Collectanea

My Body is a Work of Art

TW: Self-harm

Nope. I'm not the runway model type nor the Miss U potential. But I can swear that my body is a work of art.

A canvass, as if a painter decided to paint on.

When I was a kid, probably around 7 or 8 years old, I tried climbing up the avocado tree on our yard. It was not the season of avocado fruit, I just wanted to test if I knew how to climb a tree.

I got up on the first branch but got dizzy and afraid that my parents would catch me. I decided to climb down and jumped when I thought I was only inches away from the ground. Little did I know it would be the start of  me painting my body.

A large nail protruding out of the tree slashed through my right wrist, creating a wound that resembles a cut made by a blade when one tries to self-harm. It was painful and blood gushed out non-stop at first. I managed to hide the wound from my parents till it healed but not without leaving a scar -- the first of a many to come.

One time, I panicked when the piece of plastic I was using to start a fire for cooking started to make a large fire and got stuck on my fingers. I waved my hands frantically and melted plastic particles went flying around, some got stuck on my legs -- just above my knee. It created a curve-like scar that never faded.

I was in 5th grade when a storm hit our province -- not very unusual -- but this storm was so strong it left a lot of damage and we had to stay at our neighbor's house for refuge 'coz our house at that time was not that sturdy. After the storm, there was no electricity which means it was very dark at night. As I was walking outside I tripped on a damaged drop wire of the electricity provider. Was down on the hard floor, I got up, went inside and washed my knees. It was the next day I found out it was a very large round wound on my knee and boy, it made walking and sitting so hard for a meantime. Until now, the scar still sits on my right knee.

I was 19 when I had my first relationship. He was a dreamy boy, might I say. Maybe the reason I got the courage to go against my family's rules. He had a motorbike, and I would sneak out of the house to ride around town with him. I learned how to drive from him although I never really drove by myself for fear I might get caught by the authorities.

One afternoon, we were on our way home from one of those rides. We got into an accident. A teenage boy was hit by our bike, I was thrown forward. Felt I was on a roller coaster ride, I think I did a cartwheel-like stunt three times! I managed to get up, and with the adrenaline and fear I was feeling, I had managed to snatch the bike off the road and tried to start it up. We were lucky the boy was not hit seriously and they did not push for any legal matters. The damages were mostly on us.

I went home with my whole body aching, wounds on my left shoulder, forearm and wrists and hands. A large wound as well was on my inner left leg. Bruises emerged the following day. I drank some painkillers and antibiotics to ease the pain. It was after a week my father noticed my bruises, I was that good in hiding, I guess.

Now after years of collecting these scars, I think I had decided to never care for my body anymore. Never mind if I scratch myself from nails or sharp steels, get cuts from knives or broken glasses, I couldn't care less. I see blood, feel some pain then shrug my shoulders. It will heal, wounds and cuts will close up. Scars don't bother me anymore.

But the memories brought some inner trauma in me. That wound on my wrist from the avocado tree? It made me fear height, of climbing up and down ladders. Whenever I'm higher from the ground, I feel my stomach squeeze tighter. Thoughts of falling invade my mind...

That melted plastic became a reminder for me that I am scarred for life. That wound on my knee always remind me I'll always fall when it's dark.

And the ones from the motorcycle accident still sit on my shoulders, wrist and legs, a clear reminder that I had a second life. It also made me realize that boy was not the one.

Now I had mention I couldn't care less for scars any more after all those years. But boy was I wrong. I did. I did care when the doctor from last year checked me and had this judgmental eyes while eyeing my visible scars. As if I had self-harmed myself through the years. When in fact, the only thing evident on that day was the wounds on my neck from the day before and some cut wounds on my wrists.

Tried to hang myself... after multiple attempts in over-the-counter drugs. The rope snapped, made me loose my consciousness for a minute or two. Loud noises, screams, I couldn't understand when I came back to my senses. I thought I was gone for good, but no. Still breathing... Decided to cut myself... but I really couldn't stand blood.

A week later I still have the scars on my neck. I had to hide from people -- avoid explanations. That was the moment I realized i never liked my scars. There's no symbolic meaning from any of them. They're just scars....

And my body was just a canvass... which Life had painted on...

-ds-
             written:
22Jul2021 --- 7Aug2021