*Note - I do not condone any of my behaviors mentioned below. If you identify with any of them, I beg of you to please get help before you really hurt yourself.*
At A Glance Author Vicki Contact [email protected] When N/A Artist mulitple Studio none. Location none. "No one can hurt me more then I hurt myself."
Words I spoke to my piercer this past June,whilst getting my orbital done. I like to say its my ring of hope.
He went on talking about how true that was in relation to piercing and tattoos, that no one could inflict any more pain on you then you would let them. He didn't know my history of self-destruction. Or that I had spent the past 5 months in and out for hospitals, being treated for anorexia nervousa and self-injury.
As I write this, I am looking over the past years. I've tried to pinpoint where it all started so many times. I have yet to really understand. All I can really say is that I have this constant desire to push my body to its upmost limitations. It's like I need to see what kinds of things this flesh can with stand.
I could go into all sorts of details about what my eating disorder makes me feel, but that is not really the point here.
My anorexia started at around age 12. The self-harm started soon after, as a punishment for when I did eat. It came in bouts, and never really lasted for any sustained amount of time. Maybe a month or two at most. Upon hitting high-school, it became my dirty secret. It was the only thing I had control of. The only way I could make myself happy was by getting away with not eating or bleeding out my frustrations. I had also taken to making myself vomit when I became upset.
About half way through my ninth grade year, I started the very slow process of stretching my ears. Over the past 3 years I stretched my lobes from a standard 18 gauge to nearly 1/2 inch. I also had stretched 4 other piercings to 14 and 10 gauge, respectively. My parents were absolutely disgusted with it. And believe me, they were quite vocal about their discontent. My mother constantly made me feel guilty and miserable over it. During my sophmore year, my mother stormed into my room in an angry fit only to find me slicing away at my upper thigh. I got put in therapy. Which did not help. I started burning myself after my blade was taken from me. And then I discovered my father's collection of pocket knives in the kitchen cabinet.
Cutting is still my dirty secret, my parents think I have since stopped. Anyways, around that time, my weight was plummetting. I had been really trying to keep my weight stable since I developed anemia. But I lost it. Every week I lost another 2 pounds. I hit 100 and my hemoglobin levels were at 6. I was sent to Yale New Haven Hospital, and they stabilized me. I was kept a few days on IV because my vitals were that of "some who was in a drug-overdose induced coma". My first hospitalization. I didn't know then that I had any real problem, I hid it quite well. I was interrogated about my habits. And my loverly then 0 gauge ears. The nurses all thought I was crazy.
So I came home,and I'd gained 6 pounds. I started junior year. I was almost 16. I started school at 106 pounds. By my birthday, in October, I was 95. By January I had stopped weighing myself. My lowest known weight was 87 pounds. By the way, I'm roughly 5 foot 8 inches tall. When I entered treatment, I was forced to stop stretching my lobes. I lost so much control of my body. It absolutely killed me.
What was worse was that I could never gain fast enough. Every week I was being forced to eat more, and I was constantly accused of exercising and vomiting. I went through EKG after EKG, shirtless by the way. An EKG is when they take electrodes and stick 5 around your heart, 2 on your arms and 2 on your legs. It's a way of checking your heart for irregularity. I had arrythmias, bradychardia, and hypotension. I had to stand naked and be searched for cuts and bruises, be monitored while eating and taking a piss. I got weighed everyday, 6 am. In a paper gown. This went on for a month. I was released to day treatment for 8 weeks, where again I was constantly being harrassed because I was still "too thin". Then I was sent through another inpatient program. Where they made me take out my now 7/16th" plugs, because they were considered weights. I refused. They threatened to take them out for me. I bargained. I took them out for weighing only. I am sick of doctors and therapists. I have never felt so invaded and untrusted. I swear, I felt like I was a slab of meat they were trying to fatten up so they could just get rid of me. I know I needed my first treatment because there was no way I was doing it on my own. But I still agonize over how sub-human I felt.
After everything I went through with my lobes, the entire process of stretching, you would think I would never let them close. But I did after I was finally program-free. Looking at them reminded me of the hell I created for myself. Yes, they also represented the trial of patience it took to even get that far down and try to come back up. But it wasn't my choice to try. I had to get rid of them, they only represented the strength and perserverance I felt I no longer expressed. And so, my beautiful lobes now reside at 8 gauge.
I did however, reward myself with a new piercing. A lovely 12 gauge orbital, in my upper right ear. I had it done after I came home from my final program. The piercing is my reminder to myself that despite my desire to starve and destroy myself, I must keep my body nourished in order for it to heal. The ring represents the way things work, the perpetuating circle of events that I find myself stuck in. I think the piercing is pretty, so when I feel ugly or fat or just wrong I try to remember that there is at least one thing about myself that I chose and that I find aesthetically pleasing.
For me, my new piercing is not just a piercing. It serves to signify a seamless cycle of events that looks so impossible to undo. In all honesty, I have yet to really give up my fixations. My family and friends try to keep me on track but my thoughts still revolve on ways to outsmart my family and to get myself back to where I was.
Maybe in time all will be fixed but my orbital is going to heal a lot faster than I do. But my little ring still offers me hope for the future. I hope that when I am older and have control of my life that my not-yet acquired modifications will be able to save me from myself.