Do you know what it’s like to have your entire body scream at you for a release, like something is trapped and clawing to get out? Do you know what it’s like to be terrified of yourself?

Well, I do. 

Sunday, the first time someone saw my scars and didn’t judge them. After my youth group teacher at church told me about things that have gone on in her life I decided to tell her about some things that have gone in mine. My issue with cutting being one of them. When I showed her all of the scars she didn’t even flinch once, look disgusted, or feel bad for me. She didn’t judge it, she tried to understand it. For once, I felt like I wasn’t being judged. She listened to my story and talked to me about it, asked questions, gave advice. Not once did she tell me it was wrong or that I’m better than it. She understood. Now I feel like I can go back to church and be myself, I don’t need to hide and I don’t want to hide. I don’t take pride in my scars, I hate having to see them everyday but now I can at least feel like I’m not being judged at the one place I shouldn’t be. I’m moving forward in life and trying to put cutting in the past, maybe with more people being able to understand, I can.

Every scar tells a story; a story saying “I survived”