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At A Glance Author Lilith Blackrose Contact LillithBlackrose@aol.com When A year ago I never realized that ritual cutting could make one feel so alive. I have "self mutilated", or so my doctors call it, since I was very young. My childhood was traumatic and I believe that before I knew anything about body modification I was making attempts to reclaim my body by carving designs into it.
The scars on my arms, legs and torso have always made me feel guilty in some way but since I met my husband 4 years ago I realized that these scars are a rite of passage for me.
Over the years my pain tolerance has become higher; I'm still a wimp though in my own eyes! I always forget the pain once the blood begins to flow and the layers of skin begin to slide apart. Believing that blade and flesh were incompatible, that I was somehow sick for what I was doing to myself made me feel guilty but all the more fascinated. Talking with my husband I began to notice that my cuttings had taken a more stylized form, this was purely subconscious but my scars were starting to resemble patterns, in short they were beginning to look like they were supposed to be there!
I can't admit to cutting when I am in a calm and rational frame of mind but I have found that my cutting now has more purpose than the random, deep slashes of my youth which not only now look rather ugly, but could have killed me! My cuts are deeper, the scars retain they delicious purple stain on my skin for far longer now than they used to, I have learnt how to cut deeply but not actually cause a thick gaping wound, this way my scars are far more delicate. I would never have believed that there was such a thing as a pretty scar!
Piercings and tattoos have become another rite of passage for me and I'll leave the ink and metal exploits for another time.
Cutting seems to calm me, I draw the razor or scalpel across my body, I have developed a preference for my stomach and upper thighs as the nerves in my arms are quite damaged from the years of cutting but the after effects are impressive. Delicate criss cross lines in varying shades of purple, pink and white. I consider myself to be quite adept at this form of body mod and have even tried skin removal a few times...that hurt! But I was so proud of my achievement; the skin even had a defined shape to it, very difficult to do with one hand! I keep the skin in pickling vinegar, I know that it sounds disgusting but I can't bare to part with it. My body is so precious that I can't just throw it away. The skin removal was amazing, I was not in my most calm frame of mind and decided that I needed to vent something really destructive and by my logic, the larger the cutting, the better I feel. I removed a piece of skin from my left thigh, it was about the size of an egg and I removed about 4 layers of skin. This is an approximation, the scalpel may have dug a little deeper after a while but because of the sheer volume of blood I couldn't really tell. I didn't plan this, I just sat down on the edge of the bath and transcended my stress, my depression, my misery and began to cut a random circular pattern into my thigh. I may have stopped at a design if I had felt less tense but I needed to go that extra mile, to break another of my own barriers so slowly, agonizingly slowly, I began to slice the skin away from the muscle. This is easier said than done and it took me a long time to work out that I had to slide the scalpel into the wound an make a sawing motion before a well large enough for the scalpel to sit in was made.
The whole blade of the scalpel disappeared into my thigh; there was a lot of blood but only a hot tingling sensation, no pain, not yet anyway! I felt the skin start to give; this spurred me on to continue the removal. I think I had become a little giddy, I can't remember but I remember stopping for a while and just staring at my leg. There was a lot of blood but it wasn't a dangerous amount, I continued to slice at the delicate tissue until I got halfway. That was when the pain kicked in. It burnt, it froze it throbbed, it was horrendous but I gritted my teeth and didn't cry, if anyone else cut me I know I would but when it is done by yourself it seems to be much easier to cope with.
Eventually I slid the scalpel through the rest of my skin; I had to be quite rough at some points as the skin of the thigh is really hard to get though. I don't remember how long it took but the feeling of triumph when I lifted the piece of skin from the thigh and cleaned away the blood, was immense. I felt weak at the knees! Thoroughly cleaned, dressed and healing I told my husband about my new scar to be! He was furious; I think that it had crossed his boundaries from cutting to help my mental health to something dangerous. I've always been careful about whom I told but I always believed that we could share anything.
It turned out that he was worried that my actions could have put me in some danger, which was a very valid point which I had never considered, there are some pretty large veins in the thigh, and I could have easily severed one and not been able to staunch the flow. My health is paramount and in hindsight it was foolhardy to attempt this alone! The scar turned out beautifully though, I had to clean it twice a day and keep it dressed with breathable bandage and micro pore tape until it formed a big enough scab to protect itself while I was walking etc.
I don't usually like to let people see my scars, occasionally it is inevitable, summer, doctor's appointments, reaching for things. Why hide away? I hear you ask! Well, not everyone would be as happy to see my scars as I. No matter the intention, cutting is still taboo, no matter how good it makes me feel. There is of course a giddy little thrill that comes with knowing that I have a fresh scar or an open wound hidden away under my clothing, no one knows but me. It's something a little bit naughty, like going out without underwear I suppose!
People will always view cutting as mutilation, I pity them really, and they will never appreciate the true beauty of a scar. Everyone has at least one, no one has perfect skin, and life dictates that our skin reflects our experiences, I'm doing just that. What's so wrong with etching my experiences, be they good or bad, the scars look the same, onto my skin. Every picture tells a story; well my body is one big abstract work of art!
Perhaps one day more people will discover the constructive power of cutting. If done properly and safely it can be the greatest release of negative energy and the biggest adrenaline rush ever! I feel empowered whenever I see my scar, it looks beautiful. I'm proud of it