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.
It was a matter of telling myself, “I want to live,” even when all I wanted to do was die.
It’s possible to live with scars, to feel the same pain you feel right now and to not hurt yourself because of it, to want to stop.
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