{January 30, 2017}   Phase Two – Branding 2015

Over the weekend I got the second part of my leg piece done. This time it was branding. I asked a lot of questions leading up to the event. I was scared I would go through the same thing that I did with the scarification. I was scared I would lose more of myself and spend the next few months putting myself back together again. All for what? In the name of body art and self acceptance? How can it be that at all when it destroys parts of me in the process?

The branding itself was okay. It was easier to cope with than I expected. Yeah, it hurt like fuck but it wasn’t the same agony of flesh removal. Once the metal was on my skin it felt like fire and pain. But when it was removed again it was simply a warm dull ache. I cried out, I was very vocal as usual but I coped. I managed, I got through it without actually shedding any tears. A last imprint from a dear friend. One last scar of his to bear. For that I am thankful.

And He was there. Holding me, watching me hurt, helping me find strength to see it all finished. He cared for me and looked after me when it was done. Even when I snapped at Him because I found His methods frustrating. Even that night i was moody and angry and He took it in His stride like He always does.

It’s the healing that gets to me. A few days later and it all hits me. I’m exhausted and sore. I can’t have scalding hot showers or piles of blankets on me at night as the heat hurts my leg. It gets irritated and swollen because of my work pants rubbing on it. I can’t bend because my whole body aches due to the tension of muscles during the initial branding. I’ve lost interest in food and getting out of bed and facing the world has become a nightmare. I’d rather be in bed all day, trapped inside my own head, away from everyone.

It’s always the healing afterwards that tears at my very core. It’s now that I question if it was worth the pain or not. It’s now that I begin to hate what I put my body through, time and time again. It’s now that everything falls around me because all my strength is focused on healing the damaged tissue. It’s now that I feel the most alone because this was my choice, I did this to myself, I am to blame for it all. And so I suffer in silence and wait for it to pass.

When I see the scar forming, when the pain is gone and I feel more myself. That’s when this will be the best decision I’ve made. But until the healing is over I will keep sinking. This is the part I hate the most. I can deal with pain, it’s the breaking up inside that comes with healing that I can’t seem to cope with.

What I go through is not easy, none of these things are easy. What gets to me is knowing that the initial cut or burn or whatever, that’s only the first part. This doesn’t end when the design is done, it takes weeks to recover from.

Right now I’m just trying to recover. Once it’s healed I’ll be proud of it, of me. But right now I question my sanity all over again. I had hoped I wouldn’t go through this mental anguish a second time. Here I am again.

{January 30, 2017}   Love Is – 2015

Love is helping me to stand, when my body wants to give way but mind is not ready to quit.
Love is telling me that this will be finished, even if I have to be strapped down to do so.
Love is spending an hour cleaning and dressing my wound, being ultra careful not to hurt me more than needed.
Love is getting up early on her day off and driving me to work.
Love is cuddles in bed after patiently waiting for days so that I wasn’t so sore.
Love is driving two hours to come to my rescue because I wasn’t coping. I wasn’t okay and he could tell it just from my voice.
Love is days in bed being looked after when I needed it most and had no strength left for myself.

Love is words unspoken but heard all the same.
Love is mine.

How I was this time last week, is very different to how I am today. I’m not out of this and won’t be for a while. But I am a lot better.

I didn’t expect I would hardly be able to walk. I didn’t expect I wouldn’t be able to drive or go to work. I didn’t expect to not be able to come home and sleep in my own room, due to not being able to get up stairs. I certainly didn’t expect that I would turn around and hate myself for doing this. Today I am walking almost completely normal again and there is a lot less pain with movement. It still hurts, sleeping is hard to do and I get exhausted easily. My body is putting all of its energy into healing, even more so with the beginning signs of infection and the need for antibiotics. Now even the good guys are getting knocked down in order to stop things from going bad. Its all part of it though.

