The Knife

Scars

I know I dont usually put TWs for these, cuz honestly I forget and I know very few people read them, but I am talking about self harm in this, so... Yeah

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I wish I could say I was proud of my scars. That I would be okay if people saw them. That I am not ashamed of the things I did in the struggle to keep my sanity, which I sometimes fear is already lost. I love the scars that show life's journey. I love hearing others say they have scars but no longer open wounds. I'm proud of my scars that I didn't cause on purpose and I'm proud of everyone else's because to let them heal takes strength. Scars are full of memories, both good and bad. But the scars I caused myself feel different, like they never fully healed and became scars. They certainly hurt like wounds and mentally they still are even when I'm 5 months clean. Even when Im free to talk about them with my mom, though while she understands on some level from her own past, I still feel alone. A boy once asked if I would break up with him if he relapsed. He didn't know that I just had. I remember thinking what a hypocrite I would be if I said yes, though no one would know my hypocrisy because no matter how bad it got I never intended to let anyone know. I wanted help, so badly I did, and I asked for it time and time again when the wounds were merely mental, when they wouldn't be ingrained into my body for the whole world to see. I suffered flashbacks of my own work for months, saying I was okay like I didn't come out of the bathroom bleeding. If I wasn't hiding behind anonymity, I don't think I would share this now, though maybe someday in the future I'll be able to. I hope someday I can. Because for the foreseeable future my scars will remain, and hurt, and remind me, though the flashbacks aren't so bad anymore since the night I finally told my mom. I know not everyone is lucky enough to have someone they can tell, though for months I kept it from her because I didn't want her to blame herself, and when that night came I lied about when it stared, to place it after a completely unavoidable event. Though I will say it's funny. I started writing a book about an alcoholic teen, struggling with his addiction, wanting it to stop, and someday getting there, the last step my parents haven't reach with their own addictions I grew up watching. Yet as he slowly recovered, in those last couple months of my book's first draft, I started my own addiction. One that I carried into the new year even though I have no new scars. Just the shame as I wore a swimsuit yesterday, and even though nobody saw the single scar in view, nobody even looking for it, I spent the whole morning in a mix of waiting for my events and trying to block anyone's view of my scar. I brought the shame the urge to do it again, even though I'm well aware of the consequences. Even though hurting myself has never actually helped, I keep thinking, for just a moment, that maybe it'll do some good, somehow. Because at the end of the day, when I did it it was something when I felt I had nothing. I want to be proud of my scars, because I remember the battles that lead to me getting them, but I am simply not there yet, and even if it doesn't feel like it, that's okay. I'll get there someday.

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3/26/2023