~ Trigger Warning, Please Don’t Read If You’re Easily Triggered ~
At first glance, I get how I wouldn’t seem like the type of girl who sits down and thinks ‘damn, time to self mutilate’– after all, I’m decent with my studies and have a boyfriend and friends and a reasonably wide social circle, so why cut? Gosh, if only it were that easy. I mean, I’ll be honest, I’d love to stop cutting and just completely recover. I’d love to look back on the day I lost my blade and have no regrets about it, but dang, I still wish I hadn’t lost it. Like, there’s a twisted part of me that kind of wants to own a blade collection and is jealous of the art student in my grade who own a full collection of shiny blades. I know, I’m not supposed to be thinking that way, but let’s just be honest.I regret my decision to self harm a lot- constantly. It’s such a love-hate relationship that I have. I mean, my scars are just baggage. I loved creating them (I know, again, I’m not supposed to be saying that, but I’m just gonna be honest with myself) and I loved the sensation that came with making these scars, but they’re just so much work. They’re permanent. And despite how many times my boyfriend has kissed my scars, despite how many people are behind my recovery, Self Harm has become a burden, more of a burden than I had ever anticipated it’d be. For example, that one time I needed a blood test, which meant I had to lift up the sleeves of my jacket and bare my wrists for the nurse to see. A fair bit of awkwardness followed as she realized that I had scars all over my wrist, ugly slashes, some more prominent than others, all in various phases of healing. Or that one time in an art studio where we needed to work with blades (no major projects, we actually just needed to use them to cut paper xD) and I tried to keep a straight face while using the beautiful, perfect blades of my dreams. Those were the very blades I could imagine running up and down my skin. And, because I’ve got the best luck in the world, someone noticed my scars, and tugged on my wrist like it was some kind of exhibition. “Hey, guys, don’t these look like self harm scars?!?!” they exclaimed, before I could tug away my wrist and escape the situation. So many events, some of which were crippling embarrassing, have happened ‘cause of my scars. And I always dread it when people notice them. When I meet new people and I like these new people, I feel like I have to make a conscious effort to hide the scars so they don’t judge me and get to know me as me, not the-girl-who-cuts, which isn’t how I want to be known. As you can imagine, this just makes recovery a lot harder, and sometimes it all become too much to bear. I’m human too, I’m not a freak. That’s what I keep telling myself, at least. Because I’m constantly scared that no matter what I do or who I tell, society and everyone around me will label me as a freak.
I’m not proud of cutting. What I did was a desperate attempt to cope with everything, and I tried to handle feeling overwhelmed by putting a blade to my skin. What I did in my past shouldn’t define me, but it does. My regrets shouldn’t affect my future, but they do, and those are the parts of me that I’m trying to accept, because whether I like it or not, these scars are going to stick around forever, and there are always going to be wide eyes every now and then when people notice them for the first time. Sucks to think about, I know. But I really really want to change that. I want to be able to wear that sleeveless dress without pretending to love wearing bracelets. I want to be able to take my jacket off when I’m not feeling cold. I want to be able to be confidently out in the open with my scars exposed and still have a smile on my face. I don’t want to be the one constantly tugging on her sleeves, adjusting her bracelets, and faking a smile. I want recovery, I want acceptance from myself. But that’s a tough road to travel, and it’s not like I’m going to transform overnight, anyway. I know there are people in my school and my general social circle who think I cut, and I know they judge me for it, and I want so badly to not care about them, but I do, because my self harm just comes with so many labels. I already label myself enough, I don’t need others to do it too. ‘freak’, ‘emo’, ‘attention seeker’, just stop. Because I’m beating myself up enough already, and I trip over myself a lot on the road to recovery. I’m just grateful to have people who care and support me through recovery, and yet recovery still seems like a huge intimidating mountain. I’ll make it eventually. I hope.
That “Freak” Who Self Harms