I know I’m healing. I feel it with my movement, with how I sleep and when I stretch. I’m healing inside as well. I don’t hate myself as much as I did, though I still don’t love myself for doing this. This was difficult for me. I thought I would see the images and be amazed with myself. Part of me is still disgusted though. I thought I would find it beautiful, because its something I have found beautiful for such a long time. I saw my mum the other day, she told me that she wasn’t surprised when she found out I did it. I had been talking about it for years and it was just a matter of time. If anything, she was surprised it had taken this long to happen. This was something I was always going to do and I never questioned my need for having it done.

But having it done has been harder than I ever expected it to be. The moment I started I regretted it. I hated that I was putting my body through such hell in the name of art. I don’t regret it now. I am happy that I endured something that I still don’t understand how I managed to endure in the first place. It was unlike anything I have ever done and I don’t think I will ever understand how I actually got through it. It felt like I was doing it to hurt myself, that it was harm and mutilation and not help. It scared me.

It was help though. It was my own personal rite of passage. It was the next step in my journey of becoming the person I want to be. I had to hurt in order to see my strength and I had to hate in order to see how much I love. I’m still finding it difficult to get through all of the emotions that it brought up. It brought things up for me that I never realised even bothered me. The emotional rollarcoaster that this one thing has caused, has been the hardest part of all of it to deal with. Wounds heal, but heads are harder to fix. For the first four or five days, I didn’t think my head would get fixed from this. I thought I had seriously fucked myself up.

I didn’t. I’m okay. I’m getting better inside as the outside heals too. But I still feel fragile. Like a gust of wind will blow me over. The wrong thing said will tip me back into darkness. I used so much strength to get through it, that now I have none left to keep my emotions in check. Day by day I get better.

But this was mine. This was my moment. This was my ritual. My rite of passage. This was what I needed. It happened how and when it was meant to happen. For my 21st I suspended, after saying for the 6 years leading up to it, that that is exactly what I was going to do. I never questioned my need to suspend and my need to do it to mark turning 21. A number I never thought I would ever each. And now I turn 25 and in celebration of that I have the only name other than my real one, that fits me perfectly and I have it with me always now. This wasn’t about my birthday, it was about reaching a place I never thought I could get to.

I am perfectly imperfect.
I am pretty imperfection.
This was my ritual.
My rite of passage.
And I look forward to figuring out what the hell I’m going to do next.

{January 30, 2017}   New Territory – 2015

I’ve taken my body into something further than ever before. Its having to heal something unlike anything else. I have gone against my bodys very nature by intentionally removing part of its protective barrier. Its no small thing to go through. Its something that I thought about for a very, very long time before going ahead and doing it. It wasn’t a decision made on a whim, it was thought about and planned. I could have planned it better, yes. I should have had a support person, I should have known I would not be able to drive. I should have thought about the fact that my house has stairs which I can’t get up right now. I should have thought about more time off work. But even with careful planning, not everything turns out the way I want, it turns out the way it should. I learnt lessons from the way this turned out, I learnt lessons about myself.

I can go through hell and I can do it standing alone. I can hurt in unimaginable ways and even if I feel like my own mind is crashing in around me, I still keep going. I was surrounded by people who love me and support me, this was done out of love. It felt like I was doing it alone because the people who were part of it had jobs to do, I didn’t have that one person whose job was making sure I held my shit together. That is something I should have planned for but doing it myself showed me that I can do this myself. At the end of the day when it feels like I am breaking apart, I can still find that hidden strength inside me that makes me keep going. It helps to have people around me, but at the end of the day I only have myself.

This happened the way I needed it to. I needed to fall so far and so hard the next day because I had been strong for near on three hours, and it took its toll. I never expected my mind to turn against me, because I have never done anything like this before. There is no going back from this. Once its done, you can’t change it. You can’t put the skin back, you are left with a scar for the rest of your life. This is with me always now. It wasn’t the permanence that bothered me though. I knew it was permanent and had accounted for that. It was the brutality of what I had just done which bothered me.

