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Never Alone.

There are very few people in today's society who dare to differ from the crowds and followers of "popularity". There are even less people who will truly stand up for what they believe in. Even in the U.S, supposedly the "land of the free" many people tend to be slaves to trends and traditions, never venturing out on their own to find new, unique styles. Perhaps that's one of the greatest faults of today's people.

However, there are some of us braver than the rest, who will filter out into new-age groups, who are slowly bringing back individuality and independence. People who are part of the body modification scene are inevitably part of this individual revolution.

I come from an extremely, out-of-the-way, close minded and conservative community. People here are very rarely open to new ideas, and to say the least, their views of the world greatly differ from mine. Cutting, tattooing, piercing, and scarification are still very scary ideas around here. They are, in an understatement, frowned upon. It's for this reason that I have felt alone and misunderstood nearly all my life.

For as long as I can remember I have always been in love with piercings and tattoos, but being still under the age of 18 they're not something I can get tremendously involved with, and almost anything I choose to do has to be within set boundaries or on my own without consent. I've always thought modification to be the most beautiful form of art there is- art on your own body. It's probably the isolation from the possibility of getting piercings and tattoos that budged me to start cutting and scarring, but this form of body modification has become a home to me. I love the adrenaline rush of the razor going into my flesh, the look of the cut forming, the bleeding and scabbing, and especial the little scars the cuts leave months afterwards. It has become a personal thing to me, something very close to my spirit, and one of my favorite parts of myself; not of course that I'm not still wishing to get piercings. However, for the longest time I've felt incredibly alone with even my closest friends disagreeing with my life style.

When my parents found out I was cutting, it was worse than I could have ever imagined. My mom's roommate (he is practically my uncle, and is a long time family friend) walked in on me with a razor blade carving a band logo into my leg, all hell broke loose. He and my mom starting screaming at me and telling me I needed help. That cutting was stupid and it was showing, obviously, that I was depressed and wanted to die. None of this was true. I just wanted to do what I enjoyed, I only wanted to be ME.

I couldn't take it. I was sick of hiding myself, and rather than giving in and giving up I yelled back and said that this is the way I was. Little did I know at the time that there were other people who felt this way, who would understand what I was going through. All I knew was that even though I was different, and even though I felt like an outcast, I wasn't going to be the victim of society. I was an individual and this is what I loved.

My mom and the roommate were furious. I wasn't going to care this time, I took the knife and made the final cut on my leg. My mom's roommate reached to take the knife and I pulled away, accidentally cutting his hand in the process. I was shocked, I hadn't mean to do that. He pulled me down, onto the ground, and called an ambulance. I struggled to get away but I couldn't, I felt like I was trapped in a world that would never understand me. It was the most alone I've ever felt.

Regardless to say, 10 hours and a hospital visit later (I was tired at this point, I was up all night at a psych ward) I was still content with my choice of voicing my opinion, though for obvious reasons I had to play along and say I would stop. I wished that someone would just understand. I wanted to know why I felt this way.

Why was I so different? Why did I love changing my body? Why did I love the pain? Why couldn't I get over the sensation of blood trickling from my skin, And why did I like being injured by my own hand?

For the next couple months I still toyed with cutting, discreetly of course, though I perhaps felt more insecure than ever. I needed some answers. I began to search, to see if any one would understand, all I got was tips on how to stop myself. But hey, if there were tips for stopping that meant someone had to feel the same way. And then I found what has become the only place where I fit: BME. It has changed my life for the better, and I can't possibly thank you enough.

Yes, I know, I've probably bored you half to death, so what's the moral of the story? No matter what, be happy with who you are. It's the individuality that makes you special. Don't worry about what people say or think, there's always someone who understands.

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submitted by: Anonymous
on: 23 Jan. 2007
in Ritual

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