Tonight and the Rest Of My Life

November 13, 2005 – December 15, 2005

J. Miller

Part I

“Down to the earth I fell with dripping wings. Heavy things won’t fly and the sky might catch on fire and burn the axis of the world. That’s why I prefer a sunless sky to the glittering and stinging in my eyes.

I feel so light. This is all I want to feel tonight. I feel so light…tonight and the rest of my life.”

se·cret : Something kept hidden from others or known only to oneself or to a few.

It’s funny to tell people what goes on behind closed doors when no one’s watching.

Which is why, I guess, we don’t share these secrets with others.

Countless times I’ve tried to reach out and tell someone…anyone…about how I felt…dead, hurt, emotionally void. But every time I would open my mouth, the words wouldn’t let themselves escape. Instead, they lay on my lips in bitter, heavy volumes, unwilling to spill forth.

So the secrets stayed just that…secrets.

Even if I had been willing to speak, no one would have believed me.

I had no reason to feel this way.

nor·mal : Conforming with, adhering to, or constituting a norm, standard, pattern, level, or type; typical.

I’d grown up in a normal family. A mother, a father, an older brother…my parents were still married…we had no dirty secrets. I got decent grades, good friends, and typical looks. I was a normal girl. I went to school. I joined clubs. I kept a diary of stupid secrets…

So there was no reason for me to be this fucking emotionally dead.

It hadn’t always been so bad.

in·no·cence : The state, quality, or virtue of being innocent, as:
a. Freedom from sin, moral wrong, or guilt through lack of knowledge of evil.

b. Guiltlessness of a specific legal crime or offense.

c. Freedom from guile, cunning, or deceit; simplicity or artlessness.

d. Lack of worldliness or sophistication; naiveté.

e. Lack of knowledge or understanding; ignorance.

f. Freedom from harmfulness; inoffensiveness.

Childhood innocence had been so easy. What do children have to worry about?

When I was five, my biggest fear was spiders. When I was taking a bath one night, I watched one crawl up the wall across from me and I watched in fixed awe…until it lost its grip and tumbled in a free fall towards the bath where I sat. Once it hit the bubbles in the tub, I watched as it clung onto life for a few seconds, its eight legs spasming wildly against the water before falling still.

And then I screamed bloody murder.

After that, every time I’d see a spider, I’d remember its death fall and last moments and became so emotionally upset that I would react beyond reason.

Since then, my biggest fear has been death.

Which is so fucking ironic, I could vomit.

in·som·ni·a : Chronic inability to fall asleep or remain asleep for an adequate length of time.

The summer I turned sixteen, though, the insomnia kicked in full force. Day after day, night after night, I rolled restlessly around in my bed. My blankets would entangle themselves about my legs, my pillow too smashed from tossing about. For hours, I’d watch the wind chimes above my head. They were just as motionless as my transition into sleep.

Sometimes I’d try to listen to music – fast music, soft music, instrumental music – but nothing would settle me into sleep.

I tried taking sleeping pills…first one, then two, then four times the allotted dose, but sleep wouldn’t fall over me…

And if it did, it was so erratic, I woke up even more exhausted than before I’d gotten those few minutes of REM.

What makes this story even more complicated is the fact that no one even seemed to notice.

dis·cov·er : To notice or learn, especially by making an effort.

I began taking baths each night for hours upon end. If I couldn’t rest in my bed, I’d rest in scalding hot water. There was something about the burning of my skin which dulled the rest of my senses to the point where I couldn’t feel anything but the raw pain of the hot water against me.

For the first time in months, I didn’t care about how upset I was or how much I couldn’t feel…

Because the water itself did its job of taking care of that.

This too, however, quit working when I got used to it. Each night, the water would have to be hotter and hotter, until it wouldn’t raise in temperature any more.

So I found myself back at square one…in bed, tossing and turning and crying because I couldn’t stand being so stupid about nothing in particular.

It was everything that wasn’t…

crim·son : A deep to vivid purplish red to vivid red.

I gave up the baths for a few nights, and then tried to return to them, but it was no use. The baths had lost all their magic.

The night I discovered they were no longer mystical enough to numb me, I was climbing from the tub when I knocked an object into the tub haphazardly. Not even thinking, I sunk my hand into the tub and sliced my finger open on my dad’s sharp razor blade. Instinctively, I pulled my hand from the tub, leaving behind a crimson trail of blood in its wake. I watched as the blood and water mixture swirled and began to sink towards the bottom before I felt the cold air outside the tub stinging my new wound.

Grabbing a towel, I wrapped my naked, wet body up and then set out to take care of the blood. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I squeezed the wound to cut off the flow and set out to find a band aid in a drawer next to the toilet. When this whole endeavor was finished, I was hit so clearly by realization that I sunk from the edge of the tub to the floor. With a shaky, bloody hand, reached into the tub and pulled the razor out carefully.

Twisting the razor in my hands, I stared at the shiny metal glaring back at me. It was so cool, so clean, and so violent that it terrified me. Looking at the tub again, I didn’t see any blood, but glancing at my finger, the blood seeping through the cotton of the band aid was visible.

