By definition, a stigma is, "a mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality, or person."

It's associated with shame and dishonor, and it can be hard to shake it off once it is attached to a person.

Almost a month ago, I was rushed to the emergency room after suffering multiple self-inflicted wounds to my forearms.

I was in and out of the ER and then the Community Mental Health Center in no more than 10 hours, after it was decided I no longer posed a threat to myself or others.

Before this incident, I had struggled with depression, anxiety and, subsequently, self-harm for years. Unfortunate circumstances and a supposed predisposition to mental health issues brought me to the situation I had found myself in.

Everything taken into consideration, I should feel lucky to be alive.

That much is true, and I’m sure it is also very true for many people who have walked out of the ER with a diagnosis, a label, that says “suicidal intent and self-destructive behavior.”

But what some people never consider is the fact that walking out of the hospital with the blessing of your doctors and a plan to put yourself on the path to recovery doesn’t take into account the aftermath.

With the highly visible scars I carry, I end up feeling like I’m dragging around a neon sign that bluntly states “unwell” or “unstable” in bright, harsh lettering.

Even if I felt ashamed of my scars, it would be rather difficult to hide them in the overbearing July sunshine.

There were a few days when I had large white bandages taking up more than half of the real estate on both my arms, and so I’ve encountered a colorful array of reactions since being hospitalized.

There are a series of responses from people which I’ll dub the “knee-jerk reactions.” They are the immediate, instinct-based reactions that result from being directly or indirectly confronted with something they don't understand.

These have been fairly common in public places. I’ve received dirty looks side by side with averted gazes and outright staring.

Two responses in particular will be links in my chain of memories for the rest of my life.

I went to Meijer with my older sister just a day or two after leaving the hospital. We were browsing bandages, and I saw a woman with a young boy behind us. The reaction of the little boy was in complete contrast to the reaction of the woman.

The boy, who couldn’t have been older than 7 years old, innocently gazed at my bandage-clad arms and said simply, “She has lots of owies.”

His response was without disgust, judgement or fear. I was struck with appreciation and surprise. Those feelings washed away almost as fast as they had rushed in when I saw the woman, who might have been his mother, draw her eyebrows together and cast me a look that was colder than dry ice. She even pulled the boy away from me.

These starkly contrasting reactions speak to the idea that at some point in our lives, many of us lose the ability to regard the things in front of us without predisposed ideas.

Some people steal glances at my arms when they think I’m not looking, while others look from my arms to my face in confusion.

The confusion is common with young children, but when I see the confused faces of adults in passing, I know it must be because I don’t “look like the type to cut herself.”

They’re seeing a girl with a smile on her face and a giggle in her throat.

But this is the problem with stigmas.

People I come into contact with are seeing a stigma up and down the length of my arms, and deciding whether to just brand me with a stereotype, or to try and understand how I got here and where I’m going now.

As a global community of humans, we’re all sharing this little, blue planet. If we can’t learn to stop analyzing things at face value; if we can’t take the initiative to look beneath the surface, we might never forge real, honest connections with each other.

Placing stigmas on each other eradicates the opportunities we have to discover new things. Strangers and acquaintances who are only seeing my scars are not seeing my aspirations.

We’re not really seeing each other as living, reaching, growing human beings when we mark each other with stigmas.

We’re more than what our scars reveal.

Sierra Lay is a State News reporter. Reach her at slay@statenews.com.