I’ll always remember the day my mom saw deep wounds, bright red and angry, scattered about my arms. She said, “That’s going to scar; you’re not going to want all those scars when you get older.” She sent me to the bathroom to wash them and treat them with Neosporin. I distinctly remember washing them and then leaving a sheen of water on them so that if she checked, she would think I had used the ointment. Not my best plan, I admit; but she didn’t check to see that I’d done as instructed, so it was wasted effort anyway. The damage was already done after all. I had tried to tell her I wouldn’t mind the scars but she didn’t think I knew what I was talking about. What 13-year-old does, really?
To me though, those deep cuts were just one battle won in the war that was waging inside me; invisible to the untrained eye. I was poisoned, tainted, damaged; and it was killing me. And every time I dragged that blade across my skin it was in an effort to purge that poison from my body, my mind. It was my attempt at living, contrary to popular belief. It was the only thing that proved to me that I was in fact, still alive. I remember feeling so numb, so beaten down my life, that the sting of that knife felt like coming home, like breathing for the first time after drowning for years. Those marks on my flesh were proof.
Proof that I had survived. Proof that my body was mine to do with as I pleased. Proof that I was in control. Proof that I could take any pain and make it tangible, manageable, visible, even if only to myself. The scars that formed as a result of those wounds were validating. They were the battle scars to match the many wars that had been waged on my body, my mind, my soul, and my sanity. I already had a few scars that were the result of things done to me; but the deepest wounds, those were invisible. And they were poison. I remember choking on the acid of them, suffocated by their weight, screaming for relief without being heard. I just needed to do something.
And so I took that blade and ran it across my flesh; and as the sting spread through me like fire it was as if all the poison was being purged from my body. It was like the fist wrapped around my throat had finally relaxed and I could fucking breathe for once.. And every time life became too much, or the screaming in my head grew too loud, I would return to that blade and find peace again. It was my savior, my reminder that no one had control over me anymore. Proof that I could withstand anything.
I never did and never will mind my scars. I wasn’t trying to get attention; I always hid the cuts. And I wasn’t trying to kill myself; I was trying to heal. I was trying to escape. I was purging that poison from my body and mind. Erasing the stains that so many had left on me with their abuse and their words and their lies. I needed something that was just mine after a lifetime of everything being taken from me. And it worked. 13 years later and I still wear the scars. I have a beautiful life today, full of happiness, peace, and so many blessings. But I’ll never forget the fire that forged me, the poison that almost killed me, or the bad habit that set me free. These scars are the price I paid to cleanse myself, to start over, to begin to feel again. They were my way of surviving, and I can live with that…
by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2017
Note from Author: This post was not written in an attempt to romanticize or suggest anyone try self harming. It is nothing more than my account of my experience with it. It is never good for a person to become dependent on self-destructive behaviors to heal, to regain control, or for any other reason. I could have achieved the same healing if I had used positive coping mechanisms or sought professional help. If you need help, if you feel like you’re drowning, or if harming yourself sounds like a good idea, then please get help!!
RESOURCES FOR HELP
- National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
- Self Harming Hotline: 1-800-DONT-CUT
- Self Injury Foundation’s 24-hour hotline: 1-800-334-HELP
- Real Help for Teens Hotline: 1-877-332-7333
- Suicide Hotline: 1-800-SUICIDE
- https://www.thehopeline.com – website with different resources for those struggling
- http://www.selfinjury.com – website with referrals for therapists & tips on how to stop cutting