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xxlucyferxxThis is potentially for my Creative Writing portfolio. It's not very good, but it's honest.
“Why do you always wear those?” It’s an innocent question, mere friendly curiosity, and it sets my heart pounding more than any deliberate insult or blatant breach of etiquette could. I always dread this question – there’s only so long it can go unasked.
“I like them.” Calm smile, indifferent shrug.
Unfortunately, this one’s persistent. “You always keep your arms covered, though. Don’t you get hot?”
“Well, I don’t mind warm weather.” That’s a lie, of course. Summer always causes trouble. In winter, long sleeves are normal. In summer, they draw unwanted attention. They invite people to start asking questions that, frankly, I’m sick to death of answering.
It’s not that I’m ashamed. Most people who know me have seen my scars, and some days I even derive an exhibitionistic thrill from leaving the house without my precious arm-warmers. Most days, though, I don’t feel like dealing with it all; the questions, the stares, the awkward shuffling of feet. Other people feel uncomfortable, torn between concern and disgust. They think I’m fragile. Past tense doesn’t seem to register with them – nobody believes me when I tell them I’ve stopped. Not that it matters; it’s none of their business, anyway.
The curly-haired boy in front of me isn’t backing down. I can see him hesitate, weighing up the odds of taking the plunge. “Are you a cutter or something?” he blurts, his tone light and teasing as if to tell me he doesn’t really think that. Have it your way, then.
“I went through a pretty rough time a while ago, and I didn’t cope so well. I don’t do it anymore. It’s no big deal.”
“Oh.” His cheeks flush bright red, his eyes fixed determinedly on the ground. “Well, um, I’m sorry.” He has no idea what to say. Serves you right for being so curious.
“Don’t worry about it. Look, I have to get to class.” We smile and nod, acting as if this was a completely casual conversation. His strides are just a little too fast as he walks away.
He’ll think about what I told him for hours, no doubt. He’ll wonder how anyone could do that to their own body, and after much careful thought he’ll reach the conclusion that I do it for attention. He’ll gossip, telling his friends all about it with wide eyes. “You know that emo chick, the one from French class? Yeah, her…apparently she cuts herself.”
I’m not ashamed. I’ve heard too much gossip for it to hurt me anymore. I just wonder if I’m ever going to find someone who can see past the scars. Someone who can look at me and see not the unstable fuck-up I was a year ago, but the person I am now. The intelligent, independent girl who’s learnt to take responsibility for herself and her mistakes.
I don’t expect I will, to be honest. It’s so much easier to just write me off as a hopeless case. Nobody wants to get too close, and I don’t really blame them. After all, who could love a girl with scars?
“I like them.” Calm smile, indifferent shrug.
Unfortunately, this one’s persistent. “You always keep your arms covered, though. Don’t you get hot?”
“Well, I don’t mind warm weather.” That’s a lie, of course. Summer always causes trouble. In winter, long sleeves are normal. In summer, they draw unwanted attention. They invite people to start asking questions that, frankly, I’m sick to death of answering.
It’s not that I’m ashamed. Most people who know me have seen my scars, and some days I even derive an exhibitionistic thrill from leaving the house without my precious arm-warmers. Most days, though, I don’t feel like dealing with it all; the questions, the stares, the awkward shuffling of feet. Other people feel uncomfortable, torn between concern and disgust. They think I’m fragile. Past tense doesn’t seem to register with them – nobody believes me when I tell them I’ve stopped. Not that it matters; it’s none of their business, anyway.
The curly-haired boy in front of me isn’t backing down. I can see him hesitate, weighing up the odds of taking the plunge. “Are you a cutter or something?” he blurts, his tone light and teasing as if to tell me he doesn’t really think that. Have it your way, then.
“I went through a pretty rough time a while ago, and I didn’t cope so well. I don’t do it anymore. It’s no big deal.”
“Oh.” His cheeks flush bright red, his eyes fixed determinedly on the ground. “Well, um, I’m sorry.” He has no idea what to say. Serves you right for being so curious.
“Don’t worry about it. Look, I have to get to class.” We smile and nod, acting as if this was a completely casual conversation. His strides are just a little too fast as he walks away.
He’ll think about what I told him for hours, no doubt. He’ll wonder how anyone could do that to their own body, and after much careful thought he’ll reach the conclusion that I do it for attention. He’ll gossip, telling his friends all about it with wide eyes. “You know that emo chick, the one from French class? Yeah, her…apparently she cuts herself.”
I’m not ashamed. I’ve heard too much gossip for it to hurt me anymore. I just wonder if I’m ever going to find someone who can see past the scars. Someone who can look at me and see not the unstable fuck-up I was a year ago, but the person I am now. The intelligent, independent girl who’s learnt to take responsibility for herself and her mistakes.
I don’t expect I will, to be honest. It’s so much easier to just write me off as a hopeless case. Nobody wants to get too close, and I don’t really blame them. After all, who could love a girl with scars?
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-08 03:11 pm (UTC)the last paragraph touched me and I wonder what made you write this piece?
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-08 11:45 pm (UTC)I wrote this because I was feeling really angry and insecure about the way I look. It's very autobiographical in a lot of ways. Aside from anything else, writing it really helped me to vent.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-09 12:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-25 03:07 am (UTC)wow
Date: 2008-11-09 12:59 pm (UTC)its so true for me as well
well done
Re: wow
Date: 2008-11-09 10:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-10 07:33 am (UTC)you know my answer.
This curly haired boy regrets taking so long to see past the scars, to see the amazing girl behind them (who, incidentally, is an amazing writer).
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-10 07:36 am (UTC)Sean, I love you to pieces. Just so you know. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-10 07:43 am (UTC)And so it begins:
Remeber that time we went to Belco and ended up on that wierd grass hill thing out side the mall? I wish that day would never end, just staring at the sky with an arm around you. And how I went home the day after I met you and thought to myself "oh no wonder Maddie's obsessed with her, she's oh so amazing". And the day you told me you liked me, and butterflies were in my stomach. I was so happy.
And how I lied to Maddie, saying you were a rebound to make her feel better. I resented myself for that. When it all exploded, I hated myself for losing you, for putting Maddie before you, and in the process, ending up with you both hating me.
For months there was so much tension, but things slowly subsided and we started patching things up. However, then came a flight to take me miles away where we lost touch for so long.
But then to lighten my day now, a comment from you on bebo or LJ, and for 5 minutes I can remember so vividly our time together <333
(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-10 07:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-11-10 07:58 am (UTC)