Taste The Rainbow

Old Scars, New Life

Old Scars, New Life

"What are those from?" my daughter, Anna, asks me while we're sitting on the couch watching some Disney movie she has seen about a dozen times. I glance down at my wrist, tattoos covering up large and small cuts, and a few burns. She's pointing to a particularly large scar that, admittedly, I probably should have gotten stitches for.

"Well, sweetie, when your mommy was younger, she didn't know how to deal with her emotions. Do you ever get really sad? Or incredibly angry?" I question. Her big blue eyes look up at me, a silly grin on her face.

"Yeah... I was really mad when Kelly stole my favorite pencil. I made her give it back and she got really sad." She admits, wringing her hands together, waiting for me to scold her. The scolding never comes through, rather I nod in understanding.

"Well, when your mommy was young, instead of riding out her emotions, she looked for an easy fix. She thought making scars would help her cope, and help her handle her emotions. Mommy was right, at least, that's how she saw it. She felt better after doing this, but what she didn't realize when she was doing it, she was causing more problems with her emotions.”

So anytime she would get very angry, or incredibly sad, she would add more scars, and in turn would put all her emotions into a very fragile bottle." I pause to watch Anna, wondering if she's understanding what I'm saying.

She's only ten, and while I knew this question would come up at some point, I always hoped it wouldn't. I mean, how can you explain to a child that young about depression and self-harm? I continue though, hoping to get the general message across to her.

"You remember that thin glass vase your mom broke? The one Grandma gave to me?" I question and Anna nods, giggling. I nod and glance to the ceiling, taking a deep breath.

"Well, the bottle Mommy shoved all her emotions into was just as fragile, and when it broke, all her emotions that she previously thought she got rid of with these scars, came flooding back.”

That's when Mommy realized the scars didn't help, and they never would. They just pushed her emotions away temporarily until something broke the bottle. These scars are from Mommy's emotions that she didn't understand how to handle."

"You made these yourself?" Anna asks and a sad smile graces my thin lips.

"Yes," I answer. Her eyes widen and she assesses the scars more in-depth, pushing on them and poking them.

"Wow..." she breathes and continues, still staring at them. "Did you draw on your arm to cover them?"

"No, I had someone draw on my arm to remind me, in my weakest moments, not to do that again. After all, if I made more scars I would waste the money I put into the drawings." I answer, staring at my tattoos fondly.

I know I will never fully recover from those issues, but having something beautiful and inspirational covering my wrists and arms, even my thighs, helps remind me never to do it again. If not for my own mental well being then for my daughter, my wife; my family and every last friend. I know it confuses Anna, it obviously bothers my wife, and because of this I know I will have the strength to cope better, and never go back to that.

"Hey, babe, what's for dinner? I'm starving?" my gorgeous wife asks from the front door and I smile. I kiss Anna's forehead and get up to greet the love of my life.

I can say I'm not the strongest person, and I will always have weak moments, but I will never get as bad as I was when I was growing up because my family gave me something to live for, something to wake up for. They gave me happiness; they gave me a life.