I love scars. We all start off as a blank canvas, and throughout our lives we add little marks to our bodies. Some done on purpose and others not. I think scars tell a story, so I thought I would write a blog sharing the stories behind my scars.
The scars on my face:
I have multiple scars on the left side of my face. Some of them literally go from the bottom of my face to just under my eye area. And others just look like tiny scratches. When I was a baby I was at the Hawk Conservatory with my family watching a bird show. My auntie lifted me up so I could see better, and she dropped me. On barbed wire. (IT WAS COMPLETELY DONE ON ACCIDENT DON’T WORRY KIDS). You can only see these scars in certain light, however they are more visible when I am not wearing makeup. These scars are now one of my insecurities. I’m not gonna say I hate them, because as I said before, they tell a story. Those scars on my face are part of my past.
The scar on my hand:
This is a scar from me being a typical girl. One day I was curling my hair with a curling wand and they get so hot! You are supposed to wear gloves with these but because I live life on the edge, obviously ;), I didn’t wear gloves. I moved the wand slightly to grab a hair grip or something and the tip of the wand hit my hand, leaving me with another scar. I remember this was awful because it blistered so much, I wore a bandage covering my hand to school because this blister was honestly massive, one day at school it popped. Oh my god it was like a waterfall. The scar has healed quite a bit now because It happened around 5 years ago but here’s a picture (I know it’s hard to see, I’m sorry).
The scar on my wrist:
I have a scar that literally goes in a complete circle around my wrist, I work with children, and one day one of them asked me to look after their hairband. So as I would naturally do I put it around my wrist. I didn’t realise how small children’s hairbands are until this. So basically where the hairband was so small it dug into my skin and now leaves me with a perfect circular scar around my wrist. (Don’t put hairbands round your wrists guys, especially not children’s ones).
The scar on my arm:
I used to work part time in pound world, and as you do when you work in retail you have to open boxes, being 16 I shouldn’t have been using a knife to do it but I’m also gay so I have no fingernails so that was literally my only option. So I was using a knife to open a box and I guess I slipped? So I had a clean cut going up my right forearm, which again left another scar. I cut myself so many times at work i’m surprised i’m not covered in them.
My sad scars:
You all saw this coming ay, the part where it gets all sad. The part where I talk about when I self harmed. I was around 13/14 and I had a lot of stuff going on. My life was just generally miserable, I was emotionally drained all the time. So I needed something to get rid of that emotional pain, so I resulted to physical pain. I used to cut the whole length of my left forearm, I would use razor blades and the blades you got out of sharpeners. I would sit in the bath and hurt myself. I told my family that it was scratches from my nails because my arm was itchy. My family believed this.
Then I started to cut myself in places no one would see, I use to cut my stomach, the top of my thighs, the bottom of my leg, the bottom of my feet and my boobs. Because I thought that these were places no one would see. I remember one day after I cut myself on the bottom of my leg it was a PE day and we had to wear shorts for PE, so my cuts showed. My friends laughed at me because they thought I was shaving wrong. I smiled and agreed not wanting anyone to know the truth. I used to cut the bottom of my feet so that it would hurt when I walked, because that’s what I thought I deserved, constant pain. I used to cut my boobs because this was the place that was always covered, so that there was literally no way anyone would see.
Then one day my mum bought me new bras and wanted to check they fit (I was 13 this is normal ahah) I really didn’t want to get changed in front of her because of the cuts on my stomach, I didn’t want her to check the bra fit because of the cuts on my boobs. But my mum isn’t silly, she knew something was up. So she made me show her, she seemed disappointed in me, because I displayed myself as such a strong person, but obviously I was not.
My mum then did weekly body checks on me, once every week she would check every inch of my body to make sure I was not harming myself. I thank my mum for this, because I didn’t want to see my mum cry again, I didn’t want to be the reason she was hurting, so I stopped cutting. I broke my bad habit, I released my emotions in other ways, such as writing down how I felt.
So that’s what I would suggest to you, you don’t need to physically hurt yourself to get that pain out. Scream, shout, sing, talk to people, friends, family, teachers, write down how you feel, start a diary. Do whatever you can but please don’t hurt yourself. You are worth so much more.
My scars show suffering and pain, but they also show my will to survive, they show a story from my past, they are part of my history that’ll always be there. A reminder of how strong I can be.