So, I thought I would start a new feature on my blog. It is going to be called writing Wednesday and there’s where I am going to write anything that I am inspired to do so on that particular day.

Everybody is welcome to join in, of course, and you can do that by either writing something in the comments or giving me a pingback to your work. (It goes without saying that you should feel free to share your work if you get the urge to do so!)

What am I going to use as my inspiration this week?

The word… Scars.

The invisible

“What on earth is wrong with you?” It was a question that I was dreading when I had gone into this therapy session. I could see people critically looking me up and down and I knew exactly what it was they were looking for. They were looking for the visible remnants of self-harm. Everybody else in the room was littered with them on their arms, but not me. The truth was I did not have one scar of self-harm on my body.

“Self-hatred does not always lead to self-harm,” I said in a small and timid voice. I doubted that anybody in the room would have the same level of self-hatred that I did. Even so, for one moment, they actually made me feel unworthy of being part of this session.

The girl who had originally asked question made a noise as she wrinkled her nose. “Of course it does. Most of it is in this room have tried to commit suicide, all we just hate ourselves so much that we do not think we are worthy unless we bear the pain of a cut.

I almost wanted to scream at her that I tried to commit suicide as well and that was why I was sent into this room. They had just not done it with a knife because at the end of the day I was too squeamish to do that. I didn’t think I deserved nothing but pain, there were just other ways of doing it to yourself.

Instead, I remained silent and lowered my head.

“Michelle,” an older woman that I had not seen sitting in the circle was quick to scold the girl who spoke. “You know better than to judge people because, and you need to remember this, not everybody’s scars are visible. Natasha, you are very welcome into our group. It is our hope that giving you a sense of belonging is going to help relieve the pain.”

“She is never going to belong here!” Michelle was on her feet and lunging towards me before anyone could do anything about it.

My heart was heavy as the word sunk in and I turned to run. There were voices trying to follow me and some of the nurses in the ward tried to stop me as I hurtled by them. I was determined that nobody was going to see me cry and that they would never know just how much Michelle’s words had got to me.

The group was no place for me and, the simple fact was, I was never going to belong anywhere. Realising this fact was like having an epiphany because it felt like I finally understood everything. There was no denying what I needed to do.

My next suicide attempt was not going to fail.

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4 thoughts on “Writing Wednesday – January 25, 2017

  1. Well, that was depressing.

    Back in the late 1970s and early 80s, I worked the graveyard shift at a suicide hotline in Berkeley. Not everyone who called was actively suicidal, but they all had scars of one kind or another, mostly invisible, but not inaudible.

    Liked by 1 person

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