Sep 11, 2005 00:50
It was tarnished and wonderful when I found it. Sitting in the bottom of the cup I stick my toothbrush in at home sat a silver-coated chain bracelet. I hadn't thought about it in three years. Emily had wanted me to buy a piece of jewelry to symbolize her love for me, and I had asked her to the same. She chose a black and silver choker, I chose this chain. The idea was that we were bound, then, together. The chain went over the scar on my inner wrist from where I had broken a window when I was younger. It's the one part of my body I'm unsure about, because the doctor's said I would never regain full use of my hand again. I can move it just fine, perfectly. Anyone who knows me wouldn't suspect that my right hand is any weaker. But it still hurts, and it's sore to the touch. I almost died when it was cut; I know it, my family knows it, the doctors know it.
I had worn it to GSP. Emily had "dumped" me there, but in the way that a short break does, I was miserable but elated when we were together. She had been doing it for my sake; she said that, and I believed her, because I saw how torn up she was. Her voice choking on the few phonecalls we had, afraid that I would be angry at her, want to hurt her, wanting to make sure I was emotionally safe; if she did something stupid, I wouldn't be hurt if I was bound to her.
I never took off the bracelet, though. I wore it, sweated in it, washed and showered with it on. The silver began to fade away, revealing the copper undereath.
I had took it off after GSP I think, and there it set, until I found it, tarnished and wonderful. I was fascinated with it. I picked it up, and ran water over it, flushing away the green gunk that had coated the copper. I washed it clean, and thought about it. I have almost died twice, I realized, since I had last worn it. Once I nearly killed myself, another I nearly died to a fever that wracked my body when I was a thousand miles away from my nearest love one. The love it stood for had been torn away. My mental illness had gotten worse, horrible even, creating a block I didn't think I could get around.
That summer was the last summer I shook hands, patted shoulders, and touched stone with my bare hand. It was my last hurrah. I remember sitting on the floor of the dorm, dark hair spread like some sort of halo. People walked there, dirty shoes, and I could feel the disease trying to take control of me, to push me away. But I watched the sunlight play across the silver around my wrist, the sunlight from the big window that was almost like one of the walls in the lobby.
Everything like that had gone from me.
I studied the silver and copper, and decided to wear it. I have only owned two pieces of jewelry. This bracelet, and a pendant I gave to Emily that she must have thrown away. So, this is the only one I had to wear. I rubbed some rubbing alchohol on it, and it felt right.
I wore it when I went out this morning, to the Renfest. Others will tell you about getting lost a bit, the Nun show, and so on. I can't really remember any of that, because the whole trip breaks down to one incident to me.
I have a sword, and a shield... Armor, it's all I need to have my "basic" stuff. I found leather armor I really liked. To describe it, I can't really find the words. It just pulled me. I wanted to try it on.
But to do that, it meant pulling the whole thing over my head. Brushing through my hair, touching my skin, all of that. All of the things I have never willingly done for four years, except with Emily.
But I did it. I don't know why, but I even asked Amber and Katie to come with me for it. I wanted their opinion on how it looked, but I also needed to set the thing up so I couldn't just chicken out. I wanted to do this.
Part of it has to do in Almast. I guess that's an easy way to say "The me in my mind." The part of me that wears his hair down almost all the time... The part of me that drove me to go to Texas in the hopes that maybe I could talk to Emily. That time was the last time I had willingly touched something, someone... Kneeling before her, crying, sobbing, my hands out of my gloves, I grasped her hand, her small, perfect hand, and held it against my face and glasses as I sobbed, hoping, praying.
I tuged the armor over my head, feeling it tear at my ears and hair, feeling it touch me. It was horrible, really, I was afraid I might start, shake, and begin to sob. The feeling of something touching me is terrible, in its own way. I can't stand it, and I can't describe it. It's like something fundamentally wrong. The sensation evoked by imagining incest, cannabalism, or some other taboo; that's what it's like, as nearly as I can express it.
But I put it on, and took it off. Amber said I looked great in it, and I thought I did too. It felt right, in a way.
When I got back, I washed, of course, but I was able to control it better. Normally, if I'm "dirty," I wash until it hurts and bleeds, and then I put rubbing alchohol in it to make sure it's entirely clean. I didn't, this time. It didn't feel so bad, as I stood naked in the bathroom, except for the braclet. I washed my face with the alchohol, and put some in my hair, and took a long, hot shower.
For the first time, in a long while, I was in control. I'm not to where I'd take off my gloves on a regular basis, but...
Well, I never will be. end of story, I'll never get over this entirely. It'll always be with me. But I can cope! I can deal with it, without blood and tears and sobbing! I never thought I could do that. I had dreamt of doing it with Emily, of with her help getting over this, but with her gone, how could I? I couldn't, I thought. But I did it, what I couldn't do with her, I did by myself, on my own, as myself.
Of course, I washed a lot. My face was red from scrubbing when I got out of the shower, standing naked infront of the steam-covered mirror, the only person around. I looked at my body, the scars on my wrist from the window, the scars on my stomach, legs, elbows. All of it, the marks on my body and the hurts in the inside, feeling it so profoundly. I stood there dripping, my over washed hair hanging limply around my body. On my right arm, hanging, water dripping from it, was the bracelet.
It's okay, it'll be okay.
Because just like that braclet, I can be tarnished and wonderful, something being worn away at by time, but still bright and beautiful, still full of meaning.
I can be tarnished and wonderful.