Last night I was painfully reminded that I don't think like others. I was reminded that the reason of my actions is most often very different than others.
I also realized that it is very hard for me to talk about being truly vulnerable and even harder to explain why I am broken even when I appear so strong on the outside.
I informed my significant other last night that I am planning on tattoos covering my self-harm scars that I have on my inner arm.
He suggested laser removal to get rid of them and that he doesn’t like tattoos that are really visible.
I said that I don't want to get rid of them, I just want to see the beauty that came out of what I went through, and be reminded to not go back to that dark place.
I won't be able to ever forget that I did those things to myself. No matter how much cream I put on them or lasers I let near them, I will always see the scar.
He said that he doesn't see a point because I am better now.
At that point I realized that he thinks it happened years ago, or even a decade ago when my first suicide attempt happened.
What he doesn't know is that it was less than a year ago. The scars are recent.
He does realize that I am no better now than I was crying on the floor scratching my arm until I bled.
I am still that person, and I always will be.
I have three tattoos thus far. Two very visible on my left arm, and one on my ribs.
Each signify a time in my life that I otherwise would have missed if I would have succeeded with my suicide attempts.
From studying abroad where I randomly roomed with two other women who struggled with suicide attempts, to graduating to college and getting tattoos with my professor made mentor made friend, then to San Diego where I celebrated making to to see the point in my life where my parents dream of their three kids getting bachelor degrees did come true.
My tattoos remind me to keep going, that my life isn't done yet.
That even though there is a lot behind me, there is even more in front of me.
They remind me to NEVER forget that even though I can’t see my future sometimes, it is still there.
I spent this past year looking at these scars that are placed so close to my beautiful artwork on my body.
Since my mind won't tell me to keep looking forward, I need my body to tell me to.