Three Reasons Why I Don’t Give A Damn About My Self-Harm Scars
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Self harm is a problem, yeah, but that doesn’t mean scars have to be. I wanted to write this post, not for me, but for anyone who feels like they have to be ashamed of their scars…
Cause ya don’t.
I am in NO WAY trying to glorify self harm, but it’s over and done with for me. They’re there, and I’m gonna talk about it.
Reason #1
For a while now, I’ve seen them as a filter. I don’t bother covering them up, so whenever I meet new people, they’re like a giant sign that says “JERKS NEED NOT APPLY.” Mental illness is invisible, and my scars have saved me from a lot of wasted time and anxiety having to eventually tell people, “I get a little out of whack sometimes.” Even though I’m well adept at seeming totally fine most of the time, dropping the mental illness bomb can sometimes end a friendship with a person who just doesn’t want a hassle, and my scars go right ahead and get that out of the way.
Reason #2
I’ve noticed that they make other people with mental illness more comfortable around me. I’ve had people I barely knew from high school, or even complete strangers come up to me, and start talking about their life stories; if they’ve ever self-harmed, or been suicidal, how they got there, and so on. I’ve had a lot of conversations with people who were getting close to the ledge, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like my scars gave them the green light to open up. Nothing says “I understand how you feel” like a thick white mark directly over a vein.
Reason #3
They keep me grateful. When those marks were put there, I was an out of control kid with less-than-nice parents, a horrible string of mismedication, no life plan, and no real coping skills. I broke down in tears when I graduated high school, because I had always assumed I wouldn’t make it that far. I’m only 20 now, and holy hell… I have my mental illness almost entirely under control, I have a loving husband, a stable, welcoming place to live, and the beginnings of an art career. When bills and stress start getting to me, I can look down and remember just what my life used to feel like, and in seconds look back up with that “Nah man, I got this.” confidence that I have earned. When I get insecure, my scars remind me that I’ve fought for this happiness, and it’s mine to protect.
I hope that this little proclamation can help someone else find peace with their past, and if it isn’t quite the past yet, just remember that it can be. Happiness is waiting for you like a damsel in distress; you just have to climb the obstacles to go get her.
Self harm is a problem, yeah, but that doesn’t mean scars have to be. I wanted to write this post, not for me, but for anyone who feels like they have to be ashamed of their scars…
Cause ya don’t.
I am in NO WAY trying to glorify self harm, but it’s over and done with for me. They’re there, and I’m gonna talk about it.
Reason #1
For a while now, I’ve seen them as a filter. I don’t bother covering them up, so whenever I meet new people, they’re like a giant sign that says “JERKS NEED NOT APPLY.” Mental illness is invisible, and my scars have saved me from a lot of wasted time and anxiety having to eventually tell people, “I get a little out of whack sometimes.” Even though I’m well adept at seeming totally fine most of the time, dropping the mental illness bomb can sometimes end a friendship with a person who just doesn’t want a hassle, and my scars go right ahead and get that out of the way.
Reason #2
I’ve noticed that they make other people with mental illness more comfortable around me. I’ve had people I barely knew from high school, or even complete strangers come up to me, and start talking about their life stories; if they’ve ever self-harmed, or been suicidal, how they got there, and so on. I’ve had a lot of conversations with people who were getting close to the ledge, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel like my scars gave them the green light to open up. Nothing says “I understand how you feel” like a thick white mark directly over a vein.
Reason #3
They keep me grateful. When those marks were put there, I was an out of control kid with less-than-nice parents, a horrible string of mismedication, no life plan, and no real coping skills. I broke down in tears when I graduated high school, because I had always assumed I wouldn’t make it that far. I’m only 20 now, and holy hell… I have my mental illness almost entirely under control, I have a loving husband, a stable, welcoming place to live, and the beginnings of an art career. When bills and stress start getting to me, I can look down and remember just what my life used to feel like, and in seconds look back up with that “Nah man, I got this.” confidence that I have earned. When I get insecure, my scars remind me that I’ve fought for this happiness, and it’s mine to protect.
I hope that this little proclamation can help someone else find peace with their past, and if it isn’t quite the past yet, just remember that it can be. Happiness is waiting for you like a damsel in distress; you just have to climb the obstacles to go get her.
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