TW: will discuss self-harm scars so if you’re sensitive to the following content, please do not read any further.

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I have been inspired to write this short blog piece which supports Melissa Boyle’s ( @GeekMagnifique ) hashtag campaign called #ScarredAndSexy

I have a lot of scars.

My ankle times two from falling down a hill and breaking it. One of my forehead from a chickenpox spot that I picked. One on my finger from falling over my own two feet. One on my knee from falling off my scooter. Various small cuts that I received through my job as a Healthcare Assistant and the ones that cover my arms through years of self-harm.

Every scar I own, tells a story.

My self-harm scars are a story of surviving the hell that was my depression and anxiety, my way of getting through my teenage years and the years and hell that followed. I used to be ashamed of them. Those small red marks that covered both my right and left arm, were painful reminders for me.

Even more so when I was called names by people who asked how I received the scars on my arm and were understandably shocked when I said I was a self-harmer.

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I got this tattoo not long after my eighteenth birthday. As you can see clearly, those are my self-harm scars. I’m fortunate that there is a point in my life where I do not self-harm and my scars are no longer visible to others. However, I see my scars. I can point them out to you, I see the silver marks daily and I’m proud of them.

I’m proud of me for surviving.

I used to think I was defined by my scars.

I’m not. I’m #ScarredAndSexy

You should be proud of your scars too. Each scar is unique to us.

G. X

 

 

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