Scars
I have always wanted to post a blog or write something about this topic. I hate speaking about it in person as I get really, really uncomfortable, but tonight for some reason I feel like writing this.
I have scars. And when I say 'scars', I mean self-inflicted scars. I don't mean the other dozens of scars I have from walking in things or falling...
I had a lot of emotional problems as a young teenager. I was depressed, scared, and angry at a world where I wasn't sure what was happening. It started when I was about thirteen or fourteen. I was your typical angst-y fourteen year-old. I am not exactly sure how it started to be honest. I think mere curiosity. But as my emotional stability started to waver it became more of a way to get out.
The first clear memory I have of cutting was in my bathroom with a blade I had busted out of a woman's razor. You know the cheap, plastic leg razors you get? I learned if you smashed them in the right place, the blade part comes open and you can careful get the three to four (depending on how fancy of a razor you buy) blades out of the plastic. This took precise work as you could easily cut your fingers while prying it open. Which I did several times:
This pictures is from my old photobucket account. I had sliced my finger up pretty bad and of course being 14/15 ... I took a picture.
Anyway. I cut little cuts for a year or so whenever I was upset and/or bored. Each time the cuts got a slightly bit bigger and deeper. But nothing that wouldn't heal up in about a week or so. I kept my wrist and arm covered and there was never any problem.
My first truly bad cutting experience was the summer before 10th grade. Long story short, I fell for a guy over the summer that I talked on the phone with pretty much every night. After I told him that I liked him, he started ignoring me and has never spoken to me again to this day. That night after I told him, I cried in the shower and dug a groove into my wrist. I was so upset that when I finally stopped, I freaked about how deep it was because I didn't realize how far I'd gone.... it was weird. I still can barely believe it to this day, but apparently my emotions were overpowering the pain because when I looked down, there was about a 1/4 of an inch groove in my arm and I finally noticed that my bath water had turned solid red. That cut took forever to heal over..... I didn't raise up like the other did though. It stayed flat. I guess because it's all veins on your wrist and not fat like on your arm. (you can see it right at the top of my wrist going length wise not across)
Moving on to when I was about 15, my grandma and older brother were both extremely verbally, and for my brother, physically abusive when I was a kid. My brother went through his own angry-depression stage and took it out on me. He was constantly hurting me and saying horrible things to me. My parents never believed me when I said and still say that he used to strangle me behind their backs. (Disclaimer, he's an awesome guy today and we get along great.) But due to him treating me like that I still have an extreme, submissiveness and inferiority-complex tendency whenever I am around him. I'm 20 now...
My Grandma at that time was verbally abusive. She would stand there and tell my mom what a terrible, fat, useless granddaughter I am while I sat right there. Mom would never stand up for me.... she'd just listen or pretend to listen.. The three biggest scars on my arm are from one of the times she was saying that. I was, again, around 14 or 15. I was so angry that she was say those things with me right there. And she did it constantly. Apparently that day had gotten to be too much and I ripped my arm open worse than I ever had at that time.
For about three years, my arm was repeatedly ripped open into dozens and dozens of tiny cuts which would then heal. If you look at my arm you see the main 10 or so big cuts, but if you look closely, you can see dozens and dozens of tiny little lines all over. I did this almost daily for a good a while until one day, I donno, I don't really remember. But I aventually stopped.
I stopped sometime before I turned 16. My doctor saw some of my healing marks when taking blood one day and asked to speak with my mother alone. Long story short, my mother screamed at me for hours when we got home demanding to know where my blades were. Neither her nor dad believed me when I said that I had quit. I really had, mom, dad.... My mom said some pretty horrible things which of course didn't help.... my dad ended up having a heart to heart with me. The typical, "when I was a kid..." stories. It was nice actually and I cried my eyes out. From then on I felt healed. I still craved cutting from time to time, but after my brother and grandmother no longer lived with us, my emotional stress wasn't as bad.
I didn't cut again for a couple years. I thought about in occasionally but I was strong enough to know that I didn't need to. ...until one night when I was about 18 my 'best friend' really upset me or something... I don't really remember. But I ran into the bathroom, smashed open a razor and after wrenching the blades out, I almost did it. But my mental wards kicked in and I thought, no, lets not start this shit again....... I managed to stop after a couple of tiny cuts on my thigh. Those scarred though. They're still pink/brown too and it's been two years. These things don't heal fast. I managed to stop though.
Another year later I went through (and I'm still recovering from) a terrible bout of depression that lasted about 4-5 months that was spurred by losing the one I loved, deaths of close people, deaths of pets, fear of not knowing where I am going in life, etc.This was the worst I had been since I was a kid, but it was worse in that, the things I was depressed over, were big-girl things. I ended up completely making a disaster out of my first semester at a University. So, remember the new blades I got when I was 18? Yeah, I brought those with me when I moved for some reason. Sentimental reasons? I donno. But I was really upset again one night and I was about to go to town on my legs but the craving didn't last long because once again my brain kicked back in, and I managed to stop again. I was mad at myself of course afterwards...
Anyway, this is my story and this is my arm... tonight, about 6 years since the main wounds were inflicted. They don't go away. They are scars. No, I don't go out of my way to hide them. The only time I have ever been asked about them in public was at the dentist last year when I was going in for my wisdom teeth surgery. The only other time I was asked was in an English class two years ago. The girl was autistic and said rather loudly, "Where did those come from?". Thankfully I managed to ignore it and nobody seemed to notice.
The point of this story is to say, I am not ashamed of my scars. They're not as bad as some peoples, but they're worse than others. I am not 'proud' of them per say. But then again I am because they mark, literally, how far I have come in life. They show me every day that I used to be in such a terrible, low place but today I am okay and do not need to cut anymore. I am not embarrassed of them. I do not like being questioned about them, but that's because I do not feel like spilling my life story every time some one does. Thankfully nobody does ask.
Quiting self-harm isn't easy. It's a constant, ongoing fight to tell yourself that you don't 'need' it anymore. As you can tell from my story bad habits come back to you but CAN be fought off. The strength you have is inside you and you can say 'no'. Even to yourself you tell 'no'. Talk to yourself. It may seem loony but it works. As I sat there on my bathroom floor with blood trickling out of my leg, I told myself that it was okay. I didn't need this. And I don't. But it's an ongoing battle that I have been winning. You can do it to.
And also, if you were to come up to me with a magical cream that would remove the scars overnight, I would say no. No, thank you. They are as apart of me as my nose, fingers, or feet. I do not wish to change it. My arm would look weird and bare if they were to be gone.
Thank you for reading this if you have. ^o^