Things almost never go as planned, do they?
The more you want to get done, the less likely you seem to be to actually get things done.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
I wonder..
I wonder how often people take my jokes seriously.. I frequently reject plastic shopping bags with a "Save the plastic trees!" which tends to be met with bizarre looks about as often as laughter.
I wonder what people think when I do odd things.
I wonder what it's like to be someone else, and experience life as not-me.
I wonder how often these thoughts cross other people's minds.
I wonder what people think when I do odd things.
I wonder what it's like to be someone else, and experience life as not-me.
I wonder how often these thoughts cross other people's minds.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Getting it all done with early; good in theory, shit in practice.
I did most of the hard tings in my life in quick succession. I should say, I did the most stressful things in my life in quick succession; after graduating highschool, I joined the military. Within a year, I was discharged for medical issues, which I still have, and which make my life a bit harder to deal with. Chronic pain is stressful. the re-shift after one of your life goals is taken from your horizon, is stressful. I had planned to be a career military woman. I hadn't really considered anything else at that point.
This discharge was in August 2007. After that, I managed to find myself in a really bad relationship, wrought with all sorts of negativity, most of which was directed at me. I was aware enough to know something was wrong, but naive enough regarding social interactions to believe that it was something I was doing wrong, rather then something he was doing wrong. It took me around 3 years and some 4,000 miles in moving back and forth to finally break free from the positive feedback loop (it was getting worse, which caused me to realize that it was getting worse, which caused it to get worse, etc.) and in 2010, I was finally away. Also in 2010, my mom died of cancer, a mere 2 months after finally telling me about it, and it was at that time, because the loss of a parent isn't hard enough, that I was finally told about the cheating that bad relationship had, and he made it very clear that he was going to continue sleeping around, and that I was expected to just deal with it. I did not.
The April after my mom passed, on her birthday, which is 5 days after my own, I quit my job because some woman called me heartless for not making an exception to company policy to accommodate the illness, though not death, of her father that had happened 3 years prior, causing her to, for some reason, delay pursuing her warranty claim for 3 years, putting her the same 3 years outside of her warranty. I, of course, calmly told her that that very day was my mother's birthday, and the first since she'd passed in December, and yet there I was, working. I went on to tell her that the day after my mother passed, I'd called to pay my bills, because life doesn't stop just because it sucks. I ended the call telling her to go fuck herself for to trying a pity plea on anyone, just to get her way, not knowing anything about the person she was trying to guilt. This made me feel quite a bit better, but being as non-confrontational as I tend to be, also made me feel quite a bit worse. My company had said, when I discussed with them my desire to keep working after my mom's death, that they would move me to the e-mail team, rather then working the call-in phone support lines, but they never followed through. Immediately after hanging up the call, I packed up the few things I wanted to keep; forcefully, wordlessly, returned my ID badge and parking pass with a note to review my last call, because there would be some clean-up necessary, and left the building.
With no prospect of what to do at that point, I drank myself stupid for a few months, wallowing in self-pity, heartache, stress, anxiety, and depression. More then once, I considered driving until I could go no further and never coming back. I frequently contemplated suicide. Had it not been for my cats, I probably would not be here.. I had no friends, much less any who could take care of them in my absence, and one of my cats was completely un-adoptable; she only, ever, came near me without aggression (she has improved, but not by a lot). The idea of them suffering for my own selfish ends is the only thing that kept me around. Had they been people, adult people, I wouldn't have cared; they could take care of themselves, and a loss can be gotten over. I firmly believe that each person is capable only of knowing their own limits, not those of others, and things which go beyond those limits, you simply cannot ask someone to tolerate, simply because you would miss them, or don't see how it could be that bad. If someone is suffering, no-one has the right to tell them to deal with it.
Obviously I'm still here. It was a rough time, but I made it. Shortly after quitting my job, I decided that going back to school would be the thing to do, so that's what I did. I applied, was originally declined, but due to my military service, was eventually accepted, on the basis that, even though my high school GPA was lower then they liked, because I was a terrible slacker, the military generally has a maturing factor, although I think it had more to do with demographics then anything; a disabled female vet always looks good on the roster. In fall 2011, I started classes.
