I don't really think about them. I wear long sleeves when I'm not at home every single day though. Like seriously, every day. I'm so used to wearing long sleeves that it doesn't bother me when it's hot outside.
I don't like them but I try not to let them influence my behavior anymore. I wont hide them behind a long shirt, tights, scarves, long socks, or bangle jewelry. I wont drop everything I'm doing to cry in a bathroom stall when someone notices. I wont give up the things I enjoy for fear of being stared at. I dislike it but I dislike hiding more.
I don't like them when someone I've know for several weeks, even months, suddenly notices for the first time and I can see it in their eyes when they look away without saying anything.
I don't like them when people ask about the ones that look like accidents not SI and I see the confusion in their face when I answer
God help you if you are a phoenix and you dare to rise up from the ash
A thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy but you are just flying past
I don't really have any feeling towards mine much anymore. When I was self harming multiple times a day, I never quite considered that scars would be an outcome. For a while I attempted to be comfortable with them and use them to show others how I have struggled and how far I've come. I realized that, that method was not going to work for me as it works for others.
Thankfully, I don't find my scars triggering for this reason. I am currently extremely apathetic to them. I do find myself sighing (annoyed) when I see the sun has caught them in one way or another. Otherwise, I have disconnected myself. And truthfully I don't know if that's better or not.
I used to be ashamed of them, but I'm pretty indifferent towards them now. Would I like not to have them? Yes, but what's done is done. I'm comfortable having my sleeves rolled up in public now, so I'm happy.
I have a complicated relationship with my scars. On one hand I actually do like them, because I feel like they speak for me in a way I can't or am not allowed to. I'm watching them fade now and I'm not letting myself add more, but part of me misses them as they disappear. I feel like some part of me is disappearing with them.
The other side of the coin, though, is that they make me self-conscious around people I'm not already comfortable with (summer is hot where I live, so I don't try to cover them with long sleeves). And as I've started thinking about getting work, they've begun to seem like a frustrating obstacle. Particularly because I want to work with kids.
I keep telling myself they are evidence of an unhealthy mind, and each day they fade I take another step towards health. I still feel like part of me is disappearing with them, but I try to trust that the part I feel fading is the unhealthy part, and I'll be a happier person without it.
I'm not bothered. Most of mine are fading into white now. And that I kind of like because it means it's been a long time since I harmed, (it has) and when they fade like that it's like its a mark, from the last, but I got over it and maybe they'll fade more in time.
I don't like why they're angry and red, or noticible but I don't hide them. They're there, they happened, life goes on, and so do I.
When they fade though, is reminds me of how far I've come because there was a point in time when I always had fresh ones. I can't remember what it's like to not have scars on my arm anymore. I think that is a little sad, but it's part of my story and what I've gone through, and for me, not feeling ashamed of my scars falls under the umbrella of not feeling ashamed of my mental health problems and my past.
I'm always sad when I get/make new ones though. It ruins the, my arm is nearly clean thing, and I am always in a bad place when I make them, obviously, so that side is not pleasant.
I'd rather my arms were clear but they are not and so I just have to live with it. In this very hot weather I've gone out without long sleeves and no one has said anything but if a little child was to ask I'd make up a story like Oh, I was in an accident. If an adult asks then I usually tell the truth. If they have a problem with it, then it's their problem, not mine.
