Battle Scars (Memoir)
I had to write a memoir (a personal story; what made me who I am) for my Composition class and though it's melodramatic and incredibly personal, I wanted to share it with you guys. It might be inspiring? I don't know, probably not, but I still want you guys (if anyone) to read it. It may be triggering, because it deas with topics such as depression, anxiety, suicide, and self-harm. But anyway, here it goes.
People constantly say that they hate themselves. Perhaps they have had a bad day and it does not get better. They think that they cannot stand the person that they are and the decisions that they have made up to that point. Then, they wake up and it is a new day and everything is better because they made it through that awful day. But what if a person genuinely hated themselves? What if nothing they ever did was good enough in their own eyes? At certain points in my life, this was me.
To most strangers, I seem okay, I guess. I do not talk much because people and social situations generally make me extremely uncomfortable. And I guess, in that sense, I may come off as rude, but really, I am just not a social person. Once people get to know me, they either think, “that’s Kalina. She’s cool, I suppose,” or “oh boy, theres Kalina. Her opinions are really annoying.” I guess that is true. I am a fiercely liberal feminist in rural Arkansas and I went to a small high school where the majority was conservative. For that reason, I was always used to being somewhat of an outcast, but even before that, I had some issues with past friends and ended up completely friendless. It is quite easy to fall into a dark place when one does not have friends at school. I never really ate alone or sat alone, but for a short time, I never talked to anyone and no one talked to me. For some reason, I decided that no one liked me. And that is when I thought, “if no one else likes me, why should I like me?”
Thank goodness I managed to find a friend that grew into a large group of friends, because for a long time, I wanted to die. I felt like the entire world did not care about me and would not even bat an eye if I were to kill myself. I came as close as pouring an entire bottle of pills that I had been taking into my palm one afternoon with the intention of swallowing them all. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that my mom managed to come into the kitchen at about that time. The one thing that made me happy during that time was my mom and my family in general and I knew that I simply could not do that to them. However, I managed to meet another girl during my eighth grade year that had faced a lot of the same demons as me, except hers were much more severe. I wanted more than anything to help my new friend and I knew that, to do that, I would need to get better myself. So I did, and I am overjoyed to say that she and I are still best friends to this day.
The road to recovery never runs smoothly and as much as I would like to say that I never did anything precarious again, I would be lying if I did. To add onto my past with depression, I developed severe anxiety during the end of my junior year and it got much worse during my senior year. Due to this, my depression came back and so did the self-loathing. I felt utterly useless - again. I did not want to die again, because I did manage to have some good things in my life, namely my friends and the writing center that I was a part of at school, but I did something I never thought I would ever do: I self-harmed. I had watched one of my best friends deal with this for a long time and I had a tendency to scratch myself when I was younger, but I had never gone as far to take a blade and make myself bleed. I found myself doing this often and it seemed to be the only thing that could calm me down. It is comforting and in a way, it helped me punish myself for feeling too much and doing stupid things. It helped me match what I felt on the inside to the outside, but it also made me hate myself. Because now, I do not wear short sleeves unless I have a jacket over it or bracelets. Now, I do not wear shorts unless they are long. I have ugly, gross scars that no one wants to see and no one needs to know about. However, I have amazing friends that were impossibly supportive and I can proudly say that I have not cut myself since August of this year. I have vowed to never do it again because not only is it an unhealthy habit, but I also have to be a role model to my younger cousin, whom I recently found out was doing the same thing I was, except more excessively. The only way that I can tell her to never do it again is if I never do it again. And I do not want her to ever hurt the way I did.
I know that some people see self-harm scars and twist their faces up in disgust, wondering why anyone would ever do such a thing or why they would show them off. Before I was a cutter, before I knew my best friend was a cutter, I did the exact same thing, believe me. But I know why now. In October, my cousin that I mentioned earlier and I went to a concert in Nashville to see her favorite band, Sleeping with Sirens, and my favorite band, All Time Low, in concert and we met an influential girl. She had travelled from North Carolina all the way to Nashville, just to see her favorite bands and she was clad in only short shorts and a tank top. And while my cousin and I shamefully hid our scars, she proudly showed hers off. I know why she did, too. They are not just scars, they are battle scars. They show that someone has not just lived, they have survived. They may have gone through the absolute worst, but they made it through. So, I learned that there is no reason to hide one’s past troubles because if they are here, they clearly made it and they came out stronger.
