the closest reminder I can get to something that I can't understand concretely.  That's why this hurts so much.  That's why I wanted to cry.  I'm working on it.  I hope I'm getting better.