Gozy
I self harm, and it’s not pretty. But I’m not suicidal. Now, I believe it’s become a solution in a way.
In the beginning, it might have been a cry for help. However, as the years went on, the cutting still released the tension, but I began to lose the bad after-feeling associated with it. The scars no longer trouble me. The lines, diagonal, vertical and hatched onto my arms and belly. The star I carved on my arm, which I thought, “oh, it’ll look cool”. The words, “always second best”, and “I love Fiona T?” scrawled in my best (or worst) left-handed style.
The first time it happened took great determination, and I guess a lot of emotion and adrenaline. No matter how upset I was, and get, it always hurt. There’s times when all the tension, and the hurt, emotion and loneliness, numbs the pain like an ice pack.
…
For me, my scars are my safety blanket. I look at them they remind me of the good (when I stopped long enough to let them fade) and bad times (when they got deep or infected). The most important thing for me, was that I found a tailor made solution to my woes. Or I morphed a method/activity, into something that I accepted as a solution.
I’ll always carry the scars, inside and out, but I’m no longer scared. I understand why, what, and how it happened. And I feel strangely comfortable with my “problem”.
