Wednesday, March 28, 2001
Self Mutilation as Therapy - To LTF
Needless to say, yesterday was not a good day and neither was this morning. I was not pleasant company, although I wasn't a total asshole. I spent this morning pacing the house 'doing things' and speaking to my mother in one word sentences. She was very quiet, which is hard for her. She likes mutual humor in the morning.
I know this man who was one of MDL's friends from grade school on. I don't really know what all he's done to make a living besides leasing out and managing his properties and occasionally selling property. Wherever he lives he has several work areas including a carpentry area, a study area, a projects area, all of which could have anything in them. In this hous, he's knocked down several walls and has these areas scattered through an open space. He's not disorganized or a slob but you're liable to find anything in his houses. I'm telling you all this to put his (upcoming) comment in perspective.
Anyway, he called me around noon. We usually contact each other and/or get together anywhere from once a month to once every six months when I'm in town. When he's in Prescott for various fairs or festivals he occasionally calls to get together. I always let him know when I'm here and a couple of times he has let me know when he isn't going to be here for awhile. He called today to catch up, knowing that I will be relocating to Prescott. Everything was fine with him and I was pleased to hear from him but was having this horrible time even saying anything to him because of all the other stuff I was thinking about, so he invited me over. He asked me to tell him my story, which I vomited out, without crying this time. He listened sympathetically and affectionately, he's very good at that, didn't say anything really, just listened. Then, when I got to a place where it seemed to both of us that I was done, he said, "Let's put a few more holes in your ears."
Out came a piercing gun. I've never seen it before although I'm not surprised he has one. He has a few piercings himself (all visible in normal clothing). He "only" had four studs of piercing quality to offer me. We set to work deciding where to put them, discussing whether or not to do the cartilage. He thought we should put one in my nose and one at the top of one of my ears; I like both types of piercings but I'm a sissy about cartilage piercings. I've seen too many people have problems with site infections. He busied himself sterilizing the gun and the earrings, marking my ears. We decided on three in one and one in the other, so I've got four holes in one ear and 6 in the other, now. We didn't talk about the IRS or anything else like that for the rest of the afternoon.
The amazing thing is, it worked. Maybe it was just a distraction but I felt like I was wearing badges of my trials as I was driving home. I thought about the various reasons for ritual piercings, a subject on which I know almost nothing, and played around with phrases like "piercing power".
When I arrived home I was feeling as though, whatever happened, I could slog through it and maybe even control it a little, probably very little (although, with the IRS involved, I have my doubts about even the "very little"), but at least I wasn't feeling as though my mother and I would be buried alive because I couldn't stop it.
Of course, tomorrow I'll be in Prescott keeping an eye on my mother and discovering how much paperwork we don't have. But in the back of my mind will be those four zig-zag spaced gold studs, glittering in my earlobes like hazard lights, signaling that I might be capable of creating a volatile situation if pushed far enough. That should make a difference. Maybe only to me, but that should be enough.
I know this man who was one of MDL's friends from grade school on. I don't really know what all he's done to make a living besides leasing out and managing his properties and occasionally selling property. Wherever he lives he has several work areas including a carpentry area, a study area, a projects area, all of which could have anything in them. In this hous, he's knocked down several walls and has these areas scattered through an open space. He's not disorganized or a slob but you're liable to find anything in his houses. I'm telling you all this to put his (upcoming) comment in perspective.
Anyway, he called me around noon. We usually contact each other and/or get together anywhere from once a month to once every six months when I'm in town. When he's in Prescott for various fairs or festivals he occasionally calls to get together. I always let him know when I'm here and a couple of times he has let me know when he isn't going to be here for awhile. He called today to catch up, knowing that I will be relocating to Prescott. Everything was fine with him and I was pleased to hear from him but was having this horrible time even saying anything to him because of all the other stuff I was thinking about, so he invited me over. He asked me to tell him my story, which I vomited out, without crying this time. He listened sympathetically and affectionately, he's very good at that, didn't say anything really, just listened. Then, when I got to a place where it seemed to both of us that I was done, he said, "Let's put a few more holes in your ears."
Out came a piercing gun. I've never seen it before although I'm not surprised he has one. He has a few piercings himself (all visible in normal clothing). He "only" had four studs of piercing quality to offer me. We set to work deciding where to put them, discussing whether or not to do the cartilage. He thought we should put one in my nose and one at the top of one of my ears; I like both types of piercings but I'm a sissy about cartilage piercings. I've seen too many people have problems with site infections. He busied himself sterilizing the gun and the earrings, marking my ears. We decided on three in one and one in the other, so I've got four holes in one ear and 6 in the other, now. We didn't talk about the IRS or anything else like that for the rest of the afternoon.
The amazing thing is, it worked. Maybe it was just a distraction but I felt like I was wearing badges of my trials as I was driving home. I thought about the various reasons for ritual piercings, a subject on which I know almost nothing, and played around with phrases like "piercing power".
When I arrived home I was feeling as though, whatever happened, I could slog through it and maybe even control it a little, probably very little (although, with the IRS involved, I have my doubts about even the "very little"), but at least I wasn't feeling as though my mother and I would be buried alive because I couldn't stop it.
Of course, tomorrow I'll be in Prescott keeping an eye on my mother and discovering how much paperwork we don't have. But in the back of my mind will be those four zig-zag spaced gold studs, glittering in my earlobes like hazard lights, signaling that I might be capable of creating a volatile situation if pushed far enough. That should make a difference. Maybe only to me, but that should be enough.
