My Arm

I hate the scar on my forearm from the accident.
For some reason, especially in the last few months, it seems to be in view all the time.
Every time I look down, it is there.
Every time I look in the mirror, it is there again.
Staring at me.

I thought it would look different by now.
I thought it would blend in more with my skin.
I thought the hair would grow normally like the rest of my arm.
Instead it is still very pink and darker skin tone.
The hair grows backwards.
The skin pulls strangely when I rotate my arm.
There is a strange light pink line that goes toward my hand from it.

The scar reminds me that I survived.
That my injuries were recoverable.
Roger did not survive and his injuries were too great.
With this scar staring at me, I will always have to live with some remembrance of the accident day on a constant basis.
Of course, I would probably remember every day anyway.
But the scar makes me think about the accident versus remembering Roger on everyday before August 22nd.

I have tried creams.
I take vitamins which did initially help some.
I just want it to be less obvious.
To be something I do not notice ALL the time.