Suck my scars
to begin.... I suppose that my journey of scarification began when I was 12. I am 15 now. At first I just gouged at my skin with a pin, never really leaving a real scar or anything. However, later on I would begin to use things such as broken pieces of glass, scissors, and razors. The bulk of this experience is of the scarifications I did with a razor. Why did I cut myself? Most of the time it was because I felt lonely, bored, or depressed. I had, and still do, low self esteem and me seemingly endless self hatred was relieved through cutting. It was my drug, my opiate, but since my parents found out, marijuana has replaced my razor, which may or may not be for the best. Although I did cut across my wrists in a manner that one may have seen as suicidal, I never really attempted to kill myself through cutting. While there were times when I cut myself and I wanted to die, I don't think that consiousely I ever tried to bleed myself to death. Cutting feels good, and bleeding to me is like a purge of my depression. There is nothing to me like feeling a sharp piece of steel slice into my flesh. I can't wait to get a tattoo, and I hope the feeling is similar. Pain is extremely addicting, again, it is like a drug. In all the years that I've cut myself, only three people have noticed and said anything to me about it. Perhaps it shows how ignorant society is or just how well I hid my scars/ cuts. The scars I have now, most of which I have grown to abhore- live and learn I guess, were done not too long ago with a simple straight edge razor stolen from my father's tool box. It was the sharpest thing I had ever cut myself with and I wasn't really prepared for it. Anyway, I first cut a interlocking tribal design in my shoulder. I did it because I liked the pain and because I liked the design. I was amazed at how much it bled and how far the blade sank into my skin, and that lead me to do more cuts, the symbol of my astrological sign on my right shoulder, a star and a pentagram on my left arm, and a rune on my right forearm. Later other cuttings included some simple lines on the sides of my wrists and an x over the back of my left hand. The later was out of utter frustration and the feeling of a deep depression. Most of my cuttings were born out of feeling like dirt and depressed as all hell. There were also more cuts on my thigh and my hip, just simple plain lines. The healing period was really odd for awhile. Whenever I would move the part of my body that I has cut, I would get this warm, nice stinging sensation. I would pick at my scabs to prolong the healing process and as a result, the pain that came with it. I did wash them out on occasion with rubbing alcohol but other than that, I didn't really take much care of them and there were suprisingly no ill consiquences.
Of all the years that I've been cutting myself, never once have I gotten an infection. I was probably really lucky considering the less than sterile conditions I was cutting in. The x on the back of my hand was done in the girls' locker room with a safety pin that I'd taken off my backpack. Yes, very stupid but I was pissed and pain is the way I chose to deal with things. I still feel the urge to cut myself but I can't anymore as my parents found out and said they would send me to an institution if I kept it up. I've found other ways to deal with things but I still feel the need to use pain to deal with my problems. I felt hopelessly lost until I found BME, as pathetic as that sounds, as I felt like I was the only person that was into modifying my body through piercing, several I've done myself, and scars. I was made to feel like I was mentally ill or something and I felt really ashamed. Now I'm not afraid to express myself the way I want to. Feel free to e-mail me if you wanna ask me anything relevent to this experience or if you just wanna talk about bod mods in general (please no porn etc. I get enough from stupid people out there as it is). That's all for now, hopefully I'll be writting an eyebrow piercing, tattoo, or lobe stretching experience soon if my mom lets me do it. Cross your fingers- Peace, love, and empathy ~Amanda~
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 29 April 2000