To Maim or Not To Maim Date Tuesday, April 23, 2024 - 03:18 AM PST Topic Icky People The subject of self-mutilation has come up in the forums, and I have decided to put my two cents in on that and a bit more. There are a couple of forces that compel me to do so; *and no, one of them is not being possessed* the two of them that embarrass me most being an inflated ego from the last time I submitted and a part of me trying to save my hide from a rather painful flaying by some. They were most likely not directed at me, but dignity *or is it arrogance?* requires some things of me... An explanation? Excuse? Idle thoughts? I really have no idea. I have seen people with "fashionable" depression and mocked-up mental illnesses. I have seen the ones that cut themselves in hallways with groups of friends to try and impress them. I have seen things that make me ashamed to be grouped in with them, the teenagers. But along with all the false angst and drama are the ones that actually have problems. My mother, for one. Along with my grandmother, two aunts, and most of my cousins. *It has been said that crazy runs in the family...* A part of me wonders if it isn't something in Seattle that presses the buttons that bring out the pain and delusions, since it was my family's arrival in Washington that began, or at least exposed, the dark roots in our minds. *Sounds rather dramatic, doesn't it? Perhaps I should stick to fiction...* Just a month or two up here, and it was as if the wool was ripped from my eyes. Not enjoyable to say the least. Suddenly, I saw my relatives with razors hidden in their purses, bathrooms, and cars. Scars that before were only an idle curiosity started to take on a new meaning. Mom had *still has, actually* horrible purple and red gashes up her legs and wrists, pages full of death wishes and thoughts that send shivers up my spine. It's difficult to try and return to the old innocence and naivety after realizing what's going on. She has been in the hospital roughly every six months on a suicide attempt, getting bandaged up and her stomach pumped before they just send her home again. It is amazing to watch her go from crying and screaming to cheerful and so disgustingly false whenever the phone rings. She talks to me at night, trying to relieve the painful pressure on her mind, but I don't think I do any good. How does one hold another back from the brink when their own arms are missing? She is bipolar, and I used to think it was the best thing in the world. While other kids' mothers were boring and strict, mine asked nearly every day if I wanted to get a tattoo, or skip school and go to the beach, or just do whatever the hell I felt like. She swung back and forth from dark depression to a hyper childishness, and I must say it is odd to be a parent to someone two decades my senior. But when we came up here, I no longer could focus on the happiness and joy in her. It was like all of that was ripped away. I go to school and see the fakers. The people with safety pins and needles through every piece of loose flesh on them, and tattoos done in their garage; those that claim any mental disturbance that will get them an extension on homework, that have such wretched lives that even raised allowances and forgotten chores only help a little. It would be nice to pretend and blend in. To be part of the homogenous blob that only has to worry about whether they can get a date or find a place to get drunk. And yet... It's like an itch in the back of my mind, something that commands my awareness and won't just let me be. I have seen what pain is really like, and brother, a safety pin through your cheek is not it. I have done "do-it-yourself" piercings, I'll admit. I lost faith in the professionals after three failed attempts at getting my ears pierced correctly. I have gotten my mom and a cousin to help me, and as the paranoid "mother" in our bunch I looked up the hygiene precautions and sterilization techniques, the safest equipment and so on and so forth. I sound the ultimate hypocrite worrying about others doing pretty much the same as me, and a drama queen to bring up family issues in what surely sounds like an attempt for attention, so generally I'll not glare at others that look like an acupuncture experiment gone bad. But every day I see the blood in the sink and the notebooks filled with my mother's sighs, and every day I go to school seeing the charlatans with hands permanently attached to their foreheads, so these thoughts run through my mind. As in all my writing attempts, I am not sure whether what I am trying to say comes through, and as always, I stop in confused frustration. Hopefully, one of you will get this, and can understand. It is fine to have and enjoy whatever things one has done to oneself if no other people are damaged, *"one" sounds so arrogant, but people seem to get indignant if I use the universal "you"* but to use it as a means to try and appear dark and disturbed annoys and irritates me. If you truly do have problems/issues/illnesses, that's one thing, but being "fashionably insane" for the sake of impressing people will cause me to add you to my list of "Most Likely to be Maimed and Abandoned in a Desert." This article comes from Shmeng http://www.shmeng.com/ The URL for this story is: http://www.shmeng.com/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=392