A stranger changed my life. The details are vague in my memory, as the moment I saw this stranger, this man, he was gone. I don't know his name, and yet he made an impact on me that he'll never understand or even know about. This man gave me the ability to feel comfortable in my own flesh and gave me an outlet to the physical expression I so wanted.
At A Glance Author Margaret Contact [email protected] When N/A Most six year old girls are content playing with their Barbie dolls and dressing up in their mother's fancy clothes. I, on the other hand, from this tender age focused much of my energy on my body and appearance and the fact that I couldn't chase grotesque thoughts out of my mind. This low self esteem wasn't correct to me, I knew something was wrong, so I kept on a happy face and tried my hardest to act like other children my age.
All throughout grade school I had a good number of friends, and was considered by my peers to be one of the popular ones. I went to all of the sleepovers, was chased by all of the boys during recess, and went home and fought with my older brother over video games and chores. I kept my parents happy by staying out of trouble and always being on the honor roll. I was, though, beyond everything else, a clich�; a happy face that hid all of the confusion and pain.
Four years after all of this self doubt began, I found at least part of the answer I was searching for, I found a way I could express myself in a physical way. I was ten years old and walking through an outdoor flea market with my parents, as I had many times before. As I was apathetically glancing through the dusty walkways, never straying far from my mother's side, I saw the most perplexing man. He was a strange looking person, baggy jeans and a tee-shirt, tennis shoes, dread locked hair, he was a stereotypical punk. None of his fashion choices shocked me as much as the jewelry he wore; a shiny silver ring went right through the middle of his nose, bull-ring style.
As soon as he had walked out of hearing distance, my parents exchanged glances and words of disgust, wondering why someone would do that to themselves. I falsely agreed and made up lies about how inhumane I thought it was. But secretly, I wanted it. I wanted it like I had never wanted something before.
It would be another two years until I could place a name to the complex I struggled with, body-dismorphia, and to the piercing I wanted, a septum piercing. I spent hours, on the internet, researching information on not only body piercings but every aspect of the body modification community. I was mystified, I became completely engrossed in the may different ways that a person could change their body.
Because of the conservative nature of my parents, I talked little about my new found obsession for body modification and even less about the way I viewed my own body. Other than the typical, average earlobe piercings, I didn't modify my body in any way until my sophomore year of high school. Having already adorned my ears with jewelry, I slowly started to stretch the holes.
The feeling was, to say the least, life changing. I, myself, was choosing to do this; I had complete control over my body. My parents were less than happy, but agreed to allow me to stretch my earlobes as long as they didn't get too big. After about three and a half years, my earlobes are currently half an inch in diameter.
After getting consent to one modification, I toyed with the idea of getting others. Subtly letting my parents know which piercings I wanted, and they always told me I'd never get any of them done, and that, basically, I was a freak. My mother wanted so badly for me to be everything she wanted, which was everything I didn't want. She'd make crude remarks, such as "You'd be a lot prettier if you wore lipstick, Margaret". Words such as this, though, only brought memories of that stranger I had seen years ago. I made up a whole life for him, and I followed that life myself.
At the age of fifteen, I got a second piercing. It was a daith piercing (the cartilage inside the ear). My parent's used it as a reward for getting good grades. This is the system we set up, if my grades appeased them, I got another body modification. It was another two years before this happened. When I was only seventeen years old, I got my first tattoo. It was the start of a side piece, all stars, going up my right side. I had wanted this tattoo for a couple of years, and it has a very personal meaning to me.
As I was getting tattooed for the first time, the Stranger came back to my mind. I wondered if he had any tattoos, if his parents agreed with the way he dressed and presented himself. I wondered if he got the same strange looks that I got as I discussed what I wanted to do to myself and how I body modification made me feel. I assured myself that he went through the same struggles as I was going through and had defeated them. I, therefore, would also defeat them.
So, I slowly began to idolize this man that I didn't even know. Our lives matched perfectly, down to the very friends we had and people we talked to. He didn't like his physical appearance, either. And, although logically, I knew we didn't share any experiences and weren't in the same situation, he gave me something to get me through the day, something to look up to and look forward to.
After one more tattoo, and many fights with my mom and dad, I turned eighteen and had the freedom to, legally, do as I pleased. I decided to respect my mother's wishes and not get my septum pierced. Instead, I opted to get my nipples pierced. The entire experience brought on a new sense of liberation. I felt that this was the first thing I had done for myself on my own.
Several months later, I discussed again with my mother getting my septum pierced. She confessed, or rather I forced her into confessing, that she plainly didn't like the way it looked. It wasn't mainstream enough. Knowing that the reason I hadn't gotten it yet was purely because of my mom's aesthetic preferences, I decided to get it done as soon as I had the chance. Later that night, I left home with a secret on my conscious as I said good-bye to my parents for the night.
I had never more nervous than the night I got my nose pierced. I wasn't nervous because I was afraid of the piercing itself, but because I had wanted this for so long and meant so much to me. It was everything I had imagined; painful, uncomfortable, an absolutely amazing. I thought about the Stranger while I was getting done, and I wondered if he had the same experience. I had to assume his eyes welled up with tears and that he gagged when the needle through his skin.
I was thrilled about my septum when I got it done and I still am today, after having it for about four months. I feel more at peace with my body, although there is still a lot of work that I plan on getting done in the coming years, including a tattoo covering my back and two full sleeves. Everybody needs to find a way to feel at ease with themselves, and body modification has made me able to do this.
I hope to be that stranger who makes an impact on a person's life such as that man made an impact on mine. I want to change somebody's life for the better, even if I never know it.