The First Sting of a New Obsession
I never go anywhere without makeup, so the very idea of standing here, bare-faced, feels like a betrayal of my own habits. But then again, I’ve always been a creature of obsession. I used to run a 12-step store, and my own recovery—clean and sober for nearly 15 years—taught me that the most powerful change often begins with a trembling hand and a leap of faith. My face has always been my canvas, my project, and when a friend invited me to dive into DIY 55, I couldn't resist. The excitement was electric, the promise of learning new techniques intoxicating. Tonight, I’m taking the first step.
The Gear and the Fear
I’m armed with a 31-gauge, 12-millimeter needle. I thought smaller would be better, safer. I’m a beginner, and the truth is, I was terrified. I have a professional appointment for my whole face at the beginning of May, but I just couldn’t wait. I wanted to feel it, to see what it was really like. So I prepped everything with 91% alcohol, chilled my cold roller, and numbed the area for a mere ten minutes. I know I should have waited longer, but the urge to try was too strong. I need to do this.
The First Tentative Attempt
I clean the area with alcohol, my hands steady despite the storm inside me. Where do I start—the outer edge or the inner corner? I don’t know. I just pick a spot. Here we go. Oh my God. Was that easy? The needle slides in, and I realize it can’t go further than that point. I got one in. The thrill is undeniable, like a small victory in a battle I’m waging against my own fear. Let’s try for another one. I push it in, but something feels off. It’s too shallow. I can actually see the needle beneath the skin. I hope that won’t be a problem. It doesn’t look good, and I don’t even know how to tell if the string is there or what. I pull it out. That one hurt. I’m a baby about pain, but I’m also stubborn.
A Game of Tiny Victories
I’ve got two needles in now. How many more can I manage? I’m still nervous, but the process is oddly compelling. I push deeper with the next one. I hope I did it right. I hope I didn’t hurt myself. Six needles in. That was my goal. Now comes the daunting part: taking them out. I turn the needle to the right, holding the white part, and pull. So far, so good. I feel one pop as it releases. I deposit the used needles into the sharps container. Oh ****, here comes the blood. I feel like I went a little too deep right there, but I’m probably okay. Not too bad. I think I did it.
The Chill of Relief
I grab my ice roller, which I bought from FabFitFun, and press the cold against my skin. It’s a soothing balm for the stinging and the fear. And in that moment, I realize something profound: I did it. I can’t believe it. It’s a start—the beginning of a new obsession. The thrill of this tiny, messy, imperfect success is a reminder that the first step is always the hardest, and the most rewarding.