So this is my page devoted entirely to self-mutilation, or as my friend Beeks calls it, scart (scar-art). haha. right.
Lessee.. i should probably start off with an explanation.. i can't really speak for anyone else, so i'll just explain what self-mutilation is/does for me.
It's a release.. sometimes like drugs. The pain that's achieved through the cutting or whatever.. is something to focus on. Yes, it's pain and it hurts, but that's kind of the point. It's something to focus on and pull you away from reality. People who aren't self-mutilators rarely understand why the hell anyone would do this to himself.. and i'll talk about that more later.
What's self-mutilation?
Ner. That's pretty self-explanatory.
Most self-mutilators i know are cutters.. you know, they use sharp objects, usually razor blades (shaving razors) or knives, to cut themselves. Some people burn themselves, but that's not as common, so i'm just gonna refer to it as cutting from now on.
Aud's Story:
If i recall correctly, i began my freshman year of high school, which was about three years ago (not very long). I actually burned myself the first time.. on the bottom of my forearm near the elbow joint. I made three little marks (still got the scars).. looks a bit like this: /l\ 'cept a couple inches bigger. It was a bit of an accident.. i didn't really know what i was doing. The first mark i made was more of an experiment. The second two were completely intentional. I think i was originally burning a crayon with a paperclip.. just melting it over the candle. The paperclip turned blackish, and brilliant little me thought, "i wonder how it'll feel if i put the paperclip on my flesh." So that's what i did. Mostly testing to see how hot it was. Ok, so i pressed the metal against my skin.. and SIZZLE.. then.. POP.. (sometimes it makes the sound of Rice Crispies when you pour milk over it). It was the shock, really. I couldn't say i enjoyed the pain at first, but i definitely felt it. Soooo.. i guess that's how i began. The burning never developed into much, and the cutting didn't start until i noticed some marks on my friend's ankles.
My friend M. (that's what we'll call her) was.. i don't want to say an influence on me, but she became something to a similar effect. I remember coming to school one day and noticing these little red marks on both her ankles(read: she pulled up her pants legs without hesitation and almost boastingly showed me her cuts [yes, we were pathetic.. Back Then]) I'm not sure what my reaction was, but i got a bit curious.
When i first started cutting, it was done delicately, barely penetrating the flesh, and producing little blood. Skipping ahead.. in the past couple of years the cutting got a lot.. Worse. The warped curiousity gradually turned into a daily routine and eventually an addiction.. much like drugs.
"Instruments"
heh. hm.
For burning: candles, matches, paperclips, any random pieces of metal
For cutting: scissors, x-acto knives of many different shapes and sizes (LOTS of x-acto knives), the tips of mechanical pencils, razor blades, shaving razors of different shapes and sizes.. you know.. the double-edged schick blades that come in those nice, handy, little boxes.. and other brands, etc.
Where i cut
Mostly my forearms, stomach, upperarms, and at one point my neck.
The thighs seem to be a common cutting spot for most cutters, but i never really "got into" that.
The cuts usually ran from about one inch to five inches. I cut horizontally and vertically; i cut patterns, shapes, symbols, and words.
erm, i'm not sure how appropriate this is.. but perhaps it'll give you a "better" idea.
or something.
So here's a picture of my left arm, taken some time around June '97.
i re-scanned it recently, so the quality should be better..
What else?
Not sure.. i guess:
I stopped cutting on August 14th or 15th.. '97.
Weird that i remember. I guess i have a reason to.
You know what it is? It's all about control. Cutting is a big control issue. Of course, it developed into something much more than that, you know, call me masochistic or whatever. I did enjoy the pain at times. I LOVED the blood. I mean, i basically enjoyed every aspect of it.. perhaps a little too much. And that is where the control stopped. I got addicted to cutting. I know it's hard to imagine. I know it's hard to compare it to alcohol or drugs or whatnot. But cutting became something i just had to do.. and where's the control in that? Instead of escaping from my mind and finding control in the hand and the blade and the flesh and the blood, that escape had control of me. Lovely, isn't it? Just one fun circle.
It wasn't easy. At All. I didn't just decide to stop one day and do it. There were reasons. There was/is someone who guided me.. and really took the first step with me. But for a while it was difficult. It just got easier as time went on. But it comes and goes, you know. The struggle.
So i guess that's all, really.
I'm not an advocate of cutting. But i don't see the idea of it being necessarily wrong at all. It's always the road one travelled beforehand that gets to me.
It really bothers me when people just look at the act itself, and judge the cutter. It's rare that we see past the act because the act is so mmm.. extreme, i guess.
I don't think i have anything else to say.. right now.
