Scars that Remain

In speaking of his time in the concentration camp, Frankl explains, "We who have come back, by the aid of many lucky chances or miracles--whatever one may choose to call them--we know; the best of us did not return." Those that gave up their last piece of bread, didn’t survive. Their love for others was greater. Those that endured the hardships anyway they knew how, lived to tell the tale. But once the tragedy is over, how do you deal? Now that the experience is imprinted on your DNA forever and you have to live with it, how do you move on?
The hardships we encounter can scar us, leaving us limp or even worse, lame. When you no longer know how to deal, you can abuse your mind and do irrevocable harm, just as you can damage your body by feeding it the wrong kind of food, depriving it of exercise, or forcing your limbs into a constricting straightjacket. My mind has been bound as tightly as a pioneer woman's feet trekking across the plains, and I have read that when the bandages had been taken off, the pain was unbearable. The restraints were removed too late and she would never walk normal again.
I feel like my lack of a ‘why’ to live for, stems somewhat from the scars that I bear.
Though invisible to the naked eye, my body is covered in scars. Scars from a broken heart, scars for abandonment of life-long friends, scars from personal failures, scars from dealing with addictions of loved ones, scars from self-inflicted anguish, scars from loneliness, scars from addictions, scars from anxiety, pain, suffering, longing, loss of hope, and the list goes on.
I begin unraveling bandages of my own. My mind seems both numb and etiolated, but God seems to have gone too. And as the last bandage is removed, there occupying my mind is a curious blank.