Scars & Black Dogs

I created this post not because I want pity or sympathy but because this is an important part of who I am and of how I now live my life;

No more than eight months ago I was severely depressed, to the point of hospitalisation. I was diagnosed with having manic depression and was on a horrendous cocktail of drugs that (whilst helping to a certain degree) left me feeling numb. At the time I couldn't see any way out - I considered suicide on more than one occasion and I was cutting myself on a fairly regular basis.

For me the pain of self harm was a physical expression of my mental state and a small part of me was convinced that when the physical scars healed, the mental ones would as well.

It's now been eight months since I stopped taking the drugs and, to all intents and purposes, I am back to my normal self. Of course I have the odd blue day (as everyone does) but occasionally the black dog raises it's head again and threatens to pull me back down.

The chances are (with my own personal and family history) that I will be prone to this for the rest of my life but I've beaten it once and I intend to beat it again.

I stepped out of the shower about twenty minutes ago and looked down at the scars on my arm. It's been about three months since I last marked myself and that feels good... but I have mixed emotions about what remains. They will stay with me for the rest of my life. Sometimes I look at them and regret it - thinking back to the days when my arms were free from blemishes - but sometimes I look at them and smile.

For me they are proof that what happened was real and that I came through the other side. Out of great pain, anguish and torment comes great strength.

My final thoughts are simple - I'm sure I'm not the only person who uses this who has experience of mental ill health. All my love goes out to anyone who has been touched by it - my love and my respect.