My body is covered in scars, dozens of them on my arms and legs. It’s my own fault.
First I said I was allergic to cats, then I said it was a food allergy, and finally I said it was a mosquito allergy. But it was all a lie. My scabies, which are usually red and crusty, are self-inflicted.
I have been scratching myself since I was eight years old. I scratched my forearms, my calves, my knees. I scratched until my skin cracked, bled, and scabbed.
Why? One day I was sitting alone in the school cafeteria, and the kids at the next table were laughing at me. They were laughing at me because I was short and had a straight nose. Sometimes they made fun of my high voice or my love for opera. I pretended not to hear, but unfortunately I did. I felt humiliated.
I always felt like an outsider. Most of the kids I went to school with were more interested in playing video games, kicking a soccer ball, or joking around. I hardly have any friends. When the kids play together after school, I go home to do my homework or take vocal lessons.
“People who self-harm are often very creative in how they hide their behavior from others,” says Allison Kress, a licensed clinical psychologist in Seattle and California who specializes in self-harm.
She says warning signs include situations where a person “begins to explain the injury with lame or trivial excuses and becomes restless, irritable, or evasive when you ask for details. For example, it may seem unlikely that a cat scratch, sports injury, or embarrassing accident could have happened to the person.”
When I was 11, I finally came out to my mom. She went to the principal, who said that one of the kids who was picking on me was not doing well at home, so his behavior should be excused.
Mom told him that this reaction was unacceptable. She said that if he couldn’t handle the situation, she was willing to go beyond him to handle it. The principal called the child and his parents to school, and the child stopped bothering me. But other children in the class continued to bother me.
Over the next three years, verbal abuse and bullying became the norm. I would sit quietly in class alone until the bell rang so I could leave school and go home to find peace. That was it.
Even if I didn’t realize it, my mother would notice me doing it out of the corner of her eye. She, my father, and my brother implored me to recognize the harm I was doing to myself and to take control of my behavior. They urged me not to let the cruel actions of others define how I saw and treated myself.
I have tried so hard to give it up. I sleep with gloves on so I don’t scratch myself in my sleep. I try to keep my hands busy, usually cooking or painting my nails. But nothing seems to help. I always end up scratching myself all over again, usually when I’m alone in my room, whether I’m asleep or awake.
Now my body is covered in scars, dozens of them on my arms and legs. It’s my own fault.
“People will only stop hurting when they are willing to stop,” says Janice Whitlock, director of the Self-Injury and Recovery Research Program at Cornell University and co-author of Healing Self-Injury: A Compassionate Guide for Parents and Other Loved Ones.
“You can’t force someone to stop. People have to reach a point where they are willing to do the work.”
I started seeing a psychiatrist when I was 13. She asked me about my school life, whether I had any problems at home (no), whether I had friends (a few), and what I liked to do for fun (reading, dancing, and singing). She also asked about the scars on my body. I admitted that I had done them, but she didn’t think much of it. Throughout the treatment, I scratched non-stop.
One day at school, a teacher pulled me aside after class. He was concerned. He noticed my scar and asked if I was okay. He must have taken it as a sign of abuse. I assured him I was fine and chalked it up to my allergy to cats.
Why would I intentionally hurt myself? Did I believe what the other kids said – that I was terribly short, had a big nose, and was weird because I liked classical music? Did I really let that teasing get to me?
Self-destructive behaviors such as hair-pulling, picking at objects, and self-harming are often a way to relieve emotional stress. “People may resort to self-harm as a desperate way to cope with overwhelming emotional pain,” Dr. Kress said.
She said, “Often people find it difficult to express their thoughts and feelings, so they end up acting rather than expressing their feelings in words.”
Teenage girls are two to four times more likely to self-harm than boys. Anyone experiencing these problems should seek support, whether from family, friends or teachers.
“The best protection is to involve the family, even if it’s scary, even if the family has contributed in some way to the condition or to its persistence,” Dr Whitlock said. “I would now recommend involving the family at the earliest opportunity, unless it’s absolutely clear that there is a risk.”
Luckily, I found a supportive environment when I entered a specialized high school for drama at age 14. My classmates shared my passion for music, dance, and drama. I was no longer sitting alone at the lunch table with no one making fun of me. Instead, I was accepted and made friends. I had finally found a safe place.
But I never stopped scratching myself in high school. I still have the nervous habits of that 13-year-old. Now I have the scars to prove it. It’s no longer a secret habit, and those scars will never go away.
As an adult and now a parent, I have stopped scratching, although I still maintain the old habit of lightly touching the surface of my skin without causing any harm.
I turned 30 last year and I am still embarrassed by my scars. I often notice people staring at me. They must have wondered what was wrong with me. For years, whenever anyone asked, I lied.
But I won’t lie anymore. One day my daughter will see my scars and ask where I got them. I’ll tell her the truth. I’ll also let her know that she won’t have to keep any secrets, at least not from me.
I want her to grow up strong and confident. Most of all, I hope she doesn’t let other people’s words hurt her. I want her to know that life is painful enough without hurting herself.
Caroline Chirichella is a former New Yorker who now works as a chef and freelance writer in southern Italy.