I don't regret going back to school, but I do regret my first few semesters, and when I started. If I'd been thinking more clearly, I'd have waited longer between my mom's death and starting school, and I'd have started with much easier classes, rather then jumping in to Russian and Japanese languages simultaneously, and I probably would have done better from the start. As it turned out, I was put on academic probation, from which I recovered as quickly as I could, retaking the classes I did poorly in, two of which (Russian and math) I intentionally took a D in the first time around so that I could repeat them for better grades.
About the time I started school, I also started dating one of my former co-workers, who I am still with,and who now lives with me. This will be relevant shortly.
After a year in school, I started looking to buy a house. I hated living in an apartment, I hated paying rent for a shithole, I hated having neighbors and shared hallways with creepy guys knocking on my door asking for dates (this happened more then once), slipping letters under my door, etc. I hated having a shared parking lot, and I hated that some douchebag knocked both mirrors off my car in said shared parking lot, 2 weeks apart. Without damaging a single other vehicle. I hated this damage to my car because I'm fairly certain it was done by my ex, who had been trying to get in contact with me again since I finally broke contact. It took an entire year to get rid of him from that break, but I finally replied to one of his txts, telling him that I had a lawyer, was getting a restraining order, and that I had been advised to tell him that any further communication would be considered hostile action, as he had already been advised of my wish to not have anything to do with him. This worked beautifully, but he still knew where I lived, which scared me greatly. He had shown up at my door one day while I wasn't home. My neighbors were nosy, and made a point of telling me all about it. He banged on my door, yelling for me, for 15 minutes, before finally leaving in a huff. I wish I'd been there, so I could have pushed his ass down the stairs or called the cops or something, but I was staying with the new boyfriend.
Having no job and only limited credit history, I was declined for loans on my own. My step-dad graciously offered to help me get a mortgage, and he now co-owns my residence. I had planned to look for a place leisurely, finding the right house for my price range (paying no more then I did for rent, so I knew I could afford it without help), but of course, life had other plans.
When the roommate of my boyfriend and his girlfriend found out that I was looking to buy a house, they decided that they, too, were going to buy a house, and within a couple of months, had made an offer on one. Normally, this would't have concerned me in the least, but the boyfriend of, at this point, almost 2 years, couldn't afford a place on his own, having recently bought a brand new car. So we started looking for our place. It's all worked out well enough, of course, but the stresses compound.
This is all really just to say that I really dislike the start of the school year.. I find it immensely stressful, because the rest of my life still hasn't settled down yet. Explaining to new professors why I need special accommodations, because I have this immense feeling of guilt for requesting them in the first place, is never a fun experience. Every single year, I think I will be able to keep up with these young students, and do as well as someone who doesn't have cognitive impairment, and every single year I disappoint myself. I miss a lot of days, my memory is foggy on the best of days, and if I try medications for the pain, it gets worse. I have to prepare my schedule in specific ways to accommodate my pain, and that means I'm heavily restricted to what classes I can take and do well in. That said, I don't take easy courses, as a rule; I'm majoring in linguistics and minoring in varied sciences, so that I can be a multilingual technical interpreter with a specialty in scientific translation when I graduate with my M.A. around 2019. Quite a mouthful, when people ask what I'm going to school for, and the conversations following this disclosure tend to be terribly awkward and uncomfortable, probably in part because everyone seems terribly surprised to hear that from someone covered in piercings and with blue and purple hair,.
I often find myself wondering what I will do when I graduate with my BS/BA and later, my MA; I don't have many friends, and I doubt many of them, living several hours away, would come to a graduation party, but I also don't have any family to come celebrate with me. I abandoned them several years ago, because they just weren't people I wanted to know. I grew up without contact with any of them, and as an adult, I realized that you can, in fact, choose your family, if you so wish. If I had myself a party, who would come? I skipped my high school graduation entirely, knowing that I was leaving for the military, and that I'd have bigger, more important steps in my future to celebrate, but also partly because I didn't have friends then, either. Someday, I want to celebrate my achievements, but it doesn't look like that will happen. I already know I need to stay in school until I have a master's, because I'm not proficient enough in any languages to go straight to doing the job I'm in school for, besides which I finally started receiving my GI bill this year, which they allowed me to apply going forward, rather then retroactively paying for the last 3 years, but then what?