There are some days where I am not happy with who I am, but I try to always remember what my life means to not only myself, but to other people. The fact is, people always matter to someone. Even if it is their mom or a friend, a teacher or a pet, someone cares about them. Life is way too short to spend it sadly and there is no reason in the world good enough for some to shorten their life.
People constantly say that they hate themselves. Perhaps they have had a bad day and it does not get better. They think that they cannot stand the person that they are and the decisions that they have made up to that point. Then, they wake up and it is a new day and everything is better because they made it through that awful day. But what if a person genuinely hated themselves? What if nothing they ever did was good enough in their own eyes? At certain points in my life, this was me.
To most strangers, I seem okay, I guess. I do not talk much because people and social situations generally make me extremely uncomfortable. And I guess, in that sense, I may come off as rude, but really, I am just not a social person. Once people get to know me, they either think, “that’s Kalina. She’s cool, I suppose,” or “oh boy, theres Kalina. Her opinions are really annoying.” I guess that is true. I am a fiercely liberal feminist in rural Arkansas and I went to a small high school where the majority was conservative. For that reason, I was always used to being somewhat of an outcast, but even before that, I had some issues with past friends and ended up completely friendless. It is quite easy to fall into a dark place when one does not have friends at school. I never really ate alone or sat alone, but for a short time, I never talked to anyone and no one talked to me. For some reason, I decided that no one liked me. And that is when I thought, “if no one else likes me, why should I like me?”
Thank goodness I managed to find a friend that grew into a large group of friends, because for a long time, I wanted to die. I felt like the entire world did not care about me and would not even bat an eye if I were to kill myself. I came as close as pouring an entire bottle of pills that I had been taking into my palm one afternoon with the intention of swallowing them all. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that my mom managed to come into the kitchen at about that time. The one thing that made me happy during that time was my mom and my family in general and I knew that I simply could not do that to them. However, I managed to meet another girl during my eighth grade year that had faced a lot of the same demons as me, except hers were much more severe. I wanted more than anything to help my new friend and I knew that, to do that, I would need to get better myself. So I did, and I am overjoyed to say that she and I are still best friends to this day.
The road to recovery never runs smoothly and as much as I would like to say that I never did anything precarious again, I would be lying if I did. To add onto my past with depression, I developed severe anxiety during the end of my junior year and it got much worse during my senior year. Due to this, my depression came back and so did the self-loathing. I felt utterly useless - again. I did not want to die again, because I did manage to have some good things in my life, namely my friends and the writing center that I was a part of at school, but I did something I never thought I would ever do: I self-harmed. I had watched one of my best friends deal with this for a long time and I had a tendency to scratch myself when I was younger, but I had never gone as far to take a blade and make myself bleed. I found myself doing this often and it seemed to be the only thing that could calm me down. It is comforting and in a way, it helped me punish myself for feeling too much and doing stupid things. It helped me match what I felt on the inside to the outside, but it also made me hate myself. Because now, I do not wear short sleeves unless I have a jacket over it or bracelets. Now, I do not wear shorts unless they are long. I have ugly, gross scars that no one wants to see and no one needs to know about. However, I have amazing friends that were impossibly supportive and I can proudly say that I have not cut myself since August of this year. I have vowed to never do it again because not only is it an unhealthy habit, but I also have to be a role model to my younger cousin, whom I recently found out was doing the same thing I was, except more excessively. The only way that I can tell her to never do it again is if I never do it again. And I do not want her to ever hurt the way I did.
I know that some people see self-harm scars and twist their faces up in disgust, wondering why anyone would ever do such a thing or why they would show them off. Before I was a cutter, before I knew my best friend was a cutter, I did the exact same thing, believe me. But I know why now. In October, my cousin that I mentioned earlier and I went to a concert in Nashville to see her favorite band, Sleeping with Sirens, and my favorite band, All Time Low, in concert and we met an influential girl. She had travelled from North Carolina all the way to Nashville, just to see her favorite bands and she was clad in only short shorts and a tank top. And while my cousin and I shamefully hid our scars, she proudly showed hers off. I know why she did, too. They are not just scars, they are battle scars. They show that someone has not just lived, they have survived. They may have gone through the absolute worst, but they made it through. So, I learned that there is no reason to hide one’s past troubles because if they are here, they clearly made it and they came out stronger.
There are some days where I am not happy with who I am, but I try to always remember what my life means to not only myself, but to other people. The fact is, people always matter to someone. Even if it is their mom or a friend, a teacher or a pet, someone cares about them. Life is way too short to spend it sadly and there is no reason in the world good enough for some to shorten their life.