Battle scars

A couple of weeks ago, we had a family reunion. My grandparents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. That was a good reason for me to go to Belgium and see my family. Usually I don't go too often to my home country. Not because I don't like to go there, but because it's a 4-hour journey and traveling from here to there is getting more and more expensive. Furthermore, I don't have any friends living there, almost all my friends live here close by in Holland. However, sometimes we have these birthday parties or other special celebrations, enough reasons for me to go back home.

Grandparents with grandchildren

So, I was there at this wedding anniversary party, and the entire family from my mother's side was there. I was especially happy to see my two nieces. They've grown a lot and almost lost all their childish characteristics! I can hardly believe they're almost 9 and 12 years old! But then the youngest one comes to me, settles down in my lap and asks me the following question: "Auntie, what are those wrinkles on your arms?" I was completely baffled because I hadn't expected that question to be honest. I mean, it's not the first time she asks me this question, and it was a really hot summerday,  so I could have seen it coming. But I hadn't.

So I tell her somehow modestly that I'll explain that to her when she's a little bit older. However, she's stubborn and insists on me telling her that story now. I feel unbelievably uncomfortable and try to change the topic. It doesn't work. I feel hopeless. I want to tell her she has to ask her mom, but I'm afraid my sister will get mad at me if I send her away with this kind of advice. So I don't. And try to change the topic, once again. And I fail, once again. 

What do I want to tell her? Do I just want to tell her I did this to myself, because once I felt so bad and sorry for myself that I had to cut myself in order to save myself? In order to feel better? To survive? No, that's not what I want! What I actually want to tell her, is that those are battle scars, scars of a war I've fought, a war that is actually still not over. But what will she ask then, because, honestly, this child is extremely curious, and won't take that for granted!

Somehow, that's what they are: battle scars. And actually I should be proud. What a war has it been! I'd been cutting myself for roughly eight years before, one day in March 2008, I decided it should stop. It had been enough. I'd been tormenting myself for eight long years, without respecting myself for the person I was, without taking into consideration the long ride it had been. It had all started in the year 2000, and things got completely out of hand. At a certain point in time I used to cut myself three times a day. But look where I am right now: almost a year back home after being admitted at the CIB for a year,  without meaningful crises, in my own apartment now, doing great, trying to find a job and participating in society. Yes, I should be proud, but it isn't easy... especially because people don't value me for the person I am. 

Keep your eyes open for my next post! Then I'll try to give an overview of what I have achieved in the last year since October 5th!