So there was this boy...
It seems as though a lot of stories (not bme stories, but actually stories i tell to my friends) start in that way. Basically, I am young, and I fell in love for the first time. He was so many firsts for me...in many many different ways. We broke up after he cheated on me. We tried working things out and getting back together but after that anything I felt was dead.
We ended it one night just talking about all the amazing memories we had, and it was a funeral for the good times. We weren't mad at each other but we knew it had died.
I was laughing about one of our memories, and I said "I will never forget you, alright?" We decided that it would be best not to talk anymore after that night, because we both wanted to move on and stop dealing with the drama. I wanted to move on but I didn't want to forget all the memories. I didn't want to forget his impact. He made me live life as a teenager. We would do those crazy things that when you're older you look upon and laugh...I had never done anything bad before in my life, and he was showing me things that were a little beyond the usual.
It wasn't about being emo when I decided to cut a small heart onto my left hand. It was about creating a beautiful and simple scar on my hand. I wasn't too concerned with the blood or anything, but I wanted something that would heal light, faint, and not immediately recognizable but something I would connect with.
I took some hydrogen peroxide and a razor blade and decided to cut a heart freehand. I think I should have done some sort of sketch, but luckily it turned out perfectly symmetrical. It is located a thumbs width above the absolute edge of the webbing between my thumb and forefinger when i stretch out my hand. Directionally, it is sideways with the bottom pointing right when I create a "L" with my hand.
It is very small and is only a simple outline. Several times during the night i would re-open the outline with the razor. Digging and digging, because I was afraid that I had suffered the pain for nothing and that it wouldn't scar. I kept rubbing hydrogen peroxide in it and smushing it around with my palm.
The next day it scabbed over a bit but I opened it back up again. That was yesterday and I have since let it scab. I think it is beautiful and feminine. So many people have approached me and loved it, saying it was unexpected and intense, but still had a pretty feel to it.
Some people have said it looks stupid and that only a retard would cut themselves a heart on their hand. It looks a little shocking when it is scabbed over, but I can't wait until it is a little pink and white scar.
I want to do this again, and maybe in a less visible spot. I am surprised at the amount of self control I had. The only thing I had ever done before was piercing my own lip..
This didn't hurt as bad as piercing my own lip, and the pain was different. It was a stinging and expected pain. I'm afraid to say I kind of liked it, but there was a lot of power in it.
The only time it hurts and it bothers me is when people accidentally rest their hand on top of mine and they smush it. Other than that I think that it is completely worth the trouble of cutting your own skin.
I'm excited to see how this develops. Right now, if i tried opening it back up it would hurt because it has become sore. It is not infected although the area around the cut is slightly red. If it become any worse, I may put some more hydrogen peroxide on it, but I want to leave it be. I don't want to bother it so much that it is a ridiculously intense scar, because I want something fragile.
It is after all, on my hand. I don't want something that people will immediately notice and frown upon. I want something that is more of a gentle reflection, than an outright and shocking disapproval. Maybe it will cause people to think a little differently about scarification.
I know that this isnt really intense scarification, and that I could have gone thicker and deeper if I wanted to be hard core or whatever, but it was more about what I wanted it to look like on my body. It wasn't for anyone else. It was more me.
It was a memorial to more than just a boy...It was a memorial to the teenage firsts in my life.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 24 Jan. 2008