I got my first official body piercing when I was 17 years old. It was something that I had wanted to do for 5 or more years but could never talk my mom into letting me do it. So during those years of waiting patiently to get my tongue pierced without having to ask for permission, I learned everything I could about tongue piercings and body piercing in general. At that point in my life I didn't realize that there was so much that could be done to the human body. Also during this time I began to gauge my ears. Gauging is a technique used to stretch the earlobes and in some cases other pierced body parts to desired diameters. Although it was a painful experience, I would eventually gauge my ears to a very small 12 gauge (many may think that this gauge is extreme; however I have seen earlobes stretched to the point where cellphones could be inserted into the void!)
In October of 2006, I decided it was time to get my tongue pierced. I knew everything I needed to know about aftercare for my new piercing, the placement of the barbell, and what to look for in choosing a shop to receive the piercing. So, one day during my lunch break from school, me and a couple of friends went to check out a potential piercing and tattoo shop. As soon as I walked in I found that I felt comfortable and very relaxed. However, I ended up not getting my piercing that day and had to return the next day (the piercer decided to take his time getting to work, however, the shop owner didn't want to lose a potential sale so he offered me a discount for the inconvenience.
So I returned to the shop the next day determined to get this piercing. Once I entered the shop, my feeling of comfort that was so prominent the day before, was gone. I was so nervous about having a hollow needle shoved through my tongue, but I refused to back down. I watched nervously and impatiently as the piercer prepared his work station for my piercing.
Once this process was complete, he asked me ever so politely to have a seat in what looked like a barber's chair. Reluctant but determined, I sat down and started gargling the Listerine that he gave me to clean out my mouth. Once I was done with that, I sat myself back in the chair and took several deep breaths as he prepared the tools he would need for the piercing. He asked me to stick out my tongue as far as possible. At that point he clamped the tip of my tongue with a pair of piercing forceps (which, by the way, was more uncomfortable then the piercing itself) and asked me to take a deep breath through my nose and to let it out slowly. He said he was going to count to three and then pierce me...well that didn't happen. As soon as the word "two" came out of his mouth, I felt a tight pinch in the center of my tongue. A few seconds later, he had me rinse my mouth with Listerine again and told me I was done. Unfortunately, this would not be my last piercing of the day.
As soon as I paid for my piercing, I felt like something was wrong with my mouth. I could no longer feel the newly inserted piece of metal in my tongue! Somehow, the bottom ball of the barbel had come undone, and because the body will automatically reject any "foreign body", the entire barbel had been forced from my tongue and into my mouth. By the time my piercer attempted to get the barbel back into it's original hole, it was too late. The hole had already started to close and there was no hope of getting that barbel back through my tongue. At this time I was offered an ultimatum: re-do the piercing now, or re-do the piercing the following day. I knew that if I left, I wouldn't return the following day; so I hopped back in the chair and had my tongue re-pierced.
Now, I personally have a considerably high pain tolerance. For me, getting my tongue pierced was no more uncomfortable then getting a flu shot. However, I did experience an increase in feeling uncomfortable during the second piercing, but that's to be expected when you receive two piercings in the same area, and on the same day no less.
What does this have to do with identity? I will soon explain.
A little less than two years later, I received my first tattoo (it is a Hatchet Man in bright pink ink, located on my right hip). Only a month or so later, I received my second tattoo (it is my nickname in black that fades into orange with the number, 92, underneath, located on my left ankle).
Now, as far as identity goes, getting my piercings and tattoos were all done for specific reasons.
First, I got my tongue pierced because I wanted to do something unexpected. In my family, I've always been looked at as the one who never got into trouble and always has her nose in a book, etc. For two years, the only people in my family who knew about this piercing were my mom, most of my cousins, and one uncle. About three weeks ago, my dad happened to see it (which I find hysterical because when we argue, we scream in each other's faces!), and now my whole family knows. In my family's eyes, it was an unexpected act from me, and as conservative as my family is, I have never received any criticism about it.
Second, I went for my first tattoo when I felt that I had actually "found" myself. I started going through a rough patch during my freshman year in college. My grades and attendance were suffering. My personal relationships with friends and family were going downhill. I started cutting. Eventually I would be diagnosed with depression and put on anti-depressants. During this time I was introduced to the music of ICP. The more I listened to the music, the more I began to feel connected to the world. Soon after listening to ICP's music, I began to educate myself in the history of ICP and I spent much of my time doing so. Eventually, I quit taking my anti-depressants, and was surprised to find that I was okay without them. So, me getting a tattoo of a Hatchetman (for those of you who don't know, the Hatchetman is the official logo for ICP and Psychopathic Records) marked a significant milestone for me. To me, it represents my fight against depression and myself.
My second tattoo was done in almost as a tribute. A friend that I met during my freshman year in college started calling me Juicy. To this day, I still don't know why she chose that as her nickname for me, but nonetheless, I answered to it and it stuck to me. Eventually, I would start introducing myself to people at local hip hop shows as Juicy. A group of friends also started calling me Juicy and introduced me to their friends as such. This group of friends mean worlds to me. They run a small tire shop (est. in 1992) by day, and help promote local underground hip hop and rock artists on weekend nights. For the past year, they have been there for me through thick and thin. When I decided that I wanted a second tattoo, I wanted to show my love and respect to the self labeled, "92 Krew", by getting my tattoo filled in with black and orange (their band colors) and I wanted to, in a way, say thanks to my friend who labeled me with such a unique nickname.
So, for me, my tattoos and piercings do not create my identity; rather, they just represent parts of what actually makes up my identity.
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