(TRIGGER WARNING: Self Harm) The Best, However You Slice It

scars 1

scars 2

I had an acute self-injury addiction when I was a younger teen. It petered out after a few years, though I still do it occasionally when things are unbearable. But mostly? I’m okay, and I’m okay with my scars. My parents have offered to get me laser therapy on my arms and legs, but I refuse. They are a part of me. Lovers have offered to kiss them all, and I scoff and roll my eyes. They are not a special part of me. My scars are not tragic, nor are they a sign of strength. They just are. That’s not to say that I can’t appreciate what they signal to the world- that I’m a crazy, crazy woman- just that I personally don’t view them any differently than freckles. I’m submitting this to help others understand, and to let those who have been to the dark places I was in so many years ago know that they are not alone.

The particular pictures I chose are from a series I did with a photographer friend about our society’s standards of beauty. I wanted to blur the line between what counts as hiding our flaws and what counts as highlighting them. It was sheer happenstance that the bread truck in the second photo drove by when it did.The slogan on the side reads in full: “the best, however you slice it.” Indeed :-)