Taking control � from what I read here, a lot of us feel that modding gives us some semblance of control. Over our bodies, over pain, over other peoples' perceptions of us. For me, my mods began as a nifty way to memorialize certain points in my life discreetly. Since my illness, it has morphed into something much more meaningful, and if the BME reviewers will have it, I'd like to share.
At A Glance Author WarMaiden Contact [email protected] IAM WarMaiden When N/A Artist Charlotta Brunson and Chris Davis Studio Tattoo Charlie's Location Lexington, KY I always thought I had things pretty well in hand � I graduated from high school top in my class. In college I pursued both academics and fun with equal vigor. I like the feeling of things moving on their own momentum, so long as I get to steer. Life is exhilarating, and I truly believe that any attempt to harness it too closely takes the motivation out of it. The magic loses its mojo, if you will.
After a great stint in college, I headed to graduate school for my PhD. I was worn out from the rigors of college � late nights partying, late nights studying, and late nights caring for pals or dreaming the future had taken their toll. My stomach was constantly upset, and I suffered from horrible nausea and embarrassing and painful abdominal cramping. Severe diarrhea (which of course I couldn't admit to anyone!) kept me housebound, and I learned to sleep shivering on the bathroom floor. In my first semester of graduate school I went from a chunky 200lbs to a relatively svelte 130. I may have been ill, but damn, was I hot! My body was wailing warning signs and playing traitor � I had things to do! I had work to be done! I eventually had to call it quits halfway through the PhD, and was miserable.
Three colonoscopies revealed nothing � doctors were ecstatic that they could give me the good news that there was nothing wrong with me. Most were more than pleased to suggest it was "all in my head," and I needed to see a psychiatrist. I assured them that it was most definitely a problem with my stomach, not my head, and tried to self-medicate with peppermint and tea. Just about five months ago I finally found a sympathetic doctor who ran all the tests and finally concluded that I have IBS. Irritable Bowel Syndrome � nope, no sexy health label for me. Bowel, right there in front of God and everybody. Ick. No one talks about unsexy innards like bowels; even appendix stories win out. Other than the common cold, IBS is the illness that most keeps people from going in to work and being otherwise productive. With that handle, I was finally able to find some relief. A diet free of fat, meats (except fish), dairy, carbonation, caffeine, alcohol and chocolate have kept my illness in 'remission,' and I have my life back. Yes, I am convinced it is life, even without chocolate.
I had been modified since college, and I always appreciated the release and control over my body that modding allowed. The severely restricted diet I'm on has led to a healthy, curvy me, but at the expense of the foods I love to enjoy and serve others. I have found solace in modding, and I find that making peace with my body and its needs has led me to a greater appreciation of how I decorate it, and present it to others. After spending so much time wondering "why me?" and watching my body, the only vessel I own, spin out of control, I've found something like peace. It has been extremely difficult to change my lifestyle, and I am very proud that I can subvert my desires and do what is right to keep me healthy (which consists of drooling over, but not eating, Hershey bars and prime rib). I find that the exercise of self restraint (I'm no saint, and I dream about Three Musketeers bars) has led me to understand myself and my limitations better.
Oddly enough, though my stomach has been out of control for so long that I am readjusting to living a normal life again, my tattoos and piercings always healed suspiciously well. My tattoos usually take a week to heal (which I attribute to my wonderful artist and the magical healing powers of walking around naked), and my piercings never aggravate. After some pondering, I decided that my body was telling me that it thoroughly enjoyed my mods, and was willing to work with me towards that end. Does it seem odd that I speak about my body as if it is different from my mind? That I bargain with it? "If you stay healthy through the end of the shift, we'll go to bed early.." Knowing that I need to make special accommodations for my body (like living at a low stress level, eating carefully, etc.) has made me aware of my physical self as a separate (but integrally connected) entity.
Armed with new knowledge of and respect for my body, I am now gainfully employed in work that I love, and have resumed my graduate work, which I have missed dearly. Modding has become a very important part of my life, and I believe it serves to keep me healthy just as much as diet, exercise and rest do.
Piercing and tattooing is not only a creative outlet where I can now beautify the body I abhorred as defective; it is also a way to honor the vessel I inhabit. I no longer hate my curves � it is the way my body is built. I no longer play the 'why me?' game, because with proper care, my illness only flares when I do something unhealthy, and so I have taken responsibility. Others can think what they will � they do not have to live within this shell, and they do not know it like I do. They abhor the pain they think I go through; my body accepts the mods and heals them extremely rapidly; I like to think it is in honor of our new relationship.
My modding is also a nod to pain � pain I choose, pain I overcome, and pain that leaves behind a mark, either in ink or jewelry. Pride that I can make it through, and honoring my body enough to know that it will survive and replenish itself. The wonderful thing is that I have bonded with myself, and that it has given me the courage to stop hiding behind the "I'll do it sometime" and actually do it now, while I can enjoy it. My tattoo work confuses my coworkers, who see me as a nice, quiet librarian (which I am). To me, it is an affirmation that I no longer battle my body, but try to harmonize with it and recognize that it deserves to be beautiful. I decorate the space in which I spend my time � my home, my office, my car. I spend time comforting and healing those I love. How much more deserving of decoration and comfort is the current home of my soul?