Scars on my Arms

They scare people.

I guess I should be scared of them too. I mean when someone gets to the point where the only calm you can feel is a razor blade kissing your flesh- that’s a warning. A warning that it’s about to blow. That we gotta do a serious intervention.

I look at my arms covered in ribbons of cuts scabs and scars and I wonder what it will look like healed. Pearly white scars? Red twisted angry scars?

There’s only one person who can touch my arms right now. Who even checks them. Teddy Bear. He’s really gentle with me but something that almost makes me feel in this paralyzing numbness that is depression- is that I can see hurt in him when he touches them or sees them scoring my arms. He knew me before I cut. He is a friend to me I never expected to have and now that I have him I can’t imagine living without him.

He told me something that stuck the other day. I was talking to him about reading books in the library just for fun about Polynesian mythology or culture but he saw my forearms and he just stopped and said “Look at your hands.” And I looked and I looked at him and he said “It really makes me sad to see those because I can see you are in pain. And it only makes it worse.”

He is the smartest Samoan I have ever met. Doesn’t matter that English isn’t his strong suit this man knows things. I remember when the cutting started I prayed and I asked that the “right” person would notice the cuts.

The next day teddy bear came to the gym and checked on me and he saw them.

He touched them. I can’t describe to you what that felt like for someone who is never touched with love or affection. The vulnerability, the warmth, scared me to death. I know violence. Violence is an old friend I know him well. He visits me often in books, movies, dreams, voices, people… But affection I don’t know.

And even now in rehab teddy bear calls. He texts me at 3 in the morning when I have horrible nightmares. His voice sends me to sleep. He loves me. And I love him back. I wish I knew how to let teddy bear in instead of assaulting myself through self-harm. Hasn’t this girl been through enough?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s