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Date: December 2004
THE WAY IT WAS
The way it was isn't the same anymore. What I was going to write about has changed. There's a new way now.
At first, I couldn't even make eye contact with myself in the bathroom mirror. But I had to brush my teeth and floss. Luckily that was over quickly. I can picture the expanse of pale flesh at my throat and imagine slowly dragging a blade across it; creating a brilliant red trickle. But I don't like the feeling of splitting skin. And I don't think I would like going too fast. So I won't do that.
But, back to this morning...I climbed into the shower and stood under the water. It wasn't long before I couldn't resist the urge to pick up the razor. I looked at its double blade and knew it was dull. Just like my senses. But as I said, I don't like the feeling of splitting skin. I did drag it across my forearm, just above my wrist. Not an attempt on my life, just an attempt at something. Reconciling the pain I suppose. I needed to feel something, and as that wasn't working, I took to pushing it into my arm. I pushed as hard as I could, but it was never hard enough. I am so weak. My muscles are so weak.
It left little indentations, but I don't think it quite broke the skin. Now there are maybe a few scratches; nothing that can't be passed off as coming from playing with an aggressive cat. I am still considering finding a pointy blade, the tip of a sword maybe, or a letter opener and gouging into myself with that. Maybe that's what I am trying to do. Gouge out the pain.
It's silly really, all this stuff I put myself through. Does it really matter? I can't ever go back to the way it was, that is for certain now. I would dream of it, thinking of ways of how I could get back to it. And now that's all gone and I have to think of ways to getting back to the way it was when I was trying to get back to the way it was before that. But as I said, I never will.
Again, I digress. I stood in the shower until the water ran cool and that is a long time. We apparently have quite a bit of water in our water heater. I pressed my back against the pipe of the shower head and reached my arms above my head to hold onto it. It's not quite tall enough for the stretch I needed, but it managed fairly well. From that position I could imagine hanging from my wrists. (Of course, in my imagination it was a different, more attractive body I had, but it is a fantasy after all!) So there I was, hanging from my wrists, naked, water streaming over my body and I imagined the feel of leather straps slapping my breasts and stomach, my thighs. Hearing my tormentor taunt me, brining me to tears, allowing me to feel the pain and let it out.
I had every intention of staying there until the water burned me with cold. But by the time it started to just barely cool off it had been awhile and I had things to do. So when it went cool I stayed only a bit longer before getting out and getting dressed. Fleetwood Mac's "Go Your Own Way" came on the radio as I dried off and I turned it up so loud, but not loud enough. I wanted it to hurt, to make my ears cry out for silence but I couldn't reach that volume.
After getting dressed I went back into the bathroom and uncharacteristically brought out the war paint. It was as if I was going into battle. I put on darker eye shadow and darker lips; something...anything, so I could disguise myself, so I wouldn't have to face myself. It was bad enough I had to face people I've seen every day but don't want to talk to, let alone people I haven't seen for at least a year and really don't want to talk to.
But today I don't want to talk to anyone, not even those closest to me. My friend will call me tonight and be cheery and want to talk and I will have to force myself for if I explain myself it will be worse, because it's all silly and she'll have no problem pointing that out rather than providing a sympathetic ear. And my other friends, they are casualties of the pain I am wallowing in. They remind me of happy times, of the way it was. That is what hurts the most, I think, the reminders. A photograph that had meant so much - had touched me so sweetly, now I can't bear to look at it. The way it was yesterday...that photo was a bittersweet reminder, it held a tiny scrap of hope. Now that hope is gone.
I plodded through the day until the afternoon when I could come back to my lair and wrap myself in a blanket and drift off to the land of darkness, sweet oblivion, from which I wouldn't have minded never waking.
I shall probably light a candle tonight and get lost in the flame, or let the hot wax drip on my skin. The little flames are so fascinating. I was just holding a sturdy glass jar, a candle, and imagined bashing it into my temple, wondering if it would break, or what would happen.
I had hoped to talk a walk in the snow tonight. Allowing the bitter cold to sink into my body and grab a hold of my bones. But I would've walked to the cliffs at the edge of the lake. And I would've been able to hear the water crash against the shore (assuming it wasn't frozen...the entire lake never freezes but sometimes parts of it do) and even on my better days, when I have stood at the edge of those cliffs at night and listened to the waves it's as if they are calling me; calling me to the warmth of their arms, to let myself be surrounded by them.
And to think I was going to write about a time when I was happy and how I could get back to that, the way it was one summer. Now I just wish I could get back to the way it was...when I still believed in that.