No-Regret-Attached Scars and the Stabbed Heart
As a note and warning: if you want scarification, you should always do it professionally. Or at least use proper sterilized equipment! And make sure it what you want and that you know the risks and consequences. I've said fuck it to all of those important details, but I've been lucky enough to not get infected and have my scars turn out nicely. But everyone has different skin, so you might not get away with such dangerous stupidity. So please do not repeat any of the actions in this experience.
She looked at her arm. Pathetic. She hated her arm, she hated both of her arms. Constantly covered in pen and marker and highlighter to attempt to decorate them or at least cover their flaws. Noticeable cat scratches, nail scratches, scissor cuts, random scars, and deep cuts. She was flawed and she felt like everyone was staring at her, noticing every disgusting detail (but they weren't). Her self-esteem was non-existent. She thrived with insecure paranoia. All because she wanted so badly to be beautiful... but by her own standards. Her mother insulted her, made fun of the way she dressed and did her make-up, kids called her ugly, neighbors yelled out snide remarks, strangers pointed and laughed. She tried to ignore it, but it always seeped through and poisoned her mind. With each scar she grew to hate her body. And it was always the scars that stuck in her mind's eye. She had so many scars. Emotional, yeah. Psychological, yep. Spiritual, definitely. Physical... countless scars, spotting her legs, slashing her arms, and all across her stomach, chest, face, back, neck... hell, the scars were everywhere. And the thing was, she was the only one who really noticed. But they were there. Every time she came out of the shower she felt just as ugly as she did beforehand... just cleaner. The water made the scars stand out.
Time and time again she found herself nails ripping out chunks of flesh or digging in till she bled. She found herself... sawing with scissors, drawing with skewers, stabbing with safety pins, cutting with scalpels, using anything she found in her house to do her deed. But the self-made scars were something more than the accidental ones. They were intentional. They were "okay". She didn't hate herself for them. And she didn't regret them. These were her scars.
Everyone that doesn't do it wonders why I do. Sometimes it was almost "entertainment". Sometimes it was relief through the tears. Sometimes it was for the sadistic want of feeling pain. Sometimes it was to see the blood. Because she loved her blood; it was so vibrant and unrealistically bright red. There were so many reasons. She never did it for attention. She never did it for her anyone but herself. She made a half-assed and minimal effort to hide it, and she would never display it, brag about it, or showcase it.
"What the FUCK Amanda? I NEVER want to see you do this again!" You can't avoid these types of people forever. The people who don't understand. We all hate and get angry at what doesn't make sense to us. "Fuck you. Stop judging me. I'm not like other kids that cut. And when I do it while emotional, it's not a suicide attempt, it's stopping suicide, bitch. It's my body... it's mine to mutilate, manipulate, and modify. Shut up and think before you say your programmed 'good friend' response."
Yeah, so the girl in the story is me. And I got a LOT of negative responses from my friends. But so what? They learned, got over it, and moved on. My mom noticed, she didn't care. Just that "you kids and your cutting... kids these days are so strange" look followed by a couple questions and a eye roll or head shake.
Some thought I would do it because other kids did it. I didn't even know other kids did it. I thought I was alone and I liked it that way. It was mine. People could judge me if they wanted to, but they were wrong. Those who knew me, didn't question it, just understood me.
It started with the simple line cuts randomly over my forearm, the back of my arm and hand, and my fingers. Then the next was a simply "anarchy sign" engraved in my thumb. (The funny thing was, it was an A for Amanda, not anarchy, but nobody knew that except me.) Next it was the word SORRY... for when I was having a breakdown. This scar has a lot of significant meaning in my life and I don't think it's "a silly emo thing" to have a word in my arm. It serves as a reminder, a memory, a lesson... but mostly a story.
As time passed I grew more and more into scarification and body modification in general. I decided I wanted something easily recognizable, something nice and meaningful and interesting. I wanted something I could show off and have a lot less negative reactions and attempts at Baker-Acting me. (Put simply, the Florida Baker Act puts those who harm or may harm themselves or others in a mental hospital.) I wanted to have a real design. So I started sketching simple things that I liked. At last I chose one. A heart. With two swords stabbing into the heart from the top and crossing each other on the inside of the heart and coming out at the bottom of the heart. I REALLY liked this one. So I immediately marked it onto my arm with washable black marker. Not exactly a choice marking material. But I started the etching process with scissors and a skewer. This made what I called a "rough draft" design. The blood began to pour and mix with the marker. No warning light flashed in my head, but one should have, as this is probably a surefire way to get an infection. Anyway, the next day, I woke up with black blood dried on my arm. I was a bit shocked, until I remembered what I had done before going to bed. A week after this had formed a scab and was beginning to heal, I touched it up with an X-acto knife. It bled a lot more that time. For the most part it looks good and gets good reactions. Some are curious, some are confused, some are disgusted, some disappointed, but as I had imagined and sort-of hoped, there are some that find it very cool.
(Update: Two weeks later - it's fully healed, the lines are thick and pink. One of the swords was slightly bent, but you can no longer notice. The tips of the swords are a bit hard to see. Overall, it looks fantastic. And my mom still hasn't noticed it!)
I have changed a lot over time. Changed utensils. Changed motives. Changed morals and beliefs. But I still like cutting, I still like blood, I still like mild amounts of pain, and I still like scarification. But because of knowledge, experience, and curiosity, I've learned a lot. And now I'm a bit more into aesthetics rather than my "silly teenage reasons to cut", but it's all gravy on French fries.
Cutting was never dangerous in my life. And so many people around me had these weak, thin-lined cuts all up their arms. But cutting is a serious problem. Many people go far enough to require stitches, stab and tearing at flesh. If you know someone that cuts, don't brush it off as a desire for body modification... find out the inside story.
Happy Moddings, folks!
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 26 Aug. 2005