Sweaters in Summer

By Elizabeth Yeter

I love sweaters. And jackets. And pretty much anything that covers my arms. I just got back from the pool and I’m sitting here writing this blog in my long-sleeved swimsuit. Yes, somebody makes those.

I told myself I was always cold. I told myself I was protecting my skin from the sun. But if I’m honest, the truth is that it’s a leftover behavior from the days when I was actively engaged in self-harm and had to cover up fresh wounds. Jackets and sweaters were a warm blanket of safety around me. They protected me from the stares and questions.

And then one day, about six months ago, I spilled something on my jacket. Now when I say “spilled something” I mean really soaked it to the point that it would have seemed weird if I didn’t take it off. Not having anticipated such a catastrophe, I wore only a t-shirt underneath. Reluctantly, I removed my wet outer layer and waited for the reactions. Gasps. Pointing. Laughing. Whispering.

But nothing happened. I looked down and realized that the scars which were once red, angry, and bulging had faded and softened. My perception was skewed.

And so I am still journeying. I pursue unwrapping parts of my recovery that need addressing. The past is not something to fight against. My scars are woven into the story of me. And although eleven years have passed since I last self-harmed, I continue to battle old habits, one t-shirt at a time.