****Starting this off with a trigger warning because I don’t want to make someone upset or make them hurt unnecessarily. So read with caution (Mentions of self harm) ****This is a rant****
On Facebook, a few people on my friends list are sharing this picture. It has a recovering self harmer’s arm covered in scars saying something about them being ‘tiger stripes’ and not making you gross.
I suppose from an angle this could be glorification, however there is also a nasty little note tacked to the picture. Calling whoever does this a “sicko” and saying they “need help.”
All I have to say is… Well, duh? Let me explain. *kick into long story before I get to my actual point because it’s on my mind*
From before the time I started here (I think I was really 10 or 11) I had gotten myself into a really bad place. I had gotten this sharp pain that would knock my air from my lungs, and then I’d get sad… The worst part is what came after though, I felt numb. I was cold, empty, hollow. Just dying- maybe even dead- inside. I would do normal 10/11 year old girl things and I’d laugh- maybe just a bit too loud or too long- and smile too much. I’d dance around to whatever was on the radio and make regrettable fashion choices.
But at the end of the day I still didn’t really feel anything. I still needed something.
It came around the time I turned 12. I remember that year very well honestly. It was chaotic to say the least.- I have no idea where the memory of the other years went, they just don’t want to play. I’m not even sure the time from when I was 8 to 11 even existed really. It was all a blur.- I was at my friend’s house and I walked into her mom, who had a cigarette. It hurt so bad. (I still have the scar on the top of my left arm.) But something clicked in my mind. The empty feeling wasn’t really as bad, and I was so focused on the pain I wasn’t really worried about what was going on in my mind.
It took a couple weeks before I realized I needed it again. Just one time wouldn’t hurt, yeah? (Bad idea, little Brittany. Bad idea.) I was allowed to have lighters, candles, and incense in my bedroom. I was a ‘smart kid’ so they trusted me. That night I took a piece of metal, got it as hot as I could in the candle, and I guess you know where it went from there. It got where I had to do that once a day at least or the feeling would come back. After a while, I decided to try something else. I collected blades and hid them. I started small… Then, one day my older brother called me a ‘fat *****’ and I went to my room and stayed the whole day. Even though I was still only 12 at the time, the scar is still huge and an angry purple to this day. By my 13th birthday, the skin of my thighs was unrecognizable. I did it so many times a day, carried a blade wrapped in toilet paper in my pocket and when it was too much for me I’d escape to the bathroom to do enough to hold me over for a few hours, clean up, and go back to whatever. I stopped going to my friends house. I stopped going swimming, I stopped attending church (not that I really liked church anyways,) and just let myself go. I wore baggy clothes when I was forced out of my bedroom, because god if I had to wear jeans or any kinda rough fabric I was terrified it’d rub them open. I started getting first aid stuff and hiding it in my room because I’d bleed too much and paper towel wasn’t cleaning me up enough anymore.
Now I’m 17, and still struggling with it. My family knows now, thanks to mom walking in because I forgot to lock the door one day.
Not a day goes by without me thinking of the relief it’d be to just do a small one. Just one small one.
Back to my actual point.
Glorification is a bad thing, yes. But someone trying to say something nice about their scars isn’t a bad thing. Fuck, I wish I could say that shit about mine. I see these fuckers every day and I absolutely despise them.
And yeah, we do fucking need help, but we aren’t sickos…We’re not sickos.
I know some people do it for attention, but the fact is they still did it.
Yeah, those people are probably going to regret it in a few years. But think of this. Just imagine for a moment. You don’t know their fucking story. Whoop there it is. Wow! Such a concept!!!! That you would have no idea if this person had been hiding it for a long time? Tch… but yeah. You have no idea if they have just finally started to forgive their self for what they did to their body. You have no idea what they’ve been through. You have no idea if they did it for attention or not. So just shut up and stay in your lane.
I’d rather people be able to love themselves after that kinda shit than to hate themselves.
Don’t kick them while they’re fucking down.