Why I Resent My Self-Harm Scars

There are many forms of self-destructive behaviors. My eating disorder is considered a form, but other than that, the only other one I've ever taken part in, is cutting.

Cutting became my first addiction. It was around the age of 14 that I started, and once I had started, nothing inside of me could stop. Many people I believed I was doing it for attention. The last thing I was doing it for was attention. The only reason I was doing it, was because there was so much pain and self-hatred, that I believed the only way for me to release it, was to take it out on myself. I believed I deserved every bit of physical pain I was creating for myself. The emotional pain was so great, that I felt there was no other way to release it other than to hurt myself. Most days, I was cutting myself multiple times.

I don't know how or why, but eventually, the days without cutting eventually became farther and farther apart. It must have been the resilience in me; because I wanted so badly to stop, but just like any addiction, I couldn't just stop. Stopping meant many relapses and failures before I could completely stop.

On January 18th of 2018, it will have been 5 years since the last time I cut myself.

I'm proud of that. But what I'm not proud of - yet - are my scars. The only reason I say that is because my scars are actually what trigger me. I know I wrote about the tattoo I have above the scars maybe about a year ago. It was about how sometimes that's even triggering for me, even though it's meant to be there to stop me from doing it again. But in reality, my scars are actually what trigger me the most. 

I know that sounds silly. If anything, they should motivate me to never do it again. But something that I still hate myself for to this day is the fact that I never went deep enough. You can't see my scars unless I point them out to you. If you run your finger across them, you can feel them raised. But you can't see that they're raised unless you're looking very hard. I have hated myself for a long time that I never cut deep enough to make them visible. I have no idea why. The last thing I want is for people to point them out. So I don't understand why I hate myself so much for it. All I know is that because they aren't very raised or visible, I want to make them that way.

When the urge comes over me to relapse, sometimes it's subtle, and sometimes it's so intense, that I have to stop everything that I'm doing and lay down in the fetal position and allow myself to just cry it out. The more time that passes, the easier it gets to control the subtle urges. But when they're intense, I have an extremely hard time trying to control myself not to relapse. 

I wish I could say these 5 years without it has motivated me to not do it ever again. But in all reality, 5 years without it makes me want to relapse even more. The thought of never doing it again kills me. The thought of going this long without it kills me. I crave it. And when you crave something, you want it right that second. How I have continued to fight to make it to 5 years is beyond me. 

Part of me wishes I never started, because stopping has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Part of me is glad I started, because my scars are a part of me. They're evidence of the resilient fight I'm always putting up. I like to think that someday I'll learn to love them. I like to think that someday they won't trigger me like they do now. I like to think that someday I won't ever think about cutting again. I don't know when that day will be. But I sure hope it comes soon, because the more time that passes, the more triggered I get. 

If you or someone you know needs support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, or text START to 741-741

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