I'll just stay in school until I can't anymore. I'll deal with disappointing myself, and being stressed, because it beats knowing that you don't have any more milestones to celebrate. If I do achieve a Master's degree, I will be the highest-educated person in my biological family, extending to my cousins and their kids, so I guess that's something.. I've already made up my mind about marriage and kids, both of which got a resounding "not going to happen" for various reasons, so school and maybe starting my own business or landing an awesome traveling job.. well that's it.
If anyone ever wants to blast me into space on a ship equipped with a greenhouse, computer with the compiled works of human knowledge, and awesome huge telescope, maybe some experiments thrown in for funsies, I'm totally game, but it has to be a solo, one-way, trip. My ultimate dream is to go to a new planet, or to go beyond where any human has been in space, and is unlikely to ever go again, to discover something, even if nobody ever knows about it, to experience something no other human could, or has.. I would love to go vertically from the plane of our solar system, to eventually reach a place where I could look down and see the milky way. I couldn't come back from that, literally or figuratively.
Being broken, I am unlikely to ever experience this.
Maybe if I become a cyborg. I'll give that a try.
This discharge was in August 2007. After that, I managed to find myself in a really bad relationship, wrought with all sorts of negativity, most of which was directed at me. I was aware enough to know something was wrong, but naive enough regarding social interactions to believe that it was something I was doing wrong, rather then something he was doing wrong. It took me around 3 years and some 4,000 miles in moving back and forth to finally break free from the positive feedback loop (it was getting worse, which caused me to realize that it was getting worse, which caused it to get worse, etc.) and in 2010, I was finally away. Also in 2010, my mom died of cancer, a mere 2 months after finally telling me about it, and it was at that time, because the loss of a parent isn't hard enough, that I was finally told about the cheating that bad relationship had, and he made it very clear that he was going to continue sleeping around, and that I was expected to just deal with it. I did not.
The April after my mom passed, on her birthday, which is 5 days after my own, I quit my job because some woman called me heartless for not making an exception to company policy to accommodate the illness, though not death, of her father that had happened 3 years prior, causing her to, for some reason, delay pursuing her warranty claim for 3 years, putting her the same 3 years outside of her warranty. I, of course, calmly told her that that very day was my mother's birthday, and the first since she'd passed in December, and yet there I was, working. I went on to tell her that the day after my mother passed, I'd called to pay my bills, because life doesn't stop just because it sucks. I ended the call telling her to go fuck herself for to trying a pity plea on anyone, just to get her way, not knowing anything about the person she was trying to guilt. This made me feel quite a bit better, but being as non-confrontational as I tend to be, also made me feel quite a bit worse. My company had said, when I discussed with them my desire to keep working after my mom's death, that they would move me to the e-mail team, rather then working the call-in phone support lines, but they never followed through. Immediately after hanging up the call, I packed up the few things I wanted to keep; forcefully, wordlessly, returned my ID badge and parking pass with a note to review my last call, because there would be some clean-up necessary, and left the building.
With no prospect of what to do at that point, I drank myself stupid for a few months, wallowing in self-pity, heartache, stress, anxiety, and depression. More then once, I considered driving until I could go no further and never coming back. I frequently contemplated suicide. Had it not been for my cats, I probably would not be here.. I had no friends, much less any who could take care of them in my absence, and one of my cats was completely un-adoptable; she only, ever, came near me without aggression (she has improved, but not by a lot). The idea of them suffering for my own selfish ends is the only thing that kept me around. Had they been people, adult people, I wouldn't have cared; they could take care of themselves, and a loss can be gotten over. I firmly believe that each person is capable only of knowing their own limits, not those of others, and things which go beyond those limits, you simply cannot ask someone to tolerate, simply because you would miss them, or don't see how it could be that bad. If someone is suffering, no-one has the right to tell them to deal with it.
