The Bus

***** Trigger warning - subject of the post today is self injury and healing *****

(and yes I am going to cheese you today. This is an oldie but a goodie. Its been used in SIV symposiums to help educate others. This is the legacy I want to leave (am leaving?). THIS is the writing that will out live me and speak long after I am gone. This is me using my talent to ease others pain, shame etc etc.)

The Bus


Once upon a time...

The bus driver didnt even wait for her to find a seat before he reckless careened from the curb back into traffic. She lurched and fell to her knees.

Momentarily frozen by embarassment she closed her eyes and escaped. This was her life, get up , get knocked down. Somedays she wondered why bother.

Then a hand reached out and touched her shoulder.

Startled she looked up.

Carbonated brown eyes met hers. "Let me help you" He said.

Swiftly she was assisted to a seat and her things neatly placed in her lap. She blanched as she realized her scarred arms were visable. Hastily she covered them.

Momentarily frozen by embarassment she closed her eyes and escaped. This was her life, get up , get knocked down. Somedays she wondered why bother.

Brown eyes leaned across the isle and smiled. "Going on a long trip?"

"huh?" she said her vision focusing again.

He gently reached over and touched the scars on her hand. "Thats a lot of bagage your carrying"

"huh?" she inquired again, then suddenly noticed the seemingly endless ghoastly patterns on his exstended arm.

She twisted inside out and fled within her head. Maybe if she played possum he would go away and she could continue on unnoticed.

She kept her eyes closed for several stops. She listened as the riders got off an on. Maybe it was safe and he had left. At last she opened her eyes and stared at the floor. What a familair place that was. After all she was safe there, you can't fall off the floor.

That was her life after all, get up , get knocked down. Somedays she wondered why bother.
She sighed heavily and at last looked up.

Brown eyes met hers.

She stared him down, suddenly angery that he had invaded her mental landscape. That he knew her secret.


She felt the heat of the rage-mode flash as it unleashed within her. Her eyes narrowed and she felt the mercery switch click.

There was a strange calmness as the eye of the storm opened up.

He took that fraction of a second to comment. "lots of baggage".

Her scarred skin suddenly felt tight as it screamed.

but

She didn't utter a word.

He spoke again, "Dont you get tired of keeping the past present and fresh in your mind?"

"huh?" she said the flames dying down. Her will to fight like a huge dog all bark and no bite.

"You wear that antient pain like a badge of honor. Its like as long as you remember it freshly in your mind you have proof it happened. The scars show where you have been not where you are going. "

At last she found her voice.

"and who are you to give me advice?" she gestured to the fresh bandage on his arm.

He peeled it back and exstended his arm towards her. There written were the words:

YOU HAVE BEEN HURT ENOUGH

She pondered that for a second. "Why do you hide that under a bandage?"

As he retaped it he said quietly. " I still get urges and want to inflict violence upon myself."
Before she could even form the next thought in her head he stood up and addressed the bus.

"I STILL GET URGES TO HARM MYSELF!!"

She scrunched down in the seat and dropped her gaze.

He continued like a lawyer addressing a jury. "PEOPLE, we are all the same. Only thing that seperates us is life experiences. Some people numb their pain with drinking or doing drugs, others stuff it down and smother it under layers of fat, what it boils down to is they are trying to silence it. We who self injure wear our pain."

He raises his arms. "each of my scars is screaming SEE MY PAIN... SEE MY (deleted) PAIN,"

He naturally had the attention of the bus. all eyes were on him but hers.

"The scars are our proof...our evidence, of the damage done to us by the flesh knife, and all the other things that wounds childrens souls. The scars are our proof and our prison bars. They both hold us is and let us out."

" I refuse to be ashamed of what I had to do to survive. I refuse to be ashamed that in order to survive I had to pick sides and fight my own skin."

The bus suddenly dipped and swerved and then stopped.

A voice inquired, "you going to toss him off?"

"No" replied the driver, "I want to hear him out."

Brown eyes lowered and suddenly changed. She reconized the look of getting biffed of the stool of life and smacking face first onto the floor. After all that  was her life, get up , get knocked down. Somedays she wondered why bother. Why any of us bother.

His shoulders melted and he walked defeatedly back to his seat. As if he was suddenly visable and vulerable.

She watched as he slipped on his coat concealing his scars.

Someone snurked under their breath, "weirdo."

She felt the heat of the rage-mode flash as it unleashed within her. Her eyes narrowed and she felt the mercery switch click.

There was a strange calmness as the eye of the storm opened up.

And then she stood up. Her coat sliding to the floor. She doubled up her fists and began to stare down the many eyes watching the events unfolding.

"HE HAS BEEN HURT ENOUGH" She screamed at last, finding her voice to be powerful and strong. "we...WE have been hurt enough."

She yanked up her sleeves. "LOOK AT MY PAIN." she said and walked down the isle offering up a close glimps to everyone.

His clapping halted her just as she reached the driver.

She turned.

"Hard to carry all that baggage in fight mode isn't it." His eyes once again bubbling. He skipped up the isle and gently took her arm and wrote on it, and then pushed open the doors and left the bus.

She turned to face the other passengers. Suddenly very very visable.

The drivers arm surrounded her shoulders and then the other one exstended a finger toward the taunting passenger.

"You git off my bus" the driver growled, "I dont take "weirdos" with me"

The bus was filled with applause as he walked her back to her seat.

As she gathered up her things she felt the bus swing back into traffic. Her shoulders felt higher, her sense of self, lifted some how.

She smiled and caught sight of his message on her arm. She twisted it to read it.

'you have cut yourself free, now fly'

and so she did.

Thend