I know about the skin. I know about the human body and how it heals. I know the physical but the mental was something I never accounted for. I never thought I would question my reasons for doing it. I never thought I would question my own sanity for getting something like this done. This isn’t a small thing to do and go through. Its so much bigger and harder than I expected it to be. This is unlike any other mod and its not for people who don’t understand the magnitude of what this actually means. I intentionally caused a huge open wound on my leg. I took away flesh in order to cause a scar. I damaged my body on purpose so that I could force it to heal in a way which would be pleasing to me. I can’t walk properly, I have to constantly take pain killers in order to get through the day. All I do is sleep and eat and even that is hard to do at times. Getting it done seems to be the easier part of all of it now that I am starting to heal and getting it done was not easy! This is a whole new journey for me and only now am I starting to see any of the positives in it.

I didn’t do this because I’m a hard player. I didn’t do this to fit in to a group. I did this because I have always wanted it done. I did this because I like changing myself to better fit myself. I did this because it is more a part of me than leaving that patch of skin bare. I did it because I had to do it. I needed it done.

I did it because this is me. I did it because I love myself and I don’t try to hide who I am. I did this out of love, and it was done to me out of love.

Thank you for taking me on another new journey, entering into new territory and reminding me how loved I am.

{January 30, 2017}   Beyond Limits – 2015

I found a limit over the weekend. Something I will never do again and not for the reasons most would think. I did it anyway, it was started and had to be finished. The damage to my body is nothing compared to what it’s done to my head. There are other things for me to write about, much happier things such as 25 + 1 but instead this is all I am able to say right now.

I had wanted this for a long time. Ever since I saw a guy at a bus stop when I was in my early teens. He had beautiful scars on his legs, designs of swirls and twists but not tattoos. I have always loved body mods, always wanting more and thinking of what to add to my own personal canvas. It’s art to me, expression, beauty in order to make me feel more like me. A scarification was going to happen at some point in my life. It already has. My first was a rose cutting on my left breast but I decided my next had to be a skin peel in order to get the look I wanted.

So I did it. I had it done. The pain was like nothing else I have ever experienced and I don’t know how I got through it. I don’t know how I survived it because to me it was hell, it was agony and so far past what I could deal with. This isn’t said to put people off, I have never handled the pain from blades very well at all. Cutting is difficult for me, always has been. I can’t find a way to deal with the pain it brings me, it’s just pain and I don’t find it fun.

But now that its all over it seems nothing compared to how it feels to heal. So tired and exhausted I can’t walk properly, talk, think, I can hardly feel emotions at all. The only way to describe this is empty. I am left with nothing inside of me yet I am forced to keep going. I have no strength to laugh so all I do is cry. Every movement causes my muscles to spasm and skin to prickle that’s not even there. My body is starting to heal, the pain will get better but it’s not easier to cope with. My head is now broken.

I have never questioned what mods I get. I have never doubted if I should have done it or not. But this leaves me feeling sick at myself. To ask someone to do this to me, to maime my body by removing skin, just to get a scar? Is it worth it? Is this pain worth going through or have I mutilated myself and I just call it art? Am I sick? I feel like I’m sick. Like I am seriously fucked up for wanting it done in the first place and for some how actually managing to go through something which was so far past my limits.

I wanted this. I asked for this. Now I have to live with it.

I’m not proud of what I went through or what I’m going through now. I’m not proud that I wanted it, asked for it and finally got it. I don’t see what I did as a feat of great achievement, I see it as a new level of completely fucked up shit I put my body through.

I reached a limit and went right past it. Now I have to live with my choice because I can’t go back.

I hope this feeling goes away and I can look at my scarification with awe and not repulsion. I hope I see the beauty in it like i did for the guy at the bus stop. This isn’t me. I am not an empty person, I just have to ride this out. I knew it was going to be difficult, you can’t put your body through such trauma and simply be okay. I just never expected getting this done would make me question my own sanity.

I won’t regret this once it’s all over. I just have to heal.

{June 11, 2013}   Silence Me – My Ritual

Three days ago i did my silencing ritual and this is the writing i did later on that night. It has been edited from the original as some things were not relevant to post on this site.

