Trigger warning: self-harm (past tense).
Yesterday, as my big Christmas gift I got a tattoo to cover up the cutting scars on my arms. This was a really big step for me, something that I’ve been thinking about for a long time. People asking me about my scars tends to be the quickest way to ruin my day, and happens surprisingly frequently. Even when you try to shut someone down with a literal answer, they persist. What is that. A scar. What is it from. An injury.
I researched my tattoo artist for nearly a year, picked someone with experience specifically working with scar cover up, and she was brilliant. The scars, that I've lived with and hated for 10 years banished and invisible. I chose a hedgehog cactus, which supposedly represents triumph over adversity, and more literally represents starting a new life in the desert. Now if someone want to asks me a personal question about my body, they can ask about my stunning artwork and not my painful past. It means so much to me, and I am brimming over with emotions, but haven’t found myself able to share it with anyone, it just feels still to raw and personal, hence my sharing it with you, internet, instead.