Obviously I'm still here. It was a rough time, but I made it. Shortly after quitting my job, I decided that going back to school would be the thing to do, so that's what I did. I applied, was originally declined, but due to my military service, was eventually accepted, on the basis that, even though my high school GPA was lower then they liked, because I was a terrible slacker, the military generally has a maturing factor, although I think it had more to do with demographics then anything; a disabled female vet always looks good on the roster. In fall 2011, I started classes.
I don't regret going back to school, but I do regret my first few semesters, and when I started. If I'd been thinking more clearly, I'd have waited longer between my mom's death and starting school, and I'd have started with much easier classes, rather then jumping in to Russian and Japanese languages simultaneously, and I probably would have done better from the start. As it turned out, I was put on academic probation, from which I recovered as quickly as I could, retaking the classes I did poorly in, two of which (Russian and math) I intentionally took a D in the first time around so that I could repeat them for better grades.
About the time I started school, I also started dating one of my former co-workers, who I am still with,and who now lives with me. This will be relevant shortly.
After a year in school, I started looking to buy a house. I hated living in an apartment, I hated paying rent for a shithole, I hated having neighbors and shared hallways with creepy guys knocking on my door asking for dates (this happened more then once), slipping letters under my door, etc. I hated having a shared parking lot, and I hated that some douchebag knocked both mirrors off my car in said shared parking lot, 2 weeks apart. Without damaging a single other vehicle. I hated this damage to my car because I'm fairly certain it was done by my ex, who had been trying to get in contact with me again since I finally broke contact. It took an entire year to get rid of him from that break, but I finally replied to one of his txts, telling him that I had a lawyer, was getting a restraining order, and that I had been advised to tell him that any further communication would be considered hostile action, as he had already been advised of my wish to not have anything to do with him. This worked beautifully, but he still knew where I lived, which scared me greatly. He had shown up at my door one day while I wasn't home. My neighbors were nosy, and made a point of telling me all about it. He banged on my door, yelling for me, for 15 minutes, before finally leaving in a huff. I wish I'd been there, so I could have pushed his ass down the stairs or called the cops or something, but I was staying with the new boyfriend.
Having no job and only limited credit history, I was declined for loans on my own. My step-dad graciously offered to help me get a mortgage, and he now co-owns my residence. I had planned to look for a place leisurely, finding the right house for my price range (paying no more then I did for rent, so I knew I could afford it without help), but of course, life had other plans.
When the roommate of my boyfriend and his girlfriend found out that I was looking to buy a house, they decided that they, too, were going to buy a house, and within a couple of months, had made an offer on one. Normally, this would't have concerned me in the least, but the boyfriend of, at this point, almost 2 years, couldn't afford a place on his own, having recently bought a brand new car. So we started looking for our place. It's all worked out well enough, of course, but the stresses compound.
This is all really just to say that I really dislike the start of the school year.. I find it immensely stressful, because the rest of my life still hasn't settled down yet. Explaining to new professors why I need special accommodations, because I have this immense feeling of guilt for requesting them in the first place, is never a fun experience. Every single year, I think I will be able to keep up with these young students, and do as well as someone who doesn't have cognitive impairment, and every single year I disappoint myself. I miss a lot of days, my memory is foggy on the best of days, and if I try medications for the pain, it gets worse. I have to prepare my schedule in specific ways to accommodate my pain, and that means I'm heavily restricted to what classes I can take and do well in. That said, I don't take easy courses, as a rule; I'm majoring in linguistics and minoring in varied sciences, so that I can be a multilingual technical interpreter with a specialty in scientific translation when I graduate with my M.A. around 2019. Quite a mouthful, when people ask what I'm going to school for, and the conversations following this disclosure tend to be terribly awkward and uncomfortable, probably in part because everyone seems terribly surprised to hear that from someone covered in piercings and with blue and purple hair,.
