I want to own my scar, and you can help.

Every scar tells a story. I have a cousin with a scar across the length of his scalp from breaking open his skull in a bike accident. I once met a mother who proudly wears her cesarean scar as a mark of having carried life within her. I know someone who has a scar from having donated his kidney. And each of these scars begs to tell its story — either with grief or with valour, and at times with amusement.

But some of us have scars we hide under the cuff of our shirts or under long skirts. And not because we think they are ugly, but because we didn’t earn our scars in a battle or while trying to overcome a physical illness, instead we got ours by inflicting pain on ourselves. Yes, we are that lot of people that you run away from, probably call ‘crazy’ or at the very least ‘mental’.

I too have one such scar for which I have been called ‘nuts’, a ‘weirdo’ and a ‘psycho’. These words have often hurt me. Not because they allude to my illness, but because they belittle my suffering. I feel wronged that my scar has meaning for you if it comes from a life-long battle with cancer but, is a topic of hushed conversation and name-calling if it comes from my life-long battle with depression.

Yes, I have hurt myself to overcome emotional pain. But I am not weak and a relaxing holiday isn’t a cure for me. I don’t hurt myself to get your attention or to rebel, but because I know of no other way to get help. Sometimes I even harm myself because your name-calling makes me feel worthless.

I am not a freak, and I won’t harm you. I am your friend, I am your sister, your next door neighbour, your classmate, I am the guy you meet on the train every day, I am the ever-smiling colleague who you eat lunch with, I am the cashier at your grocery store, I am your niece. I am like you in many ways, and I fall ill like you do. Only that my illness resides in my brain — a vital organ just like the heart, kidney and lungs.

I have spent years looking forward to that moment when I will be able to tell you that I need help with my brain as nonchalantly as you talk about what your dust allergy does to your sinus. And for me to do that without fear, shame or judgement, I need you to treat my scar with the same care and interest as you treat that of a war veteran. Because I am fighting a war that the best minds in the world are yet to win and I need you on my side to fight this battle alongside them.

If you know me, please sit me down and talk to me about how I feel. Ask me the story behind my scar and take me to a professional if I am unable to do so myself. And please give my scar the respect it deserves. I want to own my scar and its story like you own yours. And only you can help me do that.