Some people are ashamed of their scars; they hide them as if they are an embarrassment. Others wear them proudly, some by choice and others through years of work. There are the wounds we see everywhere; on soldiers or from surgeries. Then there are the subtle ones that rarely get to see the light of day such as cesarean scars, breast cancer scars, or transplant scars. Finally, the secret scars the ones that we pray heal before we have to explain them out loud. Those are my scars.
Don't get me wrong, I have lots of scars. One's on my forehead from when I crashed into a wall chasing a sale rack. (Even at a young age, I was an avid shopper.) Then my surgery scar on my knee that will never heal. And my secret scars that I avoid, cover-up, and make excuses for whenever someone does notice. I call them my battle scars; some see them as suicide attempts, others call it self-harm, and the rest call it the first thing they think of out of shock. Well, I'm letting the cat out of the bag. (Which, by the way, was my latest excuse: a cat scratched me. A lie that seemed easier than what really happened.)
I started my battle wounds around high school. But before that, I used rubber bands and snapped them until they left a red line. It was nothing new. Those were just easier to hide; since they faded within minutes. Why I did that is a hard question to answer but I can try my best.
My life wasn't hard, but I really didn't have my father in my life like I wanted, my mother was sick a lot, and my grandma has breast cancer (more recently bone cancer, also). I had so much going on that I took on the role of caretaker.
It is really hard to help everyone at a young age so I forgot to care for myself. I was told once by an adult in my life that, "If you are not bleeding or dying then don't cry." It stuck with me. I feared that everyone I loved would die and I would be alone, that it would be my fault because I didn't try hard enough, didn't love them hard enough.
That's a big pill to swallow as a kid. I mean, it’s hard even now as an adult, so you can imagine the pain I was hiding inside. I didn’t cry, I just focused on making everyone happy and proud of me while I still had them in my life. Eventually that fear subsided and I was happy I was still the caretaker when need be but not always so I could be a kid for a while.
High school brought that fear back as I watched my family go through more and more pain. I felt horrible because I couldn’t help and then when I felt bad I figured I had no reason to be. I wasn’t the sick one; I was fine, so why was I unhappy? Why was I sad all the time? Why couldn’t I control my emotions? And why couldn’t I focus?
It took some time because I didn’t have a name for anything. I remember one day I couldn’t go to my class because when I tried to step into the room I instantly couldn’t breathe. I never made it in class that day but instead I cried outside in the hallway.
I didn’t tell anyone and avoided help; my family didn’t need to worry about me. I worry about them. That’s what I do. After that I did whatever I had to do to control whatever was going with me. They were not the healthiest ways, but they worked and gave me peace. When I cut (self-harmed) I felt in control of the pain I felt. I like control of my body, my thoughts, my soul, my everything. I scarred my body for my sanity, but then the scars remind me of when I lost my sanity.
That year I was diagnosed with severe depression and I made a promise to my loved ones to never do that again. I stayed “Clean” for four whole years until life pushed me too far and I cracked. I fell into the darkness and stayed there for a while.
It’s hard to be positive when your greatest fear starts happening. I lost my brother, my friend, and my great grandfather. I lost my way for a while and depression and anxiety took over my life. School became too much and I had to take a semester off. When I came back, I tried to tackle too much and made things worse. I broke my promise and cut in the shower and as I watched the blood go down the drain I felt so many emotions at once: sad, angry, happy, relieved, but mostly HEARTBROKEN. The thing that gave me control became an addiction and took control of me. I created new scars that I can’t wait to heal. But they helped me get the help I needed to get better.
It’s okay to fall down as long as you stand back up and brush yourself off. I reached out for help and I hope many others will too.
Crisis Text Line
Crisis Text Line serves anyone, in any type of crisis, providing access to free, 24/7 support and information via the medium people already use and trust: text. Here’s how it works:
· Text 741-741
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Phone Number
· 1-800-273-8255
