Imagine someone saying the anguish you’re experiencing is something you made up.
When I learned about Saint Dymphna, the patron saint of those who suffer from nervous, emotional, and mental disorders, the anxious and the depressed, I embraced her as a sort of personal guardian.
Not everyone gets to bear witness to me. Not everyone gets to know my pain. And that’s okay.
Despite all the light that’s surrounding me, inside I feel dark.
I ran until anorexia almost took me over completely. I ran until the scars tallied skin from my thigh to my waist because I couldn’t cope. I ran until I couldn’t anymore.
The thing is, my scars—what should be a sign of healing, perseverance, and survival—can be the most triggering thing.
Take a step back and look at all the other days which terrified you, and you still made it through.
If healing is finite, I am far from being healed, but I am not broken.
You don’t have to survive and endure pain to be strong. Sometimes being strong means freeing yourself of it.
Maybe you’re like me, wondering if the temptation to harm yourself will ever go away. If I’m being honest, I really wish it would.
I reached five years of being self-harm free this past October. It was a milestone that often seemed impossible to achieve.
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