Article by Gerri Luce
“My cousin and I were shopping for work clothes for my new social worker job when I pulled a long sleeved blouse from the rack.
“How’s this for my first day?” I asked her.
“You’ll sweat to death.”
I looked at her. “I need to cover my scars.”
I had scars on both my arms, on my forearms and upper arms. I had been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder about 20 years ago following two suicide attempts. I had been cutting myself for years before that. When I was in a particularly fanciful mood, I would slice words into my flesh, such aspig and cow, becauseI was also anorexic and imagined myself to be round, like those animals.”