Temple of Scars Pt. 1

A lot has changed regarding mental health issues over the past 20 years. While those of us who suffer have started talking more openly about them more recently, this wasn't always the case.

There is still a lot of bias and prejudice against people when they admit to having a mental illness. "Pill shaming" seems to be the newest trend for those who are ignorant or lack any basic compassion and understanding. There is also still a huge amount of taboo surrounding the topic of self-harm—most of the time we still get abused by people saying we are simply attention-seeking, which is very often furthest away from the truth.

To be in that dark place where you are constantly frustrated, sometimes wanting to lash out and hurt someone who has hurt you, or perhaps merely the build-up of pressure from your job, home life, and debt—every injustice or mistake builds the internal pressure. Either way, the feelings and emotions push us further and further down the path of self-destruction.

For myself, it began with cutting —first with broken glass shards, then moving onto knives. It's the bite of the blade as it slices your skin, the sting that cancels out the emotional pain and replaces it with the physical one. It brings a sense of relief, even if it is only temporary. From one or two cuts to ease the pain to my worst case of thirteen cuts in one incident, and a lot of those just didn't register. I didn't black out, I just don't remember doing some of them.

Obviously I'm a really bad person and should suffer for that, right? Every mistake comes flooding back, every hurt, a boiling pot of pain just needing a release. But then comes the guilt from what you have done. How could you do this to yourself?! Close behind follows deepening shame....

But time heals the physical wounds and your state of mind. I've not hidden my scars for a long time. I accepted what I did and while, no, I'm not really proud of myself, I'm not ashamed, either. For anyone to cut themselves means they are beyond frustrated, tormented, almost desperate for a release from their inner turmoil. I've always been honest with people when asked about my scars, but I know a lot of others would rather the ground open up and swallow them than talk about theirs.

But there is another way. Self-harm becomes normal to you at some point; it becomes part of the cycle you get trapped in. When friends and family berate you for it, sometimes even cry when they see the damage. But you can't understand their reaction. In your disconnected mind, it's normal...

I haven't cut myself for a couple of years now and there have still been some dark and desperate times that have sent me tail-spinning into the danger zone. I have some amazing friends, some of whom have been through it, too. I tell someone when those urges get too strong. A friend-nemesis made me promise them I wouldn't cut again, and I haven't, despite the seductive whispers in the dark corners of my mind.

How I deal with it now is by using a hair band around my wrist and snapping it on the inside where the skin is more sensitive. Lots of other sufferers have used this method, too, and although I was skeptical and fought the idea at first, it does work. It's by no means easy and, like any habit, it takes some hard work and determination not to give in to the urges. I've also used shadow boxing as a way to burn off some of the frustration and try to regain control.

My scars are part of who I am. They are markers on my journey when I've been lost in the darkness; a permanent reminder that I have been through tough times but I've survived. I'm still here. They are a symbol of stubbornness to those of us who make it through to the other side.

People with scars are not weak. We are not attention seekers.

We are warriors.