Okay, so in itself it is trivial. Or should be. People come with all kinds of skin. Different colors. Freckled. Hairy. Smooth. Uneven. My arms are stripey. Self harm stripey. So what. It shouldn’t be a big deal. I mean it’s just skin. And who cares what people think anyway?
Now some people who have scars on their arms from self harming, they actually like being out in the public in short sleeves better than being around family because the people outside are just strangers who’ll be gone soon enough and whose judgment doesn’t matter. The family’s judgment you have to deal with every day. That makes sense to me. Obviously when family don’t understand, that’s real hard.
In my case I’m lucky it’s not an issue at home. Everyone knows about the scars. Nobody looks at me in disgust or disdain or some other ‘dis’-word because of it. Even when I sometimes accuse them of doing so, they aren’t. Not outside of my head. So that’s good. I wear pretty much anything I please at home.
But outside. I hate it. I hate the heat. I hate that long sleeves make me feel like an arctic explorer in a scorching desert. And I hate short sleeves as well. I feel like everyone notices and stares and I feel like I’m being observed by everyone all of the time. It’s unnerving and real stressful. I used to be cooler about it, but that was before I loved my folks. Back when noting mattered. Now it sucks.
I just wish the heat would go away. I like summer, but the heat . . . I’d happily do without it.
Rant over, I guess. Kinda angry at the moment, so I better not write any more but get busy excercising self control and shit. Whatever.