The following article discusses my personal experience and individual views regarding self-harm. I understand that each person has their own experiences with self-harm and that there is not one singular point of view. Please continue reading with the understanding that the following may discuss topics that some could consider triggering and that this article contains some graphic content. Thank you.

Up until my second year in college, I had always felt relatively normal and generally happy. I had a few friends that cared about me, I had always done well in school, I was doing well on my sports teams. Life was, well, average—and that was all I wanted from it. Then one day, in the second semester of my Sophomore year at my university, something changed. I all of a sudden felt very sad, inadequate, and unhappy in general. I had very dark thoughts that weighed me down like a ton of bricks, and I didn't know how to escape from it. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving my room unless it was to go to one of the few classes that still brought me joy, I stopped eating completely, and I hated everything about my life. I hated me.

Before getting a diagnosis and beginning treatment (and after... no one is perfect, and we all fall off the proper path to recovery sometimes), I simply couldn't cope with what I was feeling and thinking constantly, and I didn't know how to get the awful pressure out from inside my soul. One day, while lying in bed restless once again, I needed a way to occupy my hands that were shaking uncontrollably with anxiety, and I had a sudden urge to scratch something. I decided that since no one could see my stomach, that was a good place to start.

I took the protective end off of the bobby pin in my hair and began to carve into my stomach. Once I began to bleed, I moved to a new spot. This continued for a few nights until I ran out of space on my torso, so I moved to my hips and thighs. All of this happened in what I thought was the thickest fog that I would go through, but I was severely mistaken. My situation would only get worse from here on out, and so did my coping mechanisms. My diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety would take a major toll on my life.

I knew what I was doing was considered self-harm, but I felt that it was the only way to get through what I was feeling and thinking. I eventually became suicidal, and I felt that this was one way to fend off those thoughts and satisfy my self-hatred and desire to end my life. But again, this got out of control. I cut on my arms for the first time the summer between my second and third year of college; I could still see those minuscule scars there until I recently covered those up with a little moon tattoo on my outer wrist (the moon symbolizes much more for me than those little lines did, and I have plenty of others on my arms left uncovered).

That was a test for me to see if I could ever out-smart my fears of getting caught; I knew that if I started using my arms as my outlet, I would definitely be forced into treatment eventually, and that was the last thing I wanted. But that didn't stop me. I had become consumed by my need to release my fears, worries and anxieties by letting them run free from my veins, and I had become obsessed simultaneously with punishing myself for my feelings with the pain this hobby caused me.

I am sharing this story and all of its details to simply say one thing: I am PROUD of my scars. I love my scars. The scars from my encounter with self-harm, the ones that run down my forearm, or that lie symmetrically down my hips -- these are proof to me that I can overcome anything. I can overcome the scariest and darkest thoughts that a person can imagine. I can turn around suicidal thoughts and ideations. I can battle my addictions, and win. The last time I self-harmed was the day that I admitted myself into the psychiatric ward of a hospital, and the feelings and thoughts I had that day will never be forgotten. But thanks to my scars, I can reflect peacefully on those times. I can be grateful that I dug myself out of the deepest trenches, that I built a support system that carried me through my crises, that I am here today writing this article. My scars remind me that I have strength, and that I had strength then too.

If this article is something that you can relate to, I am so sorry that you have had to battle anything like what I did. However, I am proud of you for being here, seeing your strength, and persevering. I hope that you can look at your scars as reminders of what you have overcome and the darkness that you have left behind and replaced with light.

Here are some resources if you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health or related crises:

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention — 1-888-333-2377

The Suicide Prevention Lifeline — 1-800-273-8255

The National Domestic Violence Hotline — 1-800-799-7233

SAMHSA Treatment Locator — 800-662-4357