Sometimes the only thing that reminds me that I'm alive is pain.
It doesn't have to be physical. That's almost too easy. A nearly gentle jab with the edge of a razor, a few drops of blood. Enough of a sting to let me know that I'm still among the living. Easy enough that if I keep at it, it'll have to be more. Deeper, wider. And I'm not so far gone that I can't see how badly that could turn out. So I leave that for when I'm truly desperate.
Mental pain is harder to come by. Not because they won't be forthcoming upon demand, but because I tend to fade to the background. 'There's Mark with his camera again.' The words almost fond, before I become as inanimate as the object I hold.
Once and awhile, though, someone will come through for me. Notice me there silently filming away from my little corner of the loft. Roger is especially good at it. He knows me so well, I'm almost sure he says the things he does just to make me feel. I'm sure he knows about pain, and how it can be everything. Everything that keeps you sane and *there*.
I'm sure he wouldn't say it, otherwise.
It's little jabs, usually. Skin deep, just enough to feel. A tossed off joke about becoming one with the camera, the wall, the chair. About remembering to recharge my battery, as though I am the camera, and don't simply hold it. Things that earn a smile or laugh from the others, and that matters just as much as the rest. Seeing them laugh, even if it is at my expense. Especially if it is. Then it means that in a convoluted way, I've made them happy. Laughter doesn't work like hurting, but it's better than nothing. Better than numb.
Sometimes he's more subtle. A touch, a carress. Brushing past when there's plenty of room to go around. Making me know he's there, and that he knows I'm there. Before moving on to Mimi and enveloping her. Eyes strangely knowing as he rests his chin on her shoulder from behind and watches me from the corner of his eyes. I'm sure he knows the pain twists deeper, then. With a tinge of bitterness and jealousy that makes it that much more real. I know he does it to help me.
I'm sure he wouldn't do it, otherwise.
Maureen is too flakey to truly know what she's doing. Her words barely penetrate, any longer. Collins can spar, but steps back from wounding. If he knew what I couldn't feel, he'd be horrified. I don't want to hurt him, any of them. I don't want them to know. That my body feels as though it's fallen into a stupor, dragging my mind with it. Enveloped, numb. Tugged towards oblivion. Insecurity fades, but with it life and love and hope. It seems too heavy a price.
It would be so easy.
A quick heavy swipe. Another room of red to be discovered by the unsuspecting. I wonder if I would be immortalized in song. It's the true agony of fear that I *wouldn't* be that is the greatest. The one I rarely think about, but never fails to bring me back, if only for a little while.
It is a pain I embrace. Sometimes, there's nothing else.
Sometimes, pain is everything.
A/N: *sighs* I've missed tormenting Markie. :)
It doesn't have to be physical. That's almost too easy. A nearly gentle jab with the edge of a razor, a few drops of blood. Enough of a sting to let me know that I'm still among the living. Easy enough that if I keep at it, it'll have to be more. Deeper, wider. And I'm not so far gone that I can't see how badly that could turn out. So I leave that for when I'm truly desperate.
Mental pain is harder to come by. Not because they won't be forthcoming upon demand, but because I tend to fade to the background. 'There's Mark with his camera again.' The words almost fond, before I become as inanimate as the object I hold.
Once and awhile, though, someone will come through for me. Notice me there silently filming away from my little corner of the loft. Roger is especially good at it. He knows me so well, I'm almost sure he says the things he does just to make me feel. I'm sure he knows about pain, and how it can be everything. Everything that keeps you sane and *there*.
I'm sure he wouldn't say it, otherwise.
It's little jabs, usually. Skin deep, just enough to feel. A tossed off joke about becoming one with the camera, the wall, the chair. About remembering to recharge my battery, as though I am the camera, and don't simply hold it. Things that earn a smile or laugh from the others, and that matters just as much as the rest. Seeing them laugh, even if it is at my expense. Especially if it is. Then it means that in a convoluted way, I've made them happy. Laughter doesn't work like hurting, but it's better than nothing. Better than numb.
Sometimes he's more subtle. A touch, a carress. Brushing past when there's plenty of room to go around. Making me know he's there, and that he knows I'm there. Before moving on to Mimi and enveloping her. Eyes strangely knowing as he rests his chin on her shoulder from behind and watches me from the corner of his eyes. I'm sure he knows the pain twists deeper, then. With a tinge of bitterness and jealousy that makes it that much more real. I know he does it to help me.
I'm sure he wouldn't do it, otherwise.
Maureen is too flakey to truly know what she's doing. Her words barely penetrate, any longer. Collins can spar, but steps back from wounding. If he knