posted on Monday, Jun. 06, 2005 @ 23:11
my mom said starting in 2nd grade i'd come home every day crying because of people teasing me. i can only assume that's why i became this really tough person you didn't even want to think twice about crossing. thankfully, i don't remember. my brain's good at blocking out those pesky details. nothing like having the boys fear you at age 10!
one thing i've never forgotten, though, was this one girl named jennifer may i knew in 5th grade. she was bigger than i was but in the process of losing weight. i hated so much that i made sound in my jeans when i walked when the other girls' legs didn't even touch, you know? then one day jennifer came to school wearing jeans, and she was beaming. "i can actually fit in jeans now!" she walked around the room and said, "i love that sound they make!" it's strange i remember that of all things, but it really goes to show perspective is the key.
i was talking to owen earlier about the moment, as a depressed fucked-up teen, he realized he wasn't unique. not only do others know how you feel and what you're thinking, but there are volumes of books written about you. maybe not you specifically, but replacing their name with your own is quite simple. so it's a "john" in this book, "lisa" in that. they're all the same.
when it started out, i was convinced no one had a clue. when i got heavy into nine inch nails, it was no one felt the same way as i...except trent reznor? that put a hole in my little conspiracy theory that eventually engulfed my teenage self. in a way, it was more difficult knowing there was nothing outrageously wrong simply because i had no way to control it. i mean, sure, no one should cut themselves at least once a day, or be stricken with a panic attack in the middle of a class and hope the teacher lets you go to the bathroom. but ultimately it's not that special of an ocurrance. lots of people did it, there were therapy techniques for it, yet taking pills every day and talking to some asshole just wasn't going to cut it. knowing i had a way out but just couldn't reach it really put a damper on things.
it sounds over dramatic, but going through all that makes me feel older now. from all the time i spent raising sarah while mom and doug were at work, to cutting myself from ages 13-19. it just seems like i started with adult responsibilities and emotions far too early.
i have a scar on my left arm ("down the street" of course) from december 17, 1999. when i did it, the skin feathered open for three and a half inches long and half an inch wide. that blade went a quarter of an inch into my skin. in the past five and a half years, it has shortened to three inches and narrowed to a quarter of an inch. this happened within the first two years, so i can only assume this is sticking with me.
the point is, this isn't the only one. that's just the most prominent and oldest. the next is one from october '02, which is longer but narrower. there are countless smaller, stray wrinkles each with a story. as marilyn said, the body is a road map.
but every day for the rest of my life, i'm going to see these. and i'm going to remember. i'm going to see a five-year-old sarah overcome by worry, asking, "what happened to your arm?!" i'm going to remember sitting in my bean bag, sobbing quietly so sarah didn't hear, one arm dripping blood from a jagged cut, the other holding a pair of bloody scissors, and mom coming in and yelling because i shouldn't do that when i'm alone with sarh. i'm going to remember shannon picking me up barefoot on 12/17/99, playing "take me down" by james iha on the way to her house, completely turning her white wash cloth red. i'm going to remember the silly putty egg i carried with a razor inside, the time i pulled it on a crack baby at my school because he annoyed me, how i always had (and still do) my pink wash cloth soaked in blood from every time i did the deed, as they say.
and i'm going to age a little more each time.