Did you like that headline? Are you expecting some beauty DIY or excessive plastic surgery treatment? well, sorry for the bait, but this post is about being 1 year out (early summer 2016) from having burned off most of the skin on my face in a fire-breathing stunt gone wrong.
I open every show by telling the audience that every single stunt I do is real, and very dangerous, and not to fucking do it. I don’t “teach” any of my stunts, or advocate anyone do them, ever. Honestly it’s a matter of time before something, especially with fire stunts, goes wrong. It’s laughable that people took my injury as an opportunity to attempt to embarrass, degrade and harass me, before my wounds had even been been closed. If I had a nickle for every POS claiming to be “The best fire performer on the west coast” who messaged me in poorly articulated slurring to lecture me about “teaching unsafe fire practices” or berate me for having gotten injured because “I was a hazard to the entire fire community” I’d be retiring in Boca. This came about because a peabrained jackass from inside of one of the recreational camping clubs I belong to decided to rant and pan me on multiple facebook boards for speaking publicly about my injury and taking responsibility for what had happened to me. To clarify, I have never belonged to the “fire community”. I learned my skills and safety from someone who toured up and down the coast with a PNW circus that doesn’t exist any more. I have learned everything I know about doing superhuman stunts for pay catch-as-can from extraordinary people I’ve met on my journey. I have never made any of the bullshit claims you’ll hear from others to have “mastered” any of my performing crafts, and don’t have the ego to put myself up on a platform to TEACH anyone. Simply, I don’t teach and never have.
My injuries left me with burns ranging from 1-3 degree, and almost cost me an eye. I was under outpatient observation by the burn unit at Harborview with weekly check ins and initially, it was speculated I would have to be listed for grafts. I was in the most unique pain I had ever experienced in my entire life for months, having to scrub crust and dead cells off of my wounded face every single day and bound by a skimask of disgusting petroleum soaked occlusive bandaging. I kept joking that I’d be eight times more interesting if I came out the other side disfigured, but I was terrified and uncertain if I would ever be comfortable looking at myself in the face ever again.
A year later, I have scars that light up red like demons stripes if my blood pressure rises and the newly regrown skin on my face is prone to blocked pores and infections worse than I ever had going through puberty, and painfully sensitive skin I cant treat aggressively enough to clear. Besides the initial internet harassment, I have had appalling instances of public harassment,(one almost being assaulted by someone in a shopping mall) concentrated mostly while my wounds were still closing and have been loudly and rudely criticized for supposedly “not taking care of myself”, even to the tune of being called a “Nasty, ugly bitch”.
My “Bad skin” is a mess of scars that are a token of pain that marks me as a survivor with one less thing to lose.
I am beautiful in the way that notch eared jungle beasts are beautiful, and I will eat the best parts of you and a leave a carcass for the buzzards.