More than just a hobby
About Three years ago I probably made the biggest mistake of my life. It was a Thursday afternoon and I was at school. My history teacher was talking about god knows what, and I was sitting at the back trying to concentrate. I opened my pencil case to get out a pen when my protractor caught my eye. At that point I lost all interest in my school work and decided scratching a star into the desk would be much more interesting. After about 10 minutes of scratching I had only accomplished a small, barely visibly line in the surface of the desk. Frustrated, I gave up and just played with the legs of the protractor instead.
There was only 20 minutes left before the bell went and we had finished the work, so the teacher allowed us to talk. Me and my friends were laughing and messing about when I realized I had been tracing the pointed end of the protractor across the top of my hand. I was amazed to see that the path of the protractor could be clearly seen by a fine white line across my skin. I was fascinated by it. As I talked to my friends I sat there and traced the star into my hand. I thought nothing of it, neither did my friends. I went over it time and time again, pushing harder each time. Each time I pushed harder, Id get this amazing rush, a rush I'd soon fall in love with. The star didn't bleed, it just wept a little, but even with that I still thought nothing of it.
The next morning when I woke up, my hand was a little sore. I looked down and was surprised with a perfect pinky red star in the back of my hand. I still didn't think what I had done was wrong. But I knew I should try and not let people see it. But that proved to be harder than I thought being the middle of summer and the star taking up most of my hand. People would comment me on it, saying things like, "Owww Didn't that hurt???" other people told me it was really cool but for most people would just be like, "Oh, ew that's nasty!!" But through the day I couldn't stop looking at it. It was so pretty. I was so amazed at my body's ability to create its own art.
Within a week or two the scar healed and faded completely. Just a few days after it had disappeared I had this urge for another design. I didn't think it was an urge for pain or anything like that, I just assumed I wanted another pretty scar. So I rewarded myself With a K (my first initial) over the same spot the star had been. Although this time I didn't use my protractor, I used a sewing pin. I sat there scratching away into my hand. The sewing pin hurt a lot more than the protractor. But I enjoyed the pain. The end result left a huge "K" barely bleeding on my left hand.
For about six months I continued scratching and cutting designs into my skin without even realizing I was addicted to it. I didn't think I was using it to express anger, fear or frustration. I saw it simply as hmmm I'm bored, how about a pretty scar? What I didn't notice was each time I would add another addition to my scar collection, I would use something harsher. From protractor to sewing needles, sewing needles to nail scissors, nail scissors to Stanley knifes, Stanley knifes to art scalpels and so on. Every tie I'd try something new I'd push a little harder, I'd bleed a little more and the rush would become more intense.
A year after that and I still wasn't aware of how addicted I had become. Somewhere along the line I had stopped bothering with designs. The once "pretty scars" were now just straight boring lines. But I still thought of it as just a hobby. I think deep down I knew that even if I wanted to stop I couldn't, but didn't want to admit it. Anyway, one day at school a girl I thought was a friend informed my entire grade of my little 'hobby' and that's when I realized what I was doing wasn't so common. Walking into the locker area, I could hear there nasty comments and sees them all staring at my arms and legs, but I acted like it didn't bother me and kept on walking. When I was out of site I ran to the bathrooms and started crying. I looked down at the mess of scars on my arms and realized what I was actually doing to myself. At that moment I wanted to be bleeding so badly. But knew I couldn't. I decided that I had to quit and swore I wouldn't cut never ever again!!
Ha ha ha!! So since that faithful day everyone found out it has been a year and a half. And I've sworn to quit about a million times since then. But the truth is I can't, and I'm not even sure if I really do want to. As much as I regret that day in history, I can't help but think if it hadn't of happened, I wouldn't have gotten into body modifications as much as I have. Three years ago I didn't even have/want any mods, now I'm addicted to them, and for that I'm truly thankful.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 22 April 2006