“The scars here on the skin, they will never go away.” That’s roughly what a song by the King a.k.a. Kool Savas says:
And he's right: everyone has scars. They are signs of life, traces that shape us. We often associate them with something negative. But aren't they also proof that we have overcome something, that we have perhaps even come out of it stronger?
For me, scars are more than invisible signs. They are on my skin, in every glance at my arms. My scars used to be invisible, hidden in the depths of my mind. Back then, it was the scars of overeating and vomiting that gnawed at me quietly. But at some point that was no longer enough. And the scars became visible . They became more numerous. They became deeper. And they became uncontrollable. But with each new scar, the shame grew.
"Why don't you go in the water? The lake is so beautiful!" "Aren't you warm? It's over 30 degrees, why don't you put on something short!" I hear questions like this often. Every time I look for an excuse. Especially from people who have no idea about my inner struggle. And I don't want to put even the people who know a little about it in an uncomfortable situation. Because scars, whether visible or invisible, can be very stressful. And they hurt not only yourself, but also those who love you.
Sometimes I think of people who carry scars deep within themselves, marked by trauma, perhaps by drug-addicted parents, serious losses or other strokes of fate. Their scars are often much harder to bear than the visible ones, which can be quickly treated. And then bandaged up and made to go away. But I don't want to compare. Every person's own scars and stories are bad enough - comparisons don't help, they're not appropriate.
If I look at my arms, I could say: "Look, I've scratched or cut myself over a thousand times." Not every time was it that deep. But even the most superficial mini-scratches are ultimately a sign of self-harm, for moments when I didn't know any other way out. So I've "failed" over a thousand times, I haven't managed to control anger, sadness or this tangle of emotions in a healthy way. Through skills, as you learn again and again.
But maybe I could see it differently. Maybe I could say: "Look, these are my arms. This is me - vulnerable, anything but perfect. But I'm still here. And I'm fighting, even if a new bandage keeps coming. " I'm writing this down now, but do I really believe it? I don't know.
But maybe one day I'll be able to show my arms without being ashamed. Maybe one day I'll be able to be at peace with myself. I really want that. After all, I have so many cool (in my opinion cool) T-shirts waiting to be worn again.
