First off I want to start by saying that just looking at the photos I just posted in my Pointy Pix gallery makes me queasy. Seriously, it really makes me want to throw up. In fact, that's the reaction I have every time I watch needles being put into people. Not only that, it's also the reaction I have every time I even think about putting them through flesh myself. Added to that is my new found fear of fainting when needles get put into me, and the nausea and loss of control that comes with it. So, let's talk about the genesis of these pictures.

If someone were to ask me how my weekend went, I would have to say it involved lots and lots of tears, pain, begging, whining, bitching, pleading, and, eventually, finally; growth.

By the numbers:

Clothespins.

"How many was it last time?"
"169"
"How many should we do this time?"
"I dunno. 250?"
At 250, I was still standing and giggling. "Let's keep going." Emptied out the bag. 300 and change. 304, actually, but I really prefer round numbers, or at least interesting ones. Let's call it 303. One kept popping off anyway. Once done, the curvaceous rows were so gorgeous that I was prodded into entering the fetish wear contest at the last minute. Later I was told that if I had entered earlier, before most of the votes had already been cast, the lovely birdlike pattern of wooden clothespins gracing my breasts, belly, buns and arms (stunning wings!) probably would have won. As it was, I came in a close third in my unintentional "costume". I knew rope counted as clothing, but clothespins? That just added a whole new level to my fashion consciousness.

After having all 303 clothespins slowly, agonizingly and screamingly taken off, my big mouth got me in trouble again.

"So, you like needles, huh? What's the most you've done?"
"Um, two."
"No, not how many times; how many needles?"
"Yeah. Two. Total. Each time. Well, only one the first time and two each of the next couple times. And I fainted two out of three times."

Fast forward to FORTY 22-gauge needles down my back and ass. Fearful, sick, and freaked by the pain throughout. Realized at the time that it is extremely similar if not identical to the freak-outs I get on the acupuncture table whenever my therapist gets near the source of my knee injury. Had to stop frequently to calm breathing and move out of anxiety attack land. For the first time, I found myself answering the question, "Had enough?" in the affirmative.

Much introspection and discussion later boiled the culprit down to a probable fear of loss of control, the same reason I don't like to drink or take other downers. Nausea is a extremely discomforting physical loss of control, as is dizziness. Together, with pain, and now this new bonus feature of fainting....well, it is definitely dread worthy. So, what's the best way to overcome feelings of not being in control? Fuck. That's right. Nothing for it but to take control. What does this mean?

It means I had to finally realize that this is one of those areas where I refuse to take responsibility for myself at a deep and unintentional level. In fact, I had a moment of painfully self aware clarity when I realized that I was literally blocking myself from processing useful information. My brain decisively and thoroughly yanks itself away the minute it sees something it doesn't want to process. In this case, that would be the actual mechanics of how to properly insert a needle. I have similar blocks with auto and computer mechanics. I just don't want to know, so I don't see, therefore, I don't learn.

I don't know how many hours it took to get past the "I can't. I just can't." stage. I do know that it was my privilege and honor to receive some of the finest phobia training I have ever experienced. Step by baby step, we practiced each phase of the process, disassociating them from themselves and from my fear, until, eventually, the the result was nineteen 25-gauge needles in my thighs, as chronicled in photos. It was supposed to be twenty but we lost track of one somewhere in the training process.

Guess who put those in? That's right. It was yours truly. Nineteen times I stuck cold unyielding metal through my own fearful and flinching flesh. Although, technically, it was thirty eight times since each needle not only had to go IN but then it had to come back THROUGH the other side. That's plus the four or five obvious false starts you can see in the photos (those would be the bloody spots).

All the way through, from the very beginning, even when we were just practicing opening the wrapper, I had to keep reminding myself of similar challenges in the past, of hurdles I overcame successfully. The first one was, once again, a childhood memory of when I performed surgery on my own feet at summer camp. I was much more intrepid as a child. I find that I'm summoning her more and more these days. That little girl was fearless. She's an inspiration, my muse of brave curiosity.

Can you tell which side I started on? To me, it is obvious. It gets much more symmetrical by the time I finished, as I started getting more interested in the process itself, taking pride in a certain amount of precision.

It still makes me queasy to look at these pictures and contemplate the process. But I can do it now, and I now that I understand the process, I don't think I can ever be afraid in quite the same way again.