I hadn’t felt a thing when I was watching myself bleed.

I hadn’t felt anything but a sting…

I just was.

Me…and my body.

Nothing else mattered.

I could get lost in crimson in a way that I couldn’t get lost in sleep.

try : To taste, sample, or otherwise test in order to determine strength, effect, worth, or desirability

Remembering how easy it had been to just slice my finger open, I held the razor in my right hand and extended my left arm, taking precaution as where to begin. It couldn’t be too obvious. It would, after all, just be this once, just to try it…so it wasn’t a big deal.

But still. I didn’t want anyone to question the mark.

Deciding that higher up my arm was better, I held the razor just below where the elbow ended in the fold of my arm. The metal was cool and I took a deep breath. This was it.

Time stood still as that blade slid over my pale skin and when I lifted it off of me, the pain knocked the breath out of me. Dropping the razor back into the tub, I was amazed to see how much blood was pooling from my arm in deep red rivers. It hadn’t seemed like that long of a cut, but the evidence stated otherwise.

Noting to keep breathing, I pulled the towel from my body and immediately wrapped it around the fresh wound tightly, hoping to get the blood to stop moving quickly.

Why had I done such a stupid thing? What the hell was wrong with me?

Taking extra precaution to clean the wound and dress it, I then dressed myself, cleaned off the horrible razor, drained the tub, and hid the towel. There was no need for anyone to see the bloody mess left behind and question it.

It was a single moment of stupidity.

Something stupid that I would never repeat ever again.

The strange thing was, when I collapsed into bed that night, the sleep that overcame me was so powerful and so deep…that when it didn’t last mere seconds, I was surprised.

The whole incident had tired me out…I’d slept for a whole night.

de·sire : To wish or long for; want.

That sleep was incredible. I woke up refreshed and actually ready to face the day. The circles under my eyes weren’t as dark and I didn’t look nearly as dead. It was the best I’d felt in ages.

All because I’d managed to wear myself out.

It’s funny…because the one thing I said I’d never do again after leaving such a bloody mess behind soon became something I fought not to do. It was a double edged sword of its own. Cut and sleep…or stay up for nights on end in endless torment over every small detail in my life.

So in a minute of which I’m especially regretful for, I’d find myself in the bathroom, sharp object in hand, and actually hurt myself. Then I’d stare and watch the rivers of crimson flow down my arm…clean them up, cry, and sleep.

Soon it became entirely too hard to hide my new hobby. I had to wear long sleeves everywhere I went and the marks I left behind hurt so bad and the wounds would open…it was as if I had to babysit my own scars.

i·ro·ny : a trope that involves incongruity between what is expected and what occurs.

I can’t help feel embarrassed at what happened next. No one had any idea of what I’d been doing and I felt so clever with my new plan that I just couldn’t stop. I was addicted to the razor…to the crimson rivers…to the sleep.

It was a typical night of sleeplessness when I sat in my bathtub as I now had done countless times. The water was hot and the steam that rose from the tub clouded my vision. Sinking into the water, I picked up my new best friend and placed it against my arm, taking care not to reopen any of my wounds.

Something was different this time, however.

Sure, I’d felt the pain every other time I’d cut, but usually the bleeding would stop if I’d apply enough pressure to the wound. This time, however, the blood just kept rushing forth angrily. Starting to get dizzy with fear, I pressed harder, thinking this had to have been some fluke. I had been so careful as not to hit a main artery, I couldn’t have possibly done it this time.

Taking the towel from my arm, I made the mistake of looking at my craftsmanship. Angry red lines stared at me and huge wet tears fell from my eyes.

Why wouldn’t it stop? What had I done wrong this time?

Was my new hobby failing me like the hot water had?

Stumbling backwards, I met the lip of the tub, lost my balance and went down hard, cracking the base of my skull on the back of the porcelain tub in a sickening thud.

As I began to fall under, I thought about that spider from my childhood. I had watched as it fell unknowingly into the tub, fought for those last few moments of life and lost. And much like it had, my limbs spasmed for only seconds before they too, went completely still and lost the battle.

shame : A painful emotion caused by a strong sense of guilt, embarrassment, unworthiness, or disgrace.

I can’t imagine how it felt to be my brother when he found me that night in the bathtub…naked and sprawled awkwardly in that tub of crimson colored water, head barely above the water.

I can’t imagine how my father felt making that emergency call at three thirty in the morning to tell them his baby girl was motionless in a blood stained bath.

I can’t imagine how my mother felt having to clean up that mess and finding the razor sunken at the bottom of the tub, picking it up, and wondering where she’d gone wrong in her parenting.

It’s a shame that I can’t even begin to feel or fathom.

Note: Here’s the ‘nothing like anything I’ve ever written’ story I claimed I’d be writing. Well…the first of four parts, that is. Some of you aren’t going to like the direction I’m taking on this, but eh. Oh well. I’m still working on a co-written story and my infamous author’s note is still in my profile, along with links to my Xanga, MySpace, and Facebook, if any of you are interested. --J