29 October 2006

Sweet September (Part 2)

September starts to go downhill around this point.

It’s already obvious how emotional I am from my break-down the previous weekend.

The next one was just as hard.

It started off nice enough with a fun visit to The Met with some roommates and friends. But it quickly went down hill with another fight with Mitzi and then finding out my aunt died.

Monday I hit the lowest of low I’d been in 2 years. More than 2 years.

I got jealous, over what embarrassingly turned out to be nothing. And jealousy is an awful feeling. To be upset over something you have no control over. And to be upset with someone you love.

But in my frustration and sadness, I slipped up. I felt helpless, and I cut. For the first time since high school. I had forgotten how it made me feel better. How good it felt. And I cried. Because I was hurting. And because it felt like I’d reignited my addiction

I felt even worse when I found out my jealousy was unjustified.

I had hoped to never have to talk about this with Jefferson, or here. Because it was behind me.

And I had to tell him. Because he would see the marks and I wouldn’t have been able to see his face upon first discovery.

I don’t like telling people cause they can look at me differently or treat me different, and I hate that.

But I told him. And, well, Jefferson’s a gem.

“I won't treat you any differently, dear. I love you, and I understand.”

And I wanted to hug him so tightly just then because I couldn’t have asked for a better response.

Luckily I only had to wait until the next day to see him.

And we agreed on a little bit of a later time, so I wouldn’t have to wait. But he was late again. For the 3rd week in a row. And I was pissed.

And I don’t really get pissed that easily.

I was less annoyed that I had to wait, but because I knew he was coming from somewhere else (someone else) and it was cutting into my time. That which I don’t get a whole lot of. And, yes, I was jealous.

He walked into the lobby and I stood up and curtly declared, “I’m not talking to you” as we walked to the elevator.

We sat on the couch, him at one end, me at the other with my arms crossed over my chest, and my legs crossed away from him.

“Are you ok?”
“I’m fine.”

I didn’t stay mad for too long. I generally don’t. And I think half an hour was sufficient enough for Jefferson to understand that even I get mad.

I eventually found myself in Jefferson’s arms and snuggled in tight as he wrapped around me on the couch.

We just laid together silently, as we often do, our energies blending together and his touch and embrace comforting me.

“How about we go do this in bed?”
I nodded and followed him back to the bedroom.

“Look, I wore a pretty bra” I said as I undressed, but quickly removed it and climbed in bed, self-conscious of my cuts.

He held me tight.

“Guess what,” I said.
“I love you.”
“Aww, I love you too, sweetheart,” he said kissing the top of my head.

I smiled and kissed him.

We fucked for a while until it was time to go and gave another show to the high schoolers as we kissed goodbye at the subway stop.

The next day I ran away. But not for bad reasons. Well, not entirely.

I knew from Jefferson’s blog Madeline was going to be in town, and dear God I wished I hadn’t known that. And I didn’t want to be sitting around my dorm room knowing they were together.

Jealousy really does suck.

I didn’t think it would turn bad. I brought my camera and art supplies with the intention to create.

How I suddenly fleed, avoiding my roommates, packing up at the spur of the moment.

I should have known.

Since I’ve already written about it, I won’t go into great detail again.

So I sent off a quick e-mail to Jefferson as I packed:

“Have a good weekend baby. Try not to forget about me too much.

But I'm packing my Hawthorne and vodka and leaving my computer behind and heading out somewhere for the weekend after class tonight.

I love you.”

And left a note for my roommates that I’d “gone fishin’” for the weekend and headed off.

The rest of the details you can read here.

But I will fill you all in on a little detail I left out.

After cutting again, I knew I didn’t want to do it again. I didn’t want to constantly be covered in fresh cuts again. It’s not so good for my sex life, ya know? And I didn’t want to feel like and addict again.

So the next night, in anticipation of another crash, I made a pre-emptive strike.

I got a tattoo. Painful and permanent. Kinda like cutting, but cooler and prettier.

And you know, it’s been a month and I still haven’t taken a picture of it?

So all I have for you is a Google image:

It means passion, and I think it’s absolutely essential to have passion in life.

I love it. It’s on the front of my hip, just above my pubic area.

It’s so freaking cool.

I’m itching to get my next one once I have enough money.

Well I quickly grew tired of being alone without my computer and I was feeling better after my tattoo and decided to pack up and head back to school.

The next morning I wrote Jefferson:

“I’m back early. I got bored. But I have a really, really cool surprise!”

Jefferson’s face was priceless when he saw the tattoo, but that you’ll have to read about when I write about events from October!


Alice said...

I think there should be scholarships for former cutters so we can get tattoos for free and stuff. HA.

Avah said...

Ha! That'd be awesome!

FritzVonT said...

Thanks for letting us know why you took down your blog, and for sharing this part of your life. It sounds like you are a bit better now, I do hope this is the case. Keep writing, I'll keep reading!

Lexi said...

I'll show you mine if you show me yours...

Oh, right, you've already seen mine. Well, you owe me, then. ;)