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Why I started, and why I'll continue...

Well, i've always been interested in pain. In people's reaction to it, in how I could deal with it. I remember falling off my bike one day (must have been about ten), with my mum walking about 100 metres behind me. Well, it hurt. And I lay there waiting for the comforting hug of my mum, who I've always been close to. But did she come running as I expected? No. I lay there in disbelief, pain, and hurt. Emotional hurt. I love her, but couldn't forgive her for not seeing what was wrong. Maybe I expected too much, but I was still just a kid, and these things matter, right? So I lay there, and had to get up. And from then on, I suppose I've felt that I can't rely on anyone to help me deal with my problems, that no-one really cares. And then, I was cycling home from school, and two guys on bikes cycled past. "Nice helmet" one shouted. Like the stupid kid I was, I shouted back "So what", and they came back and one punched me in the face, before cycling off. Mum was walking behind, but I HAD TO GO AND TELL HER WHAT HAD HAPPENED BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT THEY WERE MY FRIENDS. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't, I don't know. So that's another thing from my childhood that I felt let down about. Then the diary. Being nosey, I looked through my parents room once (who hasn't?). And I found a diary, written by my mum, saying something about my dad, and inferring he'd had an affair or something. Now, I sort of blanked this out of my memory for quite a few years, and I don't really want to remember what she wrote, and I don't want to go looking. But that worried me quite a lot. See, I come from a pretty good family. My parents are still together after twenty one years or something stupid like that, and my little brother is treated fairly, so I've got no complaint there. I'm pretty intelligent, very musical, and got quite a few good friends. Nothing major has happened to me, just a few unsettling little things. I just wanted to see how far I could go... I don't know why I stole the scalpel blades from school (I was 15), I hadn't even thought of scarification then. So they lay in a cupboard for a year or so, in their foil packaging. And then I was playing with a lighter, and wondered what it would be like to burn myself. I couldn't do it directly on to my skin, it hurt too much. But then I remebered my pen-knife, and knew that with it's plastic handle, I could heat it up, and not burn my hand. So I made a burn on my left arm, horizontally. I did one, I did two, I tried othere materials. I have three really clear burns, one from my trusty pen knife, and two circles from the wide part of a metal drawing pin. And then I thought about cutting myself. And remembered the scalpel blades. I would say that my scarification experiences have been very positive. I don't feel ashamed, execpt when I remember having to lie to my parents about how I got the scars (and I don't think they believed me). But once I did it for about a month, on and off. I lost the need to. And i haven't cut for about half a year, until now. I don't know why, just felt I wanted to. And I know that the scars will stay with me, even if they fade. The stupidest thing anyone has ever said was said by my dad, when he first saw my scars. 'I hope you haven't been self mutilating, because those scars are going to stay there forever.' No dad, I did them so they would fade the next day. Dickhead. People will have questions about why I did it, and probably some people will have a problem with them. But then they have a problem with me, which although might hurt, I can deal with. When I cut (or burn), I generally don't have any music at all. I prefer just to take deep breaths, and let the blade slice. I don't cut very deep, just enough for it to bleed for about ten minutes afterwards, and if I'm not cutting a design, I'll close my eyes after the first kiss of metal, and let it go where it wants, and concentrate on the pain. I love the pain. When I feel completely blank inside, I can give myself something to wake up to. I write quite a lot of poetry, most of it about self-mutilation (or beautification as I prefer to think of it). Here is just one, although you can usually find my work on www.poetryboard.com (under the 'Dark poetry' section, also writing as spacedintheuk). My Life With Pain. i'm not ashamed to roll back my sleeves; those scars are mementoes of my life. when people ask: why did you hurt yourself? do they really expect a simple answer? how about 'because we all live our safe little lives. because we never step outside the boundaries of convention. because we have lost our souls - they have died and shrivelled inside our wrecks of bodies. because i wanted to know my body better. because i wanted to be in control of my body. because i wanted to live.' and now when i roll back my sleeves, i smile.

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submitted by: Anonymous
on: 04 Oct. 2001
in Scarification

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Artist: Me
Studio: My+bedroom
Location: Hampshire%2C+UK

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