The realization of what I would become came to me one day whilst playing with my tongue ring. I had been slumped over at my computer, perusing BME and reading any editorials or testimonials that happened to catch my eye, trying to get an idea of what kind of community I was on the verge of entering. I kept on coming across the same phrases, experiences. "Life changing," "euphoric," "painful," "throbbing," "bloody;" the list goes on. And though I was surprised how often I found something I could identify with, I could not help but feel that I was different from these people, that I would never experience anything close to what they had.
At A Glance Author Wilted Seed Contact Wilted [email protected] When N/A The generous part of me wanted to believe that I was wrong. I wanted to think myself worthy of something that would change my life, something outside the religions I had rejected, the pursuits that I had failed at or the circles I'd never fit in to in the first place. I wanted to believe that body modification would change my life, bring me to a new level of awareness and eliminate the nagging feeling of inadequacy I had whenever I met someone new. I wanted it more, much more, than I had wanted any of those other things, and I started to wonder why.
One of the most common and often least profound questions any modified person is asked; why? For me, though, it was a question I asked of myself, and freely answered. Why do you want to pierce your septum, stretch your ears, get an anti-eyebrow? Why? Are you just trying to be different, or are you trying to be the same? Do you want it to cure an illness or hide a defect?
I didn't want to walk away from the question like I walked away from life. I didn't want to blindly pierce myself without knowing why. So I sat in my chair, fiddling with my tongue ring. I tried to remember why I had decided to get my first "real" (non-ear) piercing. I couldn't; there had been no reason worth remembering or recalling.
I knew I liked it. I liked that it felt normal to me, that my mouth felt empty when it wasn't there, that I saw myself as "a girl with a tongue ring." I liked running the ball along my lips, feeling the melding of metal and flesh that was my mouth. I liked being modified.
It was then I realized that, even though the answer to "why" was often difficult or in some cases impossible to communicate to another person, it was easy to answer myself. I liked it. It made me feel good in a way nothing else did, and I wanted that feeling again.
And so it was that I set out on the road to becoming the modified me.
I hated how tiny my tongue ring was. I had always wanted to switch to a bigger one than the 14 gauge the piercer had started me out with. (I have a really thick tongue, so I didn't switch to a shorter one after the swelling went down like most people do.) I decided that now was the time.
I didn't stop there. One thing to know about me is that when I decide something, I decide the hell out of it. I didn't want to start small; I wanted to start right. I wanted to re-create my existing mods and add one of my favorites; an anti-eyebrow.
Whether it was out of a rare bout of anal-retentiveness or some compulsory need to know about body mod, I had already researched studios in town. I had it narrowed down to two, and, after a couple of calls, to one.
To anyone out there reading this, always, always, ALWAYS research the place you want to stick you with needles. It's important that they be clean, well-trained and friendly and professional if possible. I did so before I made this decision.
A few days later, after my mental state had settled from epiphany mode to just determined and excited, I headed down to my studio of choice. I wanted my tongue stretched to 8 gauge, but the jewelry I wanted wasn't available in that size. I decided on a 10, rather than go all the way to 6; I've heard that larger-gauge tongue rings can become problematic.
As my soon-to-be piercer stood before me, holding a lubed-up 10 gauge taper in her gloved hands, I mentally presented myself with a choice. It was either now, never, or too far down the road to matter. Did I want this? Did I want to take myself to a state of being unhireable at fast food restaurants? Shunned by missionaries and old ladies with handbags? Driven out of Klan meetings and sororities? Was I ready to be... different?
The answer, of course, was that I already was different. It wasn't a matter of having nothing to lose, though; it was having a perspective to gain. If I had already wandered away from the flock, then why not enjoy the countryside?
The taper went in, but no noise came out. I was positively meditative the whole time. There was no swelling, and the soreness went away within a day or two. I love my new tongue ring, and I love that I got it for what I consider the right reasons. More mods would follow.
The anti-eyebrow, which I had done later that day, was surprisingly non-temperamental. Once again I made no noise when it was done. (Save a barely audible chuckle when someone watching ran out of the room at the sight of blood.) I was, and still am, taking very good care of it, keeping it a happy little surface piercing. There were no crusties, no bruising, and minimal swelling. Warm saltwater soaks really help.
It wasn't long before I stretched my right ear up to 0 gauge. It was my oldest hole in that ear, the first mod I had ever had. It was important to me that a modification done for what I now consider shallow reasons was itself modified, changed by me to something truly my own, not society's.
I'm also planning to stretch my left ear soon, but I want to wait for my right ear to heal completely. (I hate sleeping on my back.) I'm planning several other piercings and a few tattoos, all of which I promise to write about for BME. I'm doing testimonials for all my current mods, too; the anti-eyebrow has been submitted and the tongue and ear-stretching are on their way.
Thanks to all of you out there who put yourselves out here, on BME. I can't hope to express my admiration and appreciation for all the individuals who helped me, someone they've never met, come to such a personal decision.