I kept my back turned to her, lifted the edges of my shirt, and pulled it over my head. I revealed the markings that raced up and down my arms. Cuts from my past panics. Cuts from my messed-up brain. Cuts from my pained heart. Her gasp was loud and clear. “Oh my gosh, Landon. What happened to you?!” she said, moving over toward me to examine the marks to my skin. Each mark stood for a time I lost myself. Each mark showed my pain and struggles against my skin.
