Scarring
I wear sleeveless stuff a lot, and mostly I don’t think about it. Maybe sometimes the first time I wear short sleeves in front of someone, or whatever, but mostly I’m used to it, though I have no idea what other people think.
I realise I have one friend I have never worn short sleeves in front of — the timing’s been off. And also that I do not want to talk about it. I do not know I will be asked. It’s sometimes hard to say. One of my neighbours is a nurse. Another neighbour is an art therapist who works with teens. I have caught them looking at my arm instead of my face. (It’s like the looking at the boobs, but over to the side a bit. And more covert.) They’ve never asked, obviously, and I never say anything.
I regret the scars, sometimes. And othertimes, I’m glad they’re there. I touch them, for comfort, and they feel like pain, and they feel like I am, for this brief moment, safe.
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June 6th, 2006 @ 12:45 am
According to an article in today’s news, one in five students have done it. Maybe it’s not so unusual….
http://www.cnn.com/2006/HEALTH/parenting/06/05/self.abuse.study.ap/index.html
June 6th, 2006 @ 6:47 pm
{{{{wolfangel}}}}
I wish you felt safe all the time.
I wrote a much longer comment here, but then I realised it was all about me, so I moved it to my own blog. I don’t know if that’s more appropriate or less…
June 6th, 2006 @ 9:54 pm
(o)
June 6th, 2006 @ 10:48 pm
At Ivy League schools, Cougar. And guess what — a third neighbour works in the psych intake part of an ER. I’m surrounded!
June 6th, 2006 @ 11:00 pm
If you can hurt yourself worse than other people hurt you, it feels safe. It’s the ultimate disclaimer: ha ha, I got here first. You can’t hurt me. na na na boo boo.
Nothing like pain early in life to overcome the rest of your life. Gotta love it.