It's Not a Phase, Mom

I’m sure you’ve heard it: “I’m totally addicted to getting tattoos” or “Wow, piercings are so addictive.” Well, those people are right—but when I say it, I mean something different. I’m not here to talk about how every baby-boomer hates tattoos or how nose rings should be more accepted in the workplace. I’m here to talk about my very real and very dangerous addiction to body modification. Throughout high school I struggled with something I called The Numb: an emotional and physical absence. I found that my pain tolerance was through the roof and I couldn’t even feel myself laughing. It was like moving into a new body but forgetting to install your emotions. I got my first piercing with a friend just after we turned 16. I remember the rush of doing it behind our parents’ backs and how cool we thought we looked with little studs in the tops of our ears. Not only was this a way to express how pop-punk we were, I discovered it was a way to relieve myself of how I’d been feeling—or rather not feeling. I realized I’d found something better than what I was already doing. It was a new alternative to self-harm. I was afraid people were going to notice my recent affinity for long sleeves, anyway.

Instead of taking a blade to my skin I now chose to put needles through parts of my body. How trendy, right? I would get to fight the Numb in a more private way and my friends would think all my piercings were cool. A win/win. But, before I was 19, I would have over 15 piercings and nine tattoos. Now, these may seem like lo numbers to some, but factor in that you need to be at least 16 for most piercings and 18 for a tattoo, and you will realize this was a lot to do in under two years. There was even a time where I got three piercings in under two weeks, which is not good for the immune system. On top of this, each piercing was anywhere from $70-$125 and the tattoos were a minimum of $80. This addiction was now a health concern and a financial burden—and I was running out of places to hide them. Only after coming to Queen’s did I decide I needed help with my mental health. I made an appointment to see a counsellor and I ended up going regularly for my entire first year. In my very last session before the year ended, I revealed all the very permanent things I had done to myself. For the first time, someone understood. I was told that people often turn to body modification as a form of self-harm.

If you think about it, it was the outcome I cared about, not the process. It was comforting to know I wasn’t alone. I even got to take home a new pamphlet about the validity of my problem—I wasn’t crazy, after all. Two years later, I have removed a few of the metal pieces from my body and it’s been over a year and a half since my last tattoo. I’m at a point in my life where I’m less afraid of The Numb and I can handle it in a more constructive and less expensive manner. I’d like to say that I’m completely over it. I’m not. As ridiculous as it might sound, I feel like I’m having withdrawal. It really is like a drug. I think about it a lot and I have to be very strong about not running to a tattoo parlour every time I feel vulnerable. If someone else out there shares this problem, I want them to know they’re not alone. In a society where tattoos and piercings are the latest trends, they became an easy shadow to a serious problem. No matter how strange you think your own addiction is I can guarantee asking for help will make a difference. I am proud of how far I’ve come and I now confidently wear my scars in the forms of jewelry and ink on my skin.

By Anonymous