A starry Scar to remember
My name is Paulina. This is the story of my very first scar.
About 7 months ago, I started contemplating a scar. My friend had his arm scarred, done by himself, and I quite liked how it came out. So I started wondering what I would get done...if I were to get one. I didn't think I'd actually have the balls (or the female equivalent) to go through with it. You see, I got to a private catholic girls school (not by choice) and I have to think about what modifications I'm going to get very carefully. No facial mods for me, and even my ear stretchings are pushing it. A month after I'd started thinking about it, I knew that if it would be anything, it would be a pentagram. I'm Wiccan, and I saw this as a way of keeping my faith with me. Anyways, my friend Marcus (iam: Captainmarcus) said he would do it for me, but I didn't think it would be anytime soon. I didn't think it would be at all, actually. Which is why the only thing I did for the next little while is try to figure out where I would get it done. Where on my body that is. It would have to be somewhere that no teachers would notice, or my principle (Sister Dion. Yes, Sister, my principle is a nun, so you can see why this is hard.) One day, about 5 months ago (I'm just skipping through the months quickly, aren't I?) when I was walking down the street with Marcus and Kenevin (yes, Kenevin), he tells me "By the way Paulina, I've got new scalpels so I'm scarring you tonight." I of course had no say in this. Which is okay, as I trust Marcus completely. And I knew that if I chickened out that night, I'd probably never get it done. So I agreed, only somewhat reluctantly, and we headed over to his house.
Upon arrival, I tried [very hard] to relax. I was scared so bad. I'd gotten a tattoo before, and it hurt like a...well, like a tattoo. I have a few piercings, but I'd never had my skin cut open with a scalpel. So as you can imagine, I was nervous. I lay down on the futon (yes, a futon...so very hygienic isn't it? But please, if you're going to do something in someone's house, like I did, please for the love of gosh make sure it's clean!) in the living room and let Marcus get to work. He took off my skirt (but left on my underwear!) and started cleaning and marking the area. It's on my right hip. When everything was cleaned and ready to go, he picked up his scalpel and went to work.
Unfortunately, my skin refused to be cut. He tried for a few minutes, which hurt a lot, but it wouldn't split! Finally he got the first incision made, and my scar was on its way. "No turning back now," I thought. Keep going. I knew I had to tough it out, or I'd regret it forever. I hate leaving stuff unfinished when it's something I want that badly. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. I kept telling myself, in my head, "if you can get a tattoo, you can get a scar" and other ridiculous things like "if you can carry a canoe, you can get a scar." I know, it was pretty irrelevant, but it helped.
And I did do it. Eventually it didn't hurt as much, because ten minutes into the process, the endorphins kicked in. Oh my goodness did they ever kick in. I was laughing my head off! Which is bad, because that means I was moving a lot, and the scar is on my hip. After about half an hour, it was finally finished and time to clean and disinfect! Yay! My favourite part. (Actually I really do like cleaning, even if it hurts, because I absolutely loathe infections.) Marcus basically drowned my fresh, open wound in about 99% alcohol. Ouch. After that I stayed there for a bit, relaxing, and then headed home.
It was really tender for the next few weeks, and I barely touched it except to clean and pick at it. Actually, it still gets really itchy even now, but I've learned to deal with it. I got it done in January and it's now almost June, and I couldn't be happier with it. It's exactly what I wanted. My faith travels with me everywhere now, and it's there for everyone (who happens to see a scar on my hip) to know about. I'm proud that I endured it too! I have a couple of friends who chickened out after a few cuts. I've heard people say things like "It desecrates a holy symbol" and ask me why I hate myself, or why I want to do something like that to my body, but I stopped caring. I did this for me, and no one else. I hope that no one ever feels like they have to modify themselves, in any way, for anyone else.
Anyways, that is the story, of my very first (and probably not last) sacred starry scar.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 27 May 2005