I often find myself wondering what I will do when I graduate with my BS/BA and later, my MA; I don't have many friends, and I doubt many of them, living several hours away, would come to a graduation party, but I also don't have any family to come celebrate with me. I abandoned them several years ago, because they just weren't people I wanted to know. I grew up without contact with any of them, and as an adult, I realized that you can, in fact, choose your family, if you so wish. If I had myself a party, who would come? I skipped my high school graduation entirely, knowing that I was leaving for the military, and that I'd have bigger, more important steps in my future to celebrate, but also partly because I didn't have friends then, either. Someday, I want to celebrate my achievements, but it doesn't look like that will happen. I already know I need to stay in school until I have a master's, because I'm not proficient enough in any languages to go straight to doing the job I'm in school for, besides which I finally started receiving my GI bill this year, which they allowed me to apply going forward, rather then retroactively paying for the last 3 years, but then what?
I'll just stay in school until I can't anymore. I'll deal with disappointing myself, and being stressed, because it beats knowing that you don't have any more milestones to celebrate. If I do achieve a Master's degree, I will be the highest-educated person in my biological family, extending to my cousins and their kids, so I guess that's something.. I've already made up my mind about marriage and kids, both of which got a resounding "not going to happen" for various reasons, so school and maybe starting my own business or landing an awesome traveling job.. well that's it.
If anyone ever wants to blast me into space on a ship equipped with a greenhouse, computer with the compiled works of human knowledge, and awesome huge telescope, maybe some experiments thrown in for funsies, I'm totally game, but it has to be a solo, one-way, trip. My ultimate dream is to go to a new planet, or to go beyond where any human has been in space, and is unlikely to ever go again, to discover something, even if nobody ever knows about it, to experience something no other human could, or has.. I would love to go vertically from the plane of our solar system, to eventually reach a place where I could look down and see the milky way. I couldn't come back from that, literally or figuratively.
Being broken, I am unlikely to ever experience this.
Maybe if I become a cyborg. I'll give that a try.
Friday, September 19, 2014
I like my pain to be painful.
I have a nasty habit. When I'm having a really bad day, I tend to punch holes in my body.
Throughout my life, I've had some 50 piercings, more than half of which I've kept long-term. I find the pain, both from the initial piercing, and from the healing process, to be rather cathartic. In fact, I'm now to the point of, more or less, keeping track of my age in piercings - I am currently behind my 28 years by 3 piercings because 2, in a configuration of 10, rejected, and I haven't gotten around to having them redone, and haven't gotten around to adding the last one yet. Goal for before winter; I'm thinking within a couple of weeks, I will go to my piercer on her "$20/piercing" day to have them fixed, since the star around my belly looks bizarre with 2 missing.
I also have a nasty habit of doing some of them myself. I know what you are probably thinking; it's horrible, dangerous, and shouldn't be done, but frankly, I was trained to do gun piercings at one point, and how those are done is far far less sanitary and more dangerous then anything I've ever done to myself, which are done with proper tools, sterilization, etc. Besides which, I only do "safe" piercings myself; fleshy-type piercings that are difficult to do major damage with, such as ear lobes, and, previously, belly button. Having control over the speed at which it's done, not to mention learning about how difficult they can be to actually do, is kind of awesome. I would not, however, try anything that could do damage, such as tongue, nipples, cartilage, etc.
I got my first set of piercings when I was 10. Lobe piercings with a gun. I got my second set some 4 years later, when my mom did them the way she had hers done as a kid; clean sewing needle, ice, and a lot of discomfort. On my 18th birthday, my step-dad took me to the place he got his one-and-only tattoo, and I got my first body piercing; a symbolic lip ring. (very brief background; one of my favorite book series, The Sword of Truth, had this totally evil bad guy, and he kept slaves. He marked their (sexual; remember, he's totally evil)) slavehood with lip piercings, and marked their rank by using different metals; copper and bronze for the women sent to the army's tents, silver for the women given to officers, and finally, gold for his personal slaves. After my piercing healed, I used a clear acrylic ring to signify that I belong to no-one, and that my life is of untold value.)
