magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

just over a year ago i received the following email from someone whose name i did not recognize:

I'd love to know more about your relationship to hitting things and how that's changed over the years. I know you hit yourself against things, but did you ever haul off and hit yourself?

And what do you think about cutters i.e. using razorblades instead of walls?

i don't know if i had mentioned something on my site about how i used to hit my head on walls, or if this was sent under a pseudonym by someone who i knew in high school, or what. it was a little unnerving, actually. it was something that i had used as a last resort when i was overwhelmed and no other course of action seemed appropriate. it was something that i had put behind me as unproductive and unhealthy.

i have known a few people over the years who did cut themselves. it was the only way that they thought they had control, or the only way that they could make themselves feel. in most cases it was very ritualistic and meditative. in a way, i found it fascinating, and sad, like those who choose a life of eating disorders.

there have been times that i've been tempted. it seemed similar to tearing up my cuticles or biting the inside of my lips. but more intentional. it was not something that i ever followed through with. for the same reason that i stop myself when i feel the odd urge to hit my head against something. for somewhat the same reason that i don't use drugs. ultimately, it's not good for you, physically, however much it seems that it might calm you emotionally, however much it seems it might focus your confusion and pain.

i found that urge cropping up again recently. i've fought it. or simply ignored it until it subsides. but it scares me. i can't always be strong.

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another letter that i'll probably never send to her:

stef,

i told you a month ago that i didn't know how to react. that i didn't think i could just be friendly, to live our lives as if nothing had ever really happened. and for the last month we didn't speak. and it was hard, every time i passed you in the stairs, every time we sat across the table from each other in class.

this morning when we found ourselves waiting at the same crosswalk, when i lingered a few feet behind you and you held your arm out at your side, almost as if you were inviting me to take your hand, when you spoke to me, again i was overwhelmed with too many feelings that i couldn't acknowledge. when i told you that i hadn't received the form to let them know that i was graduating, and you asked if was planning on sticking around for another year, with you, i wanted to ask you not to tempt me. i wanted to tell you that i would, if you only asked.

this was part of the future that i had mapped out for myself. that we had mapped out. i've fantasized that they won't let me graduate because of my unfulfilled art history requirement. that i would have to stay another year. that this time everyone i know would have graduated, except for you. i've fantasized about staying and taking the masters in teaching program. i've started seriously looking into the computer music grad program at brown again.

later, in studio, i overheard you talking on your phone. all i heard you say was something about changing your sheets, but why would you say that to anyone unless they were sharing your bed? i could have misheard. i could have misunderstood. but it sounds as if you are no longer as single as you told me you were a month ago. maybe you were lying to me then. maybe there's another explanation. maybe you couldn't make it three months, and haven't really changed at all, haven't overcome that part of your life that you said you never wanted to go back to. or maybe it's for real this time. maybe you've met someone you will really make plans with, plans you will follow through.

and it's not that i have a right to feel jealous. you broke up with me, and what you do with your life is ultimately up to you. and i have been looking for someone else. not with all my heart, i can not let go of the shred of impossible hope of maybe. but other people have caught my eye. i've smiled with them. begun to think about what it might be like to try to fit them into the hole that you left in my life. and yet, i do find myself jealous. i still miss you. i still wish on eyelashes and stars and thunderstorms.

-b