Kerrist, no wonder I don't have a boyfriend.

[wraithwitch]

"This one had it comming
This one found a vein
This one was an accident, but never gave me pain..."I am at the Oast. No one else is here. They left on friday. No one else will be here until monday eve. I am alone with my art and my thoughts and whatever ghosts, stories or internet friends flit through. It's very peaceful actually and generally

Comments

[w_a_i_d]

I, on the other hand, think that being a human you probably DO want reassurance: and why the fuck not?

First, I think that was a bloody tactless thing of your friend to do. I mean, really? Yeah, if you know someone who cuts herself, I guess it's natural to be reminded of that person by a song about self-harm, but... to tell you, in essence, that you are "made of scars" ... yeah, that seems the exact opposite of helpful.

(Unless she just thought it was a lovely song and didn't mean it as "LOL this is so you" at all, or else thought it was encouraging that the person in the song seems sort of bleakly, tentatively hopeful...?)

I found your picture. And you look lovely. The photographer's quite plainly taking pictures of people he thought looked cool and interesting. I suspect his eye was drawn by your excellent necklace.

I don't know if I would have noticed the scars if I hadn't been looking for them in order to confirm it was you: I am no Sherlock Holmes. On the other hand, my brother and my oldest friend are former cutters, so they might have twanged my "Notice Wounds on Arms" neuron (to borrow your idiom). But what I'm saying is, they are nowhere near as glaring, as comprehensive, as "this here is the main thing about this person" as you made out. You described yourself like some sort of zombie: and there's a pretty, steampunky girl with a fabulous choker necklace, an interesting tattoo, intricate eye make-up and a mischievous smile. And scars. And it would be nice if they weren't there, most particularly in the sense that it would be nice if you'd never been in that much pain, but there they are, and your reasons for putting them there made sense at the time, and they do not obscure or undo everything else about you, or make you ugly.

(I'm passing on advice another very kindly and wonderful Holmes-writer gave me lately -- "your bad decisions at least made sense at the time" and "be civil to yourself." I'd often heard "be kind to yourself" which is good advice, but sometimes one doesn't feel all that kind, I was quite amused and struck by the idea that even if one can't be kind one can at least be polite, and that shouting "OY YOU IDIOT YOU SUCK!" in your own ear is just plain rude and one shouldn't do it if one does not wish to be considered uncouth.)

I was reminded of you yesterday. You know by what? I am sewing new buttons onto my waistcoats. (I am crap at sewing, but at least it doesn't show with buttons). I bought a whole lot of brass ones specially for my tweed number, but then my mother produced my grandmother's button-box, which turned out to be decades old and epic. And I was reminded of you somewhat by the whole exercise, but particularly by the gold shiny buttons with wings and a crown on them. And I was halfway through sewing these onto my blue velvet waistcoat before it occurred to me to wonder what that symbol, plus the "Gaunt, London" backmark on them meant, and to turn to the internet...

Waid and Waidmother: Well, they CAN'T be Great Uncle Ivor's WWII RAF buttons...?
Occam's Razor: They are totes Great Uncle Ivor's WWII RAF buttons.
Waid and Waidmother: Well, wow.

(He didn't die in the war, so I guess it's okay...? It's a little more history on my waistcoat than I was looking for!)

So look. Yes, you are The One With Scars, but lots of people have scars, self-inflicted and otherwise, and you are also the one with stories and art and steampunk and pirate coats, who cares selflessly for her family (no rude backtalk on this one, young lady!) and no one else is exactly that combination of all those things. And I associate you with shiny vintage RAF buttons.

[wraithwitch]

*shrugs* I dunno, he probably just thought 'it's a shouty rock song about scars and self harm - give it to Corvid!' I don't think there was anything else to it, I doubt it was meant to be pokey, just how my somewhat self-deprecating brain took it.

*grins* leather choker with old keys hanging off it - instant steampunk! I think the problem is, I have an image in my head of a plain and shadowy girl with dark hair, wearing jeans, big boots and a worn tshirt. She looks somewhat tired and wry as if someone's told her a joke she doesn't find funny but she's trying to be polite about it. Her arms are covered in silver lines as if the moon graffiti'd ogham on her...

That's the sort of everyday me I think I look like, no matter what I'm really wearing or what I've done to my feathers nor whether I've eaten in the last week or not. I'm always inordinately surprised and pleased when I look in the mirror and find I look better, and twistingly disappointed when I find I look worse. In the same way, when I see photos in which my arms are a barely-healed mess I'm shocked at how they look 'cos I didn't notice at the time. So... the photo and I are probably not as awful as all that, they were just jarringly different to my memory of the event and my peculiar self-image-archetype.

My neurons are very amused by the idea of civility to the self. They're running round either being pompously polite to one another or childishly horrible - and giggling. It is good advice though. I will try to remember it.

BUTTON BOX! My mother had a button box and I used to love running my fingers through all the buttons when I was little. I found it again when I was clearing stuff at the Oast. I've been using some of the big antique carved mother-of-pearl ones as pendants on necklaces. Fancy buttons are very shiny things - and waistcoats should always have good buttons =)

oh - heeee - I like your icon =)