Since that first non-lobe piercing, the urge has been insatiable. It's a wonder I don't look like a circus side-show, but roughly half of my piercings can't be seen, normally. As mentioned, 10 of them (excepting the two needing to be re-done) are tied up in my belly region, and another 2 are never exposed, and I've managed to restrain myself enough to have only 3 piercings on the face. Most of the remainder are in the ears.
As a coping strategy, for me, it seems to work fairly well to keep my wild mind more or less grounded. Having nearly-daily headaches, and having had them since I was about 13 or so, I'm rather accustomed to pain, but the quality of pain is different. There is something immensely satisfying, for me, about having a souvenir of my pain. Especially the prolonged pain of the healing process, which, upon every jostle of the jewelry, ignites anew. Tangible evidence of suffering, because headaches cannot be seen by the outside observer. I've been told by several people that I function well enough, and complain infrequently enough, that they simply don't believe me that I'm suffering. Having your experience discounted simply because you've learned to cope with it, and there are no visible symptoms, is really deflating.
Tattoos just don't do it for me; the prolonged pain at the time of getting it does almost nothing, and the healing time is so quick and painless that, besides the ink, I really don't care for them all that much, and then you have a much harder time hiding them, if necessary.
I am a huge fan of stomping all over people's expectations; I'm full of metal, dye my hair blue and purple - whole head, mind - and often can't be bothered to wear real pants, preferring the comfort of sweatpants, regardless how it looks to others. At the same time, I voraciously consume information, challenge myself intellectually, and prefer to live at a slow pace, enjoying peace and quiet, alone time, and the company of only a handful of people. As my anxiety counselor said; "You may have blue hair, and you certainly do, and you may have a lot of piercings, but you present yourself well, you are well-spoken, and when needed, you always look entirely put-together."
I am certainly not the first person to have done this, but most people really haven't encountered others of the like, and I so strongly believe against judging on appearance that, well, I do what I can to show people without that experience that we modified people are still people, with a whole range of personalities, interests, and skills. My first-encounters with my science professors are always fun, because science is my greatest passion. I love absolutely everything about science, and have enough knowledge to have a fairly informed conversation about nearly any topic, as long as it doesn't go too deeply into terminology. This is especially pronounced when a conversation has been had via e-mail, prior to face-to-face encounters. I find it highly amusing. The facial expression of "That was you...?" is priceless.
If you are like me, and tend to get pierced on a whim, have a plan in mind for your next excursion; decide on the piercing you want ahead of time, and simply wait to get it done until you feel the urge. This will give you plenty of time to make sure the piercing is right for you, and will give you more then enough time to make sure the piercer you've chosen is a good one. I already know the next 6 I want, I have a piercer I trust, and I have researched the possible problems with each, so if anything goes wrong, I will be prepared. Make sure you account for any activities you might be doing while the piercings are healing, and remember that each has a different healing time. Going to the beach with a 2-week-old belly ring is a horrible idea, and will likely lead to infection. Working a full shift in which you constantly move, after getting your nipples pierced, is a horrible idea because the movement and rubbing will cause the piercings to bleed for hours, and may shift the jewelry enough to cause long-term problems. There are all sorts of things that can go wrong.
Throughout my life, I've had some 50 piercings, more than half of which I've kept long-term. I find the pain, both from the initial piercing, and from the healing process, to be rather cathartic. In fact, I'm now to the point of, more or less, keeping track of my age in piercings - I am currently behind my 28 years by 3 piercings because 2, in a configuration of 10, rejected, and I haven't gotten around to having them redone, and haven't gotten around to adding the last one yet. Goal for before winter; I'm thinking within a couple of weeks, I will go to my piercer on her "$20/piercing" day to have them fixed, since the star around my belly looks bizarre with 2 missing.
I also have a nasty habit of doing some of them myself. I know what you are probably thinking; it's horrible, dangerous, and shouldn't be done, but frankly, I was trained to do gun piercings at one point, and how those are done is far far less sanitary and more dangerous then anything I've ever done to myself, which are done with proper tools, sterilization, etc. Besides which, I only do "safe" piercings myself; fleshy-type piercings that are difficult to do major damage with, such as ear lobes, and, previously, belly button. Having control over the speed at which it's done, not to mention learning about how difficult they can be to actually do, is kind of awesome. I would not, however, try anything that could do damage, such as tongue, nipples, cartilage, etc.
