I know that almost all experiences start this way but... what the hell...
I have always had an interest in body modification, not so much the appearance or physical aspect of mods, I was just always intrigued by the amount of control someone could have over their body. Growing up with a very conservative family (super-christian mania!), I was pressured to be the "perfect" kid (if there ever was such a thing) who got good grades and won awards and never dared disturb or even question this lifestyle. I was always a very expressive person though and would write and draw but, as I got older, I needed more outlets and I found them in modification. I'm not pinning my problems and habits on my family; I made the choices I did and I take full credit for my actions. I have been sticking needle through myself since I was in kindergarten (literally), I would push safety pins through my arms and fingers when my parents or teachers weren't watching. As I got older (maybe 8 or 9) a reality took hold of me that said that it was wrong to do such a thing, so I stopped. When I was maybe 11 I wanted to pierce my belly button (because everyone had theirs done). When I dug the needle down into my skin, I didn't feel anything. Adrenaline took hold and I was floating over pain and worry; the only thing I felt was pleasure, the joy of control over this body that could be influenced so easily and in that moment it felt like I had complete control over my life and myself. After that day I changed (I know how cliché that sounds). I realized how much I didn't want to be swayed by other people and their opinions of me. I wanted to create my own, or at least as much of my own as I could have. It was a while before I pierced myself again but when I did I got the same feeling, you could say it was bliss. I still get the same hard to describe feeling and even though I'm no longer in kindergarten, I still stick needles through myself. ~I was sitting under the bright desk lamp that I had positioned on my floor due to my lack of a desk. My makeshift stereo/ ex-karaoke machine was playing Operation Ivy and with my bass in my lap, and my little knowledge of the chords I attempted to play along, eventually sliding the guitar back into its case in the corner. My body felt the strain of the dreary weather outside as I listened to the sheets of rain slide down the roof above my head. I was hanging off the edge of my mind and I needed somewhere to go, something to do, something to feel.
I dragged my legs out from under me and collapsed down onto the hard wood. I felt a sharp edge scrape against my shoulder blade and immediately jerked myself back up into a sitting position. When I turned to look at what had been under me, I found the plastic, retired tack case that now held my pins and needles. I brought the case closer to me and opened it to pick from the assorted safety pins and sewing needles. I settled on a small safety pin (probably around an 18 gauge). I reached up to my dresser and brought down a bottle of rubbing alcohol. After cleaning the little needle, I placed it down and pulled up my right pant leg to expose my perforated upper thigh, like a pin cushion, full of holes and scratches and scars, all self inflicted and all memories. Not memories of pain and hardships but memories of a willing greed for the sharp pleasure of metal in skin.
I picked up the needle and headed for my favorite spot, to the right of my kneecap. I pinched a portion of skin until a small ripple appeared and I pressed the needle to it, putting some pressure on the curved back. I released my skin and put more pressure on the needle, feeling the layers break beneath the sharp pin, and sliding the metal under my skin. The feeling was pain free and wonderful as I continued to slowly slip the needle farther in, savoring the feeling. The feeling of simple pleasure and control, the feeling I have never shared with any other being. About an inch and a half later, I started upward, feeling the pressure building under my skin and then finally the release of the needle popping out from beneath the surface.~
My nose, my bridge, my thigh, my belly button, my calf, my arm.... piercing is what I do. It's a sensation that brings me up and spreads me out to cover my wants. I want this happiness, even if it's just for a few seconds, a happiness I can't find anywhere else, a happiness that is so simple, so unlike any other joy. I'm not unhappy, far from it but, there are different types of happy and piercing sets me in a state of joy that I have never felt in any other situation.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 22 Nov. 2006