Ok, so much for all the tear-jerker little stories of Korean Princesses.
Today I am feeling out of sorts, sleepy and used up. It's moody time again I'm afraid. No I don't need drugs to deal with it and I probably won't cut myself either. I'm kind of growing out of the cutting stage.
*everyone stands and cheers*
I know that probably sounds like good news but for me it is more like realizing that even that doesn't work anymore.
If I wasn't such big strong, tall and handsome maucho man I'd probably break into little girly tears.
Where does it all come from? I don't know, probably just growing pains or something like that. Clinically they call it depression but has anyone gone one step further to try to understand where it's from? No......no.
It starts with a gloomy day and not much going on. No Jerry to cheer me up and the thought that the last thing I said to anyone ptobably made me sound stupid. Not that I can even remember what that was.
Referring to the photograph I originally had here of myself, someone asked me the other day, "Are you ever NOT smiling?"
Ummm Yeah! right now. I have had to live that down all my life. Grandmother and her friends would say when they thought I was just out of ear-shot, "Gosh, what a nice boy. He seems like he is always happy and he has such a pretty smile for a boy, especially at his age. It seems like they are all angry at the world at that age usually."
Even I know the type, although I never thought of myself as one of them. Always smiling and wondering what they would look like if they broke their leg or got hit by a bus. How resilient of them. They'd probably jump up and dust themselves off and resume smiling immediately, like in a cartoon.
How do you know you are one of them? Because even as bad as I feel right now, if someone were to walk unexpectedly through the door I'd put on a smile and look indestructable for them.
These are the classic signs of a cutter. One who knows how people see him and when alone are always trying to prove them wrong. Looking for vulnerability in the blood that runs down the arm, faining indifference to sexuality and always smelling like peppermint. See? remember? Even Jerry accused me of always smelling of peppermint.
We are the people that when we do actually have a horrible breakdown in the presence of someone, they say "Oh my God what happened! I thought he was so perfect and invincible!"
It's the "Marty Poppins" syndrome. The male verson of the "Mary Poppins" syndrome. She is often thought not to even need air and God forbid that she would ever smell of anything besides strawberries unless she was out, and then it would be roses. For me it's evidently peppermint.
This syndrome often raises it ugly head in some rather strange people like the aquaintance of my eldest brother, one Marky Soams in L.A. I had to see to it that he never hung around anymore after hearing one of his sadistic little gay oriented conversations with my brother.
He at 12 and me at 15 asked my brother some rather personal questions about me one day. He was hung up on me in a rather strange way. Little did he know that I was in the next room and heard the conversation.
I had been made into the character of Superman or SuperDamon.
"Have you ever seen your brother in just his shorts?" he asked Chucky.
"Sure I have". Chucky said. "So what".
"Just wondering." Marky said.
"Ever seen him cry?" Marky asked again.
"Yeah once, what do you care?" Chucky the innocent answered.
"Wanna beat the hell out of him? I bet we could make him cry then," the little bastard said.
"Why the hell you wanna do that?" Chucky said.
"I don't know, he's always smiling and he always looks so happy and he's so nicy nice to all your friends."
"And that's a reason to make him unhappy?" Chucky said.
You go Chucky. Ever since that day I always respected Chucky's take on things. He asked Marky to get the hell out of our house and not to come back.
I was sitting in my room at my computer when Chucky cracked the door open.
"I made Marky go home," he said.
"I know," I told him.
"Did you hear what he said about you?" Chucky asked.
"I like it because you are always happy," he said as he sat on my bed.
To be honest THAT made me feel like crying, but I smiled at Chucky.
I told him that we should probably feel sorry for people like Marky. They have never been happy in their lives and can't stand to see anyone else be happy. Besides, smiling doesn't mean you are so stupid that life has no effect on you. It just means that you cope better than some.
Marky will probably grow up to be a sadistic torturer getting his sexual kicks off seeing the contrast between smiling faces and tears, boys in boxers and drowning kittens.
I guess life kind of teaches you how to act. You hear once that they think you are a "smiler" and you never want to let them down. You even begin to believe it yourself and like the Marky in all of us you begin to cut to see if they are right or if you really will bleed. You find out you do and it intrigues you to the point that when you are depressed you get your jollys off challenging yourself.
You remember to do your crying in your pillow at night after everyone has gone to bed. You remember to chew Spearment gum so you always live up to that peppermint thing and you keep that smile in a jar by your door.
Falling in love is the hardest thing you have to do because it makes you show your vulnerability to another person. God forbid anyone should actually know you are human. You're not even sure yourself so you cut again to see if you bleed and you do..... of course.
Being human isn't so bad. It's only bad when you start to doubt it yourself. Before my dad died, it was the most serious conversation my mom and I had ever engaged in.
I had done the unthinkable and broken my arm. I stupidly hit a fire hydrant on my skateboard.
In the emergency room the nurse was upset with me because I wasn't balling my eyes out. Obviously she had Marky syndrome.
"What's the matter with you kid, this should hurt like hell!"
"It does," I said.
About that time a nurse and a doctor both pulled in two different directions to reset the break and my lights went out without a whimper.
As I was coming back to the living, I heard a nurse tell my mom, "Mrs. Smith, are you aware that your son is a cutter?"
"A cutter. He cuts himself."
"Why would he do that?"
"There are a lot of reasons but usually it is due to some kind of depression."
"Depression? she laughs. "Lady you don't know my son. He has never had a depressed day in his life."
"just the same ma'am, I'd keep an eye on this."
It was several days later that my mom asked me about it. I told her that I cut but I didn't really know why.
Of course she was very defensive about the whole thing and asked me a battery of questions about my personal life including "Was I having sex?"
I was given a stern warning and told that I had to stop and if there was anything she could do......................blah blah blah.......
She checked from time to time, I even caught her checking my arms when I was sleeping. I had stopped for a good long while. She was satisfied.
But I still cut sometimes and I still don't know why except maybe to see if I really am real or just an idiot with a smile on my face. No wait! Now it is to see if a am worthy of someone loving me like Jerry. Yeah that's the ticket!