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Branding

Branding can be done professionally, more often than not it isn't. This is a case as such. I do not recommend this to anyone, but am merely relaying my own actions.

Being interested in body mods since a very young age, and still even now being too young to walk into a shop and have a request filled without the many signings of parental permission papers, I felt discouraged. My mum wasn't very approving of my strange desires to pierce and tattoo my flesh, but did allow for an eyebrow ring and small back tattoo. She of course, thought it would be the end of me bothering her, but she was very wrong.

Having been tossed around in foster care, exposed to very unhealthy situations, and many other non-childlike happenings, I had developed a small cutting habit. Nothing too drastic, just carvings here and there when I felt too down. The marks were small and healed quickly, leaving barely a trace of what it had been. They didn't even hurt that much. I tried to get the scars to stick, to stand as reminders of my pain, but it was a hopeless act. It was tedious to go over them, and not worth the effort in my own personal opinion.

One day as I sat on my bed, looking over my calves and the many pocked scars from old dirt-bike motor burns, it occurred to me: Burning, branding was the way.

I didn't get into designs at first, but instead branded purely for the endorphins, or "high". As these marks healed, I realized that this was a much better way than my emo-ish cutting. The scars were very visible, the pain was more intense, and the overall product was much more satisfying and clean.

My first design was not planned or very well thought-out. In fact, it was an act to drag my emotional pain away, and distract myself with something more physical. I recently had found out my fiance cheated on me, and in something bordering outrage and severe depression, I began drinking and snatched up my lighter.

After lighting a small tea-light candle, I found myself holding the only straight piece of metal I owned since losing my last pocket knife... A small screwdriver. Honestly, I've never been so emotionally distraught that I'd fall to such a low as burning myself with a screwdriver. The first marks were simple lines, waves almost, pressed against my left bicep...

Oh did it hurt like hell. Even having masochistic tendancies, the initial shock of such heat was overwhelming. I bit my lip, took a deep breath, and thought of my next move.

In a tiring process of branding, then reheating, then branding, and reheating, I finally ended up with a product looking relatively like an "M"(the first letter of her name as well as my own) casting a reflection over my previously described "waves"... (What she does, reflects on me and directly or indirectly will effect me)

M

~

W

The room smelled faintly of burnt flesh. I wasn't aware of the fact I was still biting my poor lip. My whole upper arm was sunburnt red and the brand itself was an eerie paper-white colour. My head was spinning but I no longer felt the pain. It had left after I had made the waves, and what replaced it was a drunken state that left me feeling as if I had just finished... Well, having sex.

Healing is still in process, though the worst of it is gone. The pain of the few days afterwards were probably more excruciating than the brand itself, though I'm left to believe it's because of the lack of my body making natural pain-killers to numb me. I couldn't sleep on my left side for a long time because it was so tender. The blisters were wretched things that refused to stop pussing up until I had popped them and peeled all the skin away. Then it began the process of scabbing over, which I constantly picked away to ensure the scar was neat.

Of course, picking at a scab doesn't necessarily mean the scar will come out neat or tidy. Everyones body reacts differently, and the way their body heals determines the way the scar will look later. Minor details are generally lost, considering scars are known to sort of stretch and expand, so simple designs are best.

It's been a few weeks now, and the scabbing is beginning to stop, pink scarring replacing it. It turned out exactly as I had hoped, even if it is a bit crude.

I could spend hours telling people how it's wrong and childish, or perhaps how it's dangerous and shouldn't be done... But what would that make me? A hypocrite? It's your body, and just like me, you'll do as you want. I will say I hope it's done knowing the full consequences. It may not be worth the pain, the scar may not be beautiful or even recognizable after a week or a month or a year. Et cetera.

So ends my tale of self-modding, and I wait for the next time I'm struck with an artistic idea, or possibly a painful emotional breakdown. All the same, happy modding.

Details

submitted by: Anonymous
on: 18 Jan. 2006
in Scarification

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Artist: Myself
Studio: Secluded+Room
Location: +

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