Life's a bitch, and then you die. I live by that quote. I doubt that anyone thought that the straight A, 14 year old student would ever resort to self mutilation. I sure as hell did, and who was there to stop me? No one, I think that's the depressing part. I guess you could say I'm not pleased with the way I've been running my life. I figured this out a few months ago, with the scars to prove it, physical and emotional. It had been another one of those days, where everything is fucked, everybody sucks. School got on my nerves, and how many 14 years olds are ready for a nervous breakdown? I got home from school, dumped my bag and all my other crap in my room, plopped down on the floor against my bed. I reached behind my head to undo my so-called lucky hemp necklace, which had broken weeks before, and undid the safety pin which changed the way I viewed the world. It wasn't a big safety pin, just one of those mini ones, which allowed me to better detail my work of art. I rolled up my pants leg, and decided on a cute little star, on the outside of my right knee, which would cover the nasty scar I had from a bike accident a few years before. I began to scratch away at the skin, which didn't hurt nearly as much as I would've liked it to, and kept scratching until the skin was raw and bloody. The whole procedure took less then 20 minutes. I'm obviously underage for the tattoo I've been dreaming of on my lower back, which was designed by a man on death-row believe it or not. So, I thought of trying to make the bloody mess into a tattoo of sorts. I hunted around my room for a pen, and the only one I could grasp was a purple one, which suited my needs at the time. I pulled out the filter, and cut off the ball point, and blew the ink out of it onto a piece of paper. I then dipped the small safety pin into the ink, and rubbed it onto the cut. I left it alone once I had finished, and started on that damn geography project that as due the next day. I woke up the next morning, and not to my surprise, there was purple ink here and there on my sheets, and duvet. I didn't fell that I should put a band-aid on it, because they don't dry too well when covered. ¤A few days later¤ Yea, it looks like it's a bit patchy in a few areas, but maybe it'll even itself out. NOT!! ¤About a week later¤ I was sitting on my floor goofing around with a pair of tweezers, and I pulled up one point of the 5 point star, it was a bit painful but nothing harsh. I then went on to pull up all 5 points, without detaching them from the center piece. Then, I pulled up the center piece, which hurt significantly much more than all 5 point put together, considering the wound itself seemed to have gotten deeper. And, well look at that, it' not purple anymore! There goes the tattoo idea, and now were moving into the category of scarification. ¤Today, April 6th¤ Yea, it looks mighty gross, and I'm assuming that as long as I keep irritating it, it should turn into a half decent scar. My friends are trying to convince each other that it's pen, but they obviously don't know my addiction to pain.
Anyways, I've moved onto some bigger projects, one of which is a tribal looking sun on my right hip, Which I would've done on my shoulder but I wasn't graced with eyes on the back of my head, and I'd like to be the one to blame for it when my parents see it. There have been a few people in my life who have inspired me to do what I did to myself, and I have a new appreciation of them. As for my friend who I quote "I gave up on cutting my wrists the 'traditional way', side to said doesn't do enough damage. Cut up and down, you'll bleed more, and faster, resulting a faster death." I think if I had the guts, I wouldn't been sitting here typing my experience. Life's too short to end it anyways, or...for me it is. To all of you deranged people like me, e-mail me with your thoughts and/or opinions at x_angel_wings_x@hotmail.com ¿?¿.J.e.S.s.¿?¿{.e.v.i.l.}