Self Harm.

Self Harm, a subject that is taboo to many, but one that ripples in the world, many associate it with just teenagers, the old stigma of emos and cries for help. This is not always the case, self harm can effect any one of any age. My scar’s are not all new. Many faded are from times past…..

A teenage me, was one who rebelled, yet I was shy, hated confrontation, preferring to hide away from the world on my own, silence was my happiness with just music for company. Losing myself in books, writing a diary, writing stories, imagining a world away from reality. I felt safe in those moments.
I struggled outside of these moment’s. It’s upon recently finding a old diary, reading the thoughts of a teenage me, left me silent. reading through, a snippet of just a couple of day’s,

13/02/95 : *School, why do I have to go to school, no one like’s me there, they are all mean to me, why am I so different, I am not popular, I don’t have the newest thing’s, I don’t have money, is this why? I don’t like school, why do I have to go
15/02/95 : They attacked me today, pulled my hair, pushed me over, laughed at me, I was walking down the corridor, wanted to get into my locker, I try and ignore them but it’s hard
16/02/95 : I don’t want to be here, how easy is it to kill yourself?
17/02/95 : I found sharp scissors today, I cut my leg, it doesn’t hurt, it helped me. Is it even possible to actually hang yourself? I don’t like this any more, it just hurts so much. I am not safe from anyone, please someone help me?

Closing the last page, I destroy the words inside. No longer do I need the written text, for they were now forever imprinted on my mind.

Fast forward into 2006, Finally my solitude is found, as I move into my first proper home, a house. Yet instead of finding the solace I thought I craved in the chaos of my life, I found myself confused, never knowing morning too night, 8am could have been 8pm, trying to search TV show’s in the hope of knowing. Visitors were so rare, friends didn’t exist, I might as well not have existed.
No job, no future, no hope, I was truly lost.

I hurt mentally, emotionally, I had no support, I had no one, So I turned to the blade,
Slicing it into my arms, I found the comfort I had discovered once before, No tears flowing just red rivers. It never cured anything, yet it eased the pain, it took me away from the moment I was in and allowed me to focus.

Today, I sit now with my arms covered in scar’s, the blade came back into my life 7 months ago. It’s like an old friend revisiting, reminding me of comfort and grounding.
My old scars faded, covered by new. Each new mark another ripple, another memory, another panic attack, another grounding, anger released.

The blade and the demons, my two trusty friends, two friends who have always walked by my side in the times of true darkness. Never judging, never accusing, just there.

I don’t show my scars for attention, because my scars are just part of me, they don’t define me, as they are me, the path I have walked, the pain I have been through.
I don’t hide my scars in shame, for there is no shame walking a wobbley path,

I chose to share a photo, because reality is too often hidden, my scars so small compared to some, yet to me my scars, my self harm, is not a measure, it’s simply my pain.