In the 80s--please keep in mind that a) it was the 80s; and b) that would be 30 years ago--I was a cutter. It doesn't make me uncomfortable to admit it, it makes me uncomfortable that people are uncomfortable discussing such things.

So, yeah, cutting. I did it often, when I was sad (read: angry) and feeling helpless to change my situation. I have many scars. I was very angry. 

Oddly, the first place I ever cut, with the Swiss Army knife with my initials stamped on it that was a gift from my dad--who was nice and did the best he could with a challenging daughter, so don't get any ideas--was my breasts. For real. Puzzle on that one Freud. 

I still have those scars, but, interestingly, the first tattoos I ever got--one after the other in 1989--were on my breasts. Two dragons. They largely cover the scars. I didn't get them to cover the scars. I got them because, if I'm honest, they made me feel strong, and pretty, and defiant, and unique. Also, interestingly, those feelings could be argued to be the same, if less happy and minus the "pretty," of course, motives I had for cutting on myself in the first place.

 Anywho, I have the scars, but the dragons (Aidan and Kiernan--the first and last tattoos I named) hide them. One could feel the scars, but if one did, the scars would most likely be perceived as a part of the tattoo. And maybe they are.