I started out wanting to do this in order to silence what goes on in my head.. to take away my voice in order to try to calm my inner voice. Its something i have wanted to do for probably over a year and tonight i did it. I had my mouth sutured closed and the experience was more than i ever could have imagined.. it went from learning to quieten myself, to learning how to listen.

It hurt.. there was a needle going through my face so of course it hurt! The pain wasn’t what scared me about this. I have my lip pierced so i had a very vague idea of what the pain was going to be like. When He started i was scared, i wasn’t just nervous i was scared. I had wanted this for so long and now to actually have it done.. could i really do it? He started and bit by bit i was sewn closed. It got to a point where even though my head was telling me it was fine, my body was telling me we were going too fast. I had a massive wave of shock kick in, the kind of shock which makes you want to vomit, and with stitches in my mouth, vomiting wasn’t an option. So we slowed down, and bit by bit He sewed more until it was done. I am beyond proud of myself because i managed to get through something that my body did not want to happen. I over took the shock and i rode it in waves until i no longer felt sick i just floated. And for me, riding the kind of shock that makes me sick, is that hardest kind for me to fight. Its not that endured it, or  blocked it, boxed it, we just found a way that i could manage it and for me thats big. I am beyond proud because going into it i was utterly terrified.. to the point where when He was preparing things i almost backed out.

But i didn’t back out, and i found a peace like nothing else. My inner voice, the voice that has been ruling my life with negative thoughts and feelings finally shut the fuck up. I didn’t think anything…  and for someone with depression, do you know how good it feels to think nothing at all? And then the thing i didn’t expect happened. I started listening, really listening to the things people said. I do listen to people, but when you can’t speak, when you can’t answer them. You hear the things they are trying to tell you but can’t, you pick up on movement and tone and when someone tells you that they are proud of you, that you are beautiful and amazing… you understand why they are telling you. You understand that they mean it, that they feel it with everything within them and not being able to answer means that you don’t shrug it off like its nothing. You don’t shy away because of your inability to take compliments. You actually fucking listen to every word they say and you know they mean it and you feel that.

I find it hard to take compliments, i don’t hold a high opinion of myself and i often find it hard to see the things in me that others see. But when you have no voice, when there are no thoughts in your head.. you start to see what they have been trying to tell you the whole time they have known you. I find what i did to be beautiful. I kept going back to look in the mirror because despite the dried blood and thread sticking out of my face, i found the image staring back at me beautiful.

I had so many compliments on the way i looked tonight. Everyone was so incredibly kind and to talk to someone who watches my journey from afar and have her tell me how happy she is for me. That she has loved being able to watch me grow into who i am now. I did take it in, but then later when i couldn’t speak, the conversation came back to me and i understood things in a way i didn’t before.

I have felt so lost after my suspension, so at odds with the world and those around me. But by simply taking away my voice, forcing me into silence where the only thing i can do is truly listen to people.. i no longer feel lost. Its like the lost little girl inside made up her mind on which path to take and she chose to go straight through the middle of the fork and pave her own path.

What i needed to learn the most was how to listen, how to accept what others say and to smile and laugh and enjoy. Its nice to have my smile back.. even if it does hurt.

To me it was about finding myself and learning to listen, to stop the things in my head long enough to actually hear the things people were telling me.

This was selfish and my own, i did this all for myself but i needed to do it. And i’m very lucky to have such a wonderful friend who time and time again gives me exactly what i need, no matter how selfish it is.

I don’t know if i could have done this without His help because when i enter into something that terrifies me on such a massive level like this, its His silent push that marks the moment where i decide that there is no way in hell i’m backing out.

Thank You, for giving me what i needed and helping me find peace again. For just being you because your a pretty cool dude 🙂


Written a year ago

She stands in a crowd and no one see’s
Blending in to hide from the scene
My pretty little imperfection
Such a perfect imperfection

Silently walking this dark lonely street
No other sound but the sound of her feet
Wishing the wind would sweep her away
Wanting the pain to ebb and to fade

Ending up no-where in the pouring rain
A tear streaked face, with no one to blame
My pretty little imperfection
Such a perfect little imperfection

et cetera