I got my first set of piercings when I was 10. Lobe piercings with a gun. I got my second set some 4 years later, when my mom did them the way she had hers done as a kid; clean sewing needle, ice, and a lot of discomfort. On my 18th birthday, my step-dad took me to the place he got his one-and-only tattoo, and I got my first body piercing; a symbolic lip ring. (very brief background; one of my favorite book series, The Sword of Truth, had this totally evil bad guy, and he kept slaves. He marked their (sexual; remember, he's totally evil)) slavehood with lip piercings, and marked their rank by using different metals; copper and bronze for the women sent to the army's tents, silver for the women given to officers, and finally, gold for his personal slaves. After my piercing healed, I used a clear acrylic ring to signify that I belong to no-one, and that my life is of untold value.)
Since that first non-lobe piercing, the urge has been insatiable. It's a wonder I don't look like a circus side-show, but roughly half of my piercings can't be seen, normally. As mentioned, 10 of them (excepting the two needing to be re-done) are tied up in my belly region, and another 2 are never exposed, and I've managed to restrain myself enough to have only 3 piercings on the face. Most of the remainder are in the ears.
As a coping strategy, for me, it seems to work fairly well to keep my wild mind more or less grounded. Having nearly-daily headaches, and having had them since I was about 13 or so, I'm rather accustomed to pain, but the quality of pain is different. There is something immensely satisfying, for me, about having a souvenir of my pain. Especially the prolonged pain of the healing process, which, upon every jostle of the jewelry, ignites anew. Tangible evidence of suffering, because headaches cannot be seen by the outside observer. I've been told by several people that I function well enough, and complain infrequently enough, that they simply don't believe me that I'm suffering. Having your experience discounted simply because you've learned to cope with it, and there are no visible symptoms, is really deflating.
Tattoos just don't do it for me; the prolonged pain at the time of getting it does almost nothing, and the healing time is so quick and painless that, besides the ink, I really don't care for them all that much, and then you have a much harder time hiding them, if necessary.
I am a huge fan of stomping all over people's expectations; I'm full of metal, dye my hair blue and purple - whole head, mind - and often can't be bothered to wear real pants, preferring the comfort of sweatpants, regardless how it looks to others. At the same time, I voraciously consume information, challenge myself intellectually, and prefer to live at a slow pace, enjoying peace and quiet, alone time, and the company of only a handful of people. As my anxiety counselor said; "You may have blue hair, and you certainly do, and you may have a lot of piercings, but you present yourself well, you are well-spoken, and when needed, you always look entirely put-together."
I am certainly not the first person to have done this, but most people really haven't encountered others of the like, and I so strongly believe against judging on appearance that, well, I do what I can to show people without that experience that we modified people are still people, with a whole range of personalities, interests, and skills. My first-encounters with my science professors are always fun, because science is my greatest passion. I love absolutely everything about science, and have enough knowledge to have a fairly informed conversation about nearly any topic, as long as it doesn't go too deeply into terminology. This is especially pronounced when a conversation has been had via e-mail, prior to face-to-face encounters. I find it highly amusing. The facial expression of "That was you...?" is priceless.
If you are like me, and tend to get pierced on a whim, have a plan in mind for your next excursion; decide on the piercing you want ahead of time, and simply wait to get it done until you feel the urge. This will give you plenty of time to make sure the piercing is right for you, and will give you more then enough time to make sure the piercer you've chosen is a good one. I already know the next 6 I want, I have a piercer I trust, and I have researched the possible problems with each, so if anything goes wrong, I will be prepared. Make sure you account for any activities you might be doing while the piercings are healing, and remember that each has a different healing time. Going to the beach with a 2-week-old belly ring is a horrible idea, and will likely lead to infection. Working a full shift in which you constantly move, after getting your nipples pierced, is a horrible idea because the movement and rubbing will cause the piercings to bleed for hours, and may shift the jewelry enough to cause long-term problems. There are all sorts of things that can go wrong.
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