My husband has been a self-harmer since he was about 13, so almost 25 years. We have been together for 8 years. It was very severe in the last few years of his first marriage, and the worst after his late wife's death. She struggled with an eating disorder for most of her life, and eventually the disease was more than she could handle. Four of his most prominent scars were made when she died, and they were by far the deepest. It has been a number of years since he has actively cut, but he struggles with the feelings every day. But he manages because he doesn't feel that he must handle the burden alone.
He has over 75 significant keloidal scars on his chest, arms, and legs, and hundreds more that have faded over the course of 25 years. He is finally beginning to look at them as a badge of wisdom and courage, and a reminder that he can find strength in himself to handle anger, grief, loneliness and self-doubt in healthier ways. That he is more than the urge. He was able to finally control it when he realized he didn't have to do it alone. Andrea was aware, but dealing with her own problems. I was the second person he ever told, and we've been taking it on together ever since. There have been times when he has failed, but the key difference was that he could talk to someone, and I would listen, and understand that what he really needed wasn't someone who would step up and take charge to fix everything, but simply someone who didn't think he was weak for needing help with his feelings.
Every day I have to listen, truly listen, to what my husband is feeling and thinking. There are times when I know I'm talking to him, and there are other times when I know I am listening to the words of his negative voice, and I have to say, "Shut the hell up, little man. I'm talking to my husband, not you."
We've come a long way together, and I find his scars incredibly sexy, and I can't imagine rubbing my hands across his chest without feeling all the bumps and ridges. They are part of him, for better, for worse. They represent the man he once was, the man he has become, and the man that will continue to grow. They represent the man I love.
He has over 75 significant keloidal scars on his chest, arms, and legs, and hundreds more that have faded over the course of 25 years. He is finally beginning to look at them as a badge of wisdom and courage, and a reminder that he can find strength in himself to handle anger, grief, loneliness and self-doubt in healthier ways. That he is more than the urge. He was able to finally control it when he realized he didn't have to do it alone. Andrea was aware, but dealing with her own problems. I was the second person he ever told, and we've been taking it on together ever since. There have been times when he has failed, but the key difference was that he could talk to someone, and I would listen, and understand that what he really needed wasn't someone who would step up and take charge to fix everything, but simply someone who didn't think he was weak for needing help with his feelings.
Every day I have to listen, truly listen, to what my husband is feeling and thinking. There are times when I know I'm talking to him, and there are other times when I know I am listening to the words of his negative voice, and I have to say, "Shut the hell up, little man. I'm talking to my husband, not you."
We've come a long way together, and I find his scars incredibly sexy, and I can't imagine rubbing my hands across his chest without feeling all the bumps and ridges. They are part of him, for better, for worse. They represent the man he once was, the man he has become, and the man that will continue to grow. They represent the man I love.
