It wasn't me, for once
First, some background info. I thrive on touch, and on sensation. I get all antsy after too long without some serious pain (though sex tends to be a fairly good alternative), and while this is not the most unusual of things, in most other respects I come across to my friends as what could be considered an entirely 'normal' person, and some tend to get creeped out by some of the things I like doing-or need to do, or somewhere in between, or however you'd like to think about it. In any case, if I go for too long I get a little crazy. Or a little crazier, whatever. And then paranoid. This presents a problem, as there are not many people I trust well enough to hurt me that are actually willing to. So when I find people that are, I really appreciate it. This particular person was a friend of mine who knew that I needed pain sometimes, and had some experience with scarification.
From prior experience with me particularly, he knew I bleed a hell of a lot, which affected the way he went about the design he put on my back this specific afternoon. We were in a music practice room, for the benches and light fixtures available. He started at the bottom of the design, positioned a little to the right of the center of my back. He used just a plain razor blade, and the sting felt so nice and so wrong all at the same time. I absolutely adored him for it, just then. I wanted to cry and laugh all at the same time, but couldn't do any of it because I was trying to keep still so that he wouldn't slip, and fuck it up. For a relatively small design, it took far longer than I would've expected it to. At some points, he went back over parts to make it deeper, so it would take better. He cut rather deep, and at one point accidentally went too far and cut deeper than he'd meant to. I put myself out of it pretty quickly in to it, though, so that was really the only part of it I felt at the time and it was only simply an annoyance, not really important. My thoughts get kind of buoyant and distanced; it's one of the best things I've ever felt. All that mattered just then was the bright red lines connecting, finishing the kind of stylized bat shape that echoed a smaller one on the opposite shoulder.
I could tell it was incredibly geometric just from the feel of it, even if I hadn't seen it before. All carefully placed straight, straight lines that stung and bit and then simply loved- I don't know how to describe it, it hurt and then it was cold and overwhelming and didn't hurt. He poked at it a bit after he was done, which hurt more than the rest, as I wasn't out of it anymore. Then I let it bleed for awhile, the sensation of my blood flowing slowly and sluggishly down my back was interesting, something I wanted to remember, to make it different from some of the other times I'd done something like this. Sometimes I don't cause it gets all foggy in my head-part of why I like it, really. But this time I let this be different, let the blood stain my shirt where the scar would stain my back. It's now faded to a thick white scar by now, and it's absolutely beautiful. It took forever to heal properly, though. Because I'm still in school, I carry a backpack around most days, and it kept pulling parts of it open. It was okay though, I liked the reminder and it just ensured that the scar would be more permanent. It was nice to be reminded of the experience on a daily basis, though when it bled through shirts, that wasn't so much fun. My worries were that it would get uneven from pulling in only some spots, so occasionally I'd pull parts of it open purposefully-hard to do on your own back, and I'm not sure if it's really a good idea, but it worked out fine for me.
I don't particularly like to remember the friend that made this design anymore, he's done some things since that I don't appreciate-but I still like the scar. People who see it when I wear tank tops or corsets or anything that falls that low in the back tend to be really interested and I've gotten more than a few compliments. As much as I don't like the person who put it there anymore, I am still incredibly attached to the scar he left. I have yet to find a way to thoroughly separate them in my mind, though, and that still bugs me sometimes. I'm working on it, so if anyone has any ideas, let me know. In any case, that's my first major experience with having someone else cut me to purposefully leave a scar, and I'm forever glad for it.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 13 May 2005