Scars

I have a lot of scars on my body. The bigger ones are from surgeries I have had in the past to repair knees, stomach issues, give birth to children, and to remove further possibility of children. I never really think about those scars unless they are going to be exposed to strangers. I like to think my husband does not even seen them anymore, that I am his wife and my heart for him matters more.

The scars on my body that bother me the most are the ones I created. The cuts I have inflicted upon myself out of a myriad of emotions related to my abuse that were not healthy, true, or not dealt with in a productive, safe way. The cuts were usually made in hidden places, places I sometimes I even managed to hide from my husband by withholding sex so he would not see them. This was unfair to him and to myself, as the intimacy we so desperately need in marriage was being tainted and ignored. My husband has now seen them all, and while it bothers him significantly that the scars are there, I no longer have to hide them. The worst are the ones in places other people can see, created out of the same overwhelming emotions without the consideration of placement, mostly created out of a severe lack of control. Believe or not, some cutting is controlled, but that explanation is beyond my scope.

The scars most visible are on my arms. I had a good, plausible explanation the first time these appeared. The only ones who knew the truth were my husband, who had to clean them up; my therapist; and I suspect my group leader. I cannot tell you what was going on when they were made because I really cannot recall my state of mind at the time.

A month or so later, it happened again. I do not recall the emotional force behind it but it was a desire to see how much I would bleed. It was a constant cutting, trying to reach the vein in the crook of my arm. I was unsuccessful but was caught by my husband and required a trip to the ER. I made up a story about being impaled by scissors by a running dog. I begged my husband to stick with the story. He promised no such thing and said he would crack under the pressure of being asked directly, but would keep silent and let me do the talking. The doctor never seemed to question my story and debated on whether to “glue” it shut or use stitches. I asked for stitches, simply because if there was not something physical in the way, I was afraid another attempt would be made to get to that vein.

The last incident this summer (and hopefully the last ever), was a little over a month ago. I remember being in a state of emotional wreckage and blindly hacked at my arm and then traced the veins. It was a mess, but a controllable one. My husband made me go the ER, not because of the cuts but I had evidently taken a significant amount of my anxiety pills with vodka in order to “calm down.” I narrowly escaped being hospitalized. I was constantly asked if I was suicidal and the answer was a truthful “no.” I really was not, just really upset. They hesitantly released me into the care of my husband and insisted I call my therapist in the morning.

Whew, that was really hard to write. Because of the last incident, I wore long sleeves for a solid week to keep the cuts covered. I did not want to have to offer any type of explanation and I knew that lying was not going to be an option. It was just too obvious. Of course we hit the hottest days of the summer and I suffered through the heat to hide my secret.

All the scars on my arms haunt me. Some days they almost seem to glow out of anger. They appear redder, almost purple, and so obvious. Other days they are more subtle, light in color and barely visible unless looking closely. I am sure there is some biological reason for this, like the temperature in the room or whether I am hot or cold, but I was thinking today it might have something to do with the temperature of my heart. Some days I just need to be reminded in a more obvious way of how I lost control and how I need to make sure I look for the alternative, look to God.

Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies. I Corinthians 6:19-20. The context of this verse is in reference to Paul speaking about sexual immorality among believers. To me, this verse speaks of everything I do that does not honor God with my body. Destroying it intentionally, bleeding in an effort to get out pain and emotion that I should try to turn over to him, may be even worse. Jesus paid the ultimate price for me to be whole in God’s eyes. Who am I to go against that and disfigure myself out of selfishness? Is the temptation to cut still there? Most definitely. I was recently advised to delay cutting by an hour, or even just 30 minutes, and find something else to do with that time, in the hopes that at the end of the allotted time the feeling will have passed and I would find a constructive way to handle the pain and emotion. It did work. I cannot say I turned it all over to God, but some of it did. I am looking forward to the day when this is no longer an issue for me, when the pain and emotion of abuse is not so overwhelming that I can hardly breathe. If I keep trying, surround myself with people who will encourage me to stay safe and seek God, I know I can get there.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13.