• 41,354 / 1,384,053
  • 22 / 10,285
  • 891 / 54,915

Painfully Scorned by a Gay Man

So I already did the piercing and tattooing thing. I have three tattoos on my

stomach and have been pierced about 20 times. At first it was just something to do to enhance my appearance. After awhile I became addicted to the feeling; very typical I'm sure. It became a habit, but more importantly it became a lifestyle and a part of myself as a whole. The pain induced gave me such a strong sense of control over my body. The more I got done, the more whole I felt. The more pain I induced, the more I yearned for. I remember back to my youth of suicidal tendencies. I never wanted to die, I don't think. My attempts were just a pussy cry for help. I would hide in my room so I wouldn't have to face the violence outside of it. The only place I was safe was behind those walls with the door locked. I would sit in my room and run a razor up and down my arms. Every time I did, I would feel safer and less afraid. The deeper the cuts, the less pain I felt. Eventually I did open the door and I left. Now as an adult I am always trying to push my self and my body to the next level. I want to see how much I can endure and how far I can separate myself from my body. Recently I ran across many articles on kids scarring themselves. It was the next step I needed to take my body. It was the combination of artwork and release that I needed. I remembered back to cutting myself as a kid and felt less alone. Sure these kids weren't sitting alone in their rooms cutting themselves and listening to Bright Eyes, well maybe, but here was a large population of people who craved the same release I did. So I decided to get some work done on my leg. My plan was to get a large inverted star chiseled into my leg. I decided to take it slowly and just get a star outlined on my leg first. I didn't feel a need to go to a professional for this because I wasn't going to actually get I peeled yet, just carved. So I asked a close friend of mine to do it. I figured it was the next most intimate thing we could share, other than sex. And sex was out of the question because he flames as hot as the day is long. I went to a local medical supply store to purchase a scalpel. This was a weird experience. I called ahead of time to see if it was legal to sell them to me. When I asked, the guys on the phone said hold on. He came back on and said, "Well, um, apparently anyone can buy them." My answer, "Well, that is surprisingly disturbing, Ill be there in ten minutes." When I got there, it turned out the store only did wholesale deliveries. So it was strange for me to walk in there to begin with. Then when they heard what I asked for, with the combination of what I looked like, I got, "What will you be using them for," with a very concerned, confused look. I said, "Well for cutting linoleum, my art teacher says they are great, I'm not doing any of that crazy stuff with them." So I bought a box of ten for seven bucks. I met my friend at my house. We cleaned up the surface of my leg and drew out the design. I put on Faith No More's "The Real Thing" and sat on the couch ready. It took me five minutes to tell him to start; I was actually a little nervous. I kept telling him, turn the music louder. I had an audience of like five people who kept staying start already. They helped to push me along...otherwise my cowardness may have held me longer. So finally I looked up at him and smiled and said "DO IT"..but hold my leg down. He made the first cut. The first second I said to myself, this is nothing; it must be so sharp that I don't feel it. Then all of sudden I began to feel my skin tear. Tear is the only way to explain the feeling. It was a raw pulling. I kept screaming stop but since he was such a good friend, he didn't. When he finished the first side, I took a small break for a smoke. I smoked that cigarette slow. Now I knew the pain I was in for and it was harder to say do it again. I looked at the first cut on my leg. It was spreading open more and more and blood was dripping down my leg. I was shocked at how deep it looked. I kept pushing the wound together and letting it open up again. By the time "Falling to Pieces" came on, I was ready to cut again. This time I said no breaks lets just finish it up. Every time he reinserted the blade, I screamed. It was not a scream in reaction to pain. It was a scream to release all of everything I had in me, to divert my attention and intensify the experience at the same time. Here's the funny part: As we are doing all this, the front door to my house opens. Who is it, a stranger and the ex boyfriend I am trying to get to move out. He was bringing this girl over to meet us and check out the house to maybe move in. What a horrible scene to walk into. Anyway she didn't talk to us and left. When the outline was done, we cleaned it up, bandaged it up, and threw on Mr. Bungles "California." I left the house to go to a work meeting. I felt light, I felt cleansed, and I felt satisfied. I didn't show everyone, like I do with tattoos. I kept it to my small audience and myself. Unlike the tatts, this was not done for appearance. It was purely done for my own body and my own fulfillment of self-destructive behavior. Simply, I am happy with it. It was a wonderful, horrible experience.


submitted by: Anonymous
on: 18 April 2001
in Scarification

Use this link to share:

Artist: friend
Studio: my+house
Location: us

Comments (0)

add a comment

There are no comments for this entry

Back to Top