I cut myself because i didnt know what to do, but i wanted to be ok.
It pains me immensely to know ive recently added to the scars on my body, and increased the reminders of pain and strain and turmoil that live on the skin im in.
But with depression, i wanted to hurt myself because i felt like i deserved it.
I got a tattoo to cover the pain and scars of this bird cage saying ive been set free from life and the abuse.
Young women learn to live with the scars from when they self-harmedContributor and partner login.
Dating with self harm scars
Knew myselfand i knew, to some degree,what i wanted: an intelligent man that valued my perspective and life experiences, while challenging me to grow intellectually.
I had a friend in grad school who confided in me she had cut herself after years of abstaining.
I had a therapy sessions which were great and eventually realized i had depression and i needed to take a step towards being the happy me again, so while my legs where recovering from the self-harm i got a tattoo under neath my scars saying okay.
Once cut the word ugly into my leg, but recently got a tattoo that says beautiful to remind myself how beautiful i am.
For a long time, i was angry with myself for no longer being the friendly, funny person i used to be.
It took immense persuasion, yet i found myself at rehearsals preparing for an event called blinded in march of 2015.
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I stopped self-harming around four years ago, ive never known why i self-harmed, its just something i felt i had to do.
Just breathe is a reminder to do so when im in panic mode, and the words go over some faded self-harm scars.
These words are now worn on my arm, a new scar painted over the scars that felt foreign and enigmatic.
Years of struggling with bulimia and self-harm, i decided to get the infinity sign with the neda symbol beneath.
Haven't self-harmed in eight years, and i no longer hide my scars under long-sleeved clothing.
This leg piece symbolizes me setting myself free of the judgment and ridicule i had placed on myself for so many years, the same way the genie gets set free by the master he was slaved to.
Now its there to stay and hopefully ill not be in a place where i need to self-harm again, certainly not over my tattoo.
When most of my scars had healed and i was only left with a few big scars, i got them covered with a lion, not to hide what i did but because lions are strong and powerful and so am i.
Each time i look at my arms, i see dozens of scars that reproduce bad memories, like a ghost lingering on.
I struggled with self-harm for a really long time, an addiction i felt that i would never be able to overcome.
This entire stay at the hospital was spent scrutinizing the place i found myself in, watching everyone but myself.
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I was able to realize that harming myself over things i cannot control is just like beating myself up for no reason.
The version people seemed to like better i realized all i can do now is put effort into improving myself moving forward.
While i was out in public, people were abrasive to my face more than once i'd been asked if my scars were the result of sexual activity, as if my sex life was open for public consumption.
Didnt want to cover up my scars completely because i wanted it to be a reminder that i was strong enough to overcome it and that i still had a life to live my life wasnt ready to be over.
I didnt believe in myself, and many people struggling with self-harm think just like me.
I feel ashamed, not necessarily because of what other people might think, but of myself.
My husband is the person who helped me overcome cutting myself though and im truly thankful for him.
When i had motivation to get better, i wanted something beautiful on my arm to cover these scars up.
Then, for just a moment (all it takes is a moment), i saw the hundreds of scars and keloidsareas on my skin where the scar tissue spread beyond the boundaries of my original wound, creating large waxy brown stripesthat ran from my armpit to my wrist.
So i decided to get this amazing tattoos over my scars to remind me that he will always be there.
I only confided in the pages of my journal, where the prose and verse allowed for the audacity to face myself.