My Inverse Navel - The First Piercing I've EVER Taken Out
I miss it. I really do. My inverse navel was my baby, and it didn't even live to see bikini season! Though I confess it was my vanity that made me take it out, I still really loved that piercing.
I decided to get it on a whim. On day during history I turned to my friend and asked her if she'd walk me to the Native after class. I was bored and had just spent the past hour and a half thinking about what I could get pierced, so I was really itching for something new, something fresh.
I had seen a few girls with inverse navels at my school, and I thought it looked amazing. I love the look of metal on flesh, and the inverse navel coupled with the regular one looked so hot. It was a toss up between my inverse and my hips, and in the end, the price decided for me.
After class me and two of my close friends walk down to the Native. I've gotten every single one of my piercings there, and I trust that the piercer knows what he's doing, so I wasn't that worried. It was when I sat down in the chair (which is actually a pimped out barbers chair with a foot rest that looks like it's made of barbed wire. While it may not sound like it, it's actually very comforting.) and I saw him open the all too familiar cabinet did I really start to get nervous.
My one friend, who had been telling me the whole way there not to get it done, was the one to run over and grab my hand. She actually freaked me out more. Whenever I would tense up a bit, or breath a little deeper than normal, she squeeze my hand reflexively. It was comforting that she was worried about me... for about ten seconds. Then I heard the sound of plastic tearing and the clamp being placed on the counter. I don't think I was ever scared for any of my other piercings, but this one terrified me.
Then I started to giggle, hysterically. The piercer was used to it, seeing as this happened every single time he pierced me. But the other people in the parlor seemed to think something was really wrong with me, and came over to check. By now there were, without a word of a lie, thirteen people in the tiny little back room of the Native, and half of them were getting their navels pierced. The piercer gave me a look before he went back to work. I knew what that look meant, as I'd seen it a hundred times. It meant, "Be quiet, don't scream, and don't make it look like it hurts." So I tried not to. Unfortunately, I have really rotten luck.
I didn't feel the clamp, so I started to relax. I took a deep breath when he told me to and closed my eyes when he started to push the needle through. I didn't scream, so he couldn't get mad at me for that. I did however tell him to "Fck your mother in Burger King, you fcking ass face!"
One of the girls that was standing closest to the chair almost left, and the other was almost hysterical, but I refused to take any responsibility for that, because I had a beautiful new inverse navel piercing.
Everything was fine for the first little while. I cleaned it regularly, and I always made sure to be mindful of it. Of course it was bound to get caught on a jacket or a sweater here or there, but I tried to keep it from happening too often.
It started off small. Just a little bit of scar tissue on the inside of my belly button. Sure it hurt a lot, but I made sure to clean it more often and tried to get it to go down. Then the... stuff started to show up. I don't even know what this was, but it was yellow, and had the consistency of water. I thought it was puss but it didn't have a smell. Besides, I have never before seen puss that looked like radioactive piss.
The lump of scar tissue started to grow, and I soon noticed that it wasn't scar tissue at all. It was like a blood blister. So I made one of the biggest mistakes ever. I tried to pop it. By this point, I was convinced that this was just fluid collecting like I had on my industrial, so I figured, if it worked for that, it'll work for this.
I boiled one of my mothers sewing needles and a pair of scissors. When I was convinced that they were clean (did I mention I really don't seem to like to think a lot?) I laid down on my bed and went to work. First I tried to pop it. I took the sewing needle and, despite the blinding pain I shoved it into the bubble of flesh protruding from my navel piercing. I removed the needle soon after and tried to squeeze out the fluid. Nothing happened, and I soon realized that I hadn't just stuck a needle into a bubble of liquid but a mass of flesh. It was solid, and it felt like it had a heart beat at the time. I wanted it gone so bad I did the one thing I could think to do at the time: Cut it off.
(Again, I'm not the thinking type of person, so please, don't ever, EVER do this, especially not while lying on your bed with your mothers dirty sewing scissors.)
I got about half way through when I almost blacked out. I sat back for a while and looked down at my handy work. The bubble had gone down immensely, and the little hang part could easily be cut off. Satisfied for the night, I passed out.
I woke up in agony. Not just because my belly hurt, but also because I was stuck to my sheets. My stomach was covered in a mixture of blood, pus, and that yellow stuff. Peeling the sheet off of my belly, a ran to the mirror to investigate. Now, instead of a bubble of flesh I had an open, oozing mound that looked severely infected. Needless to say, the latter was a lot worse than the first.
Weeks passed, and the infection healed. The mound however didn't look like it was going to go away for a long time, but I could live with that. If it wanted to be stubborn and persistent, than I could be too. After all, it's what I excel at.
It took three months. Three months of waking up stuck to my bed sheets, of staining my shirts with blood. Three months of friends jokingly asking if they could say hi to Bobo (as they so lovingly called it). Three months before I reached my breaking point.
Now, I don't like to take out piercings once I've got them. Actually, I hate it, I despise it. To me, it's like a sign of defeat, like I've given up, and as I've said, I'm as stubborn as a mule. I don't give up unless something is going to kill me if I don't, or if it's going to make me look ugly. So when my piercing started to migrate away from Bobo my vanity took over and made me remove the barbell before the scar got any bigger then it already was.
Even now, there are still remnants of Bobo left, and sometimes I miss the little SOB... but when I think back on all the grief it caused me, I really don't think I could do it again. I'll pierce anything else, but for now, but stomach is off limits. For now.
submitted by: Anonymous
on: 27 June 2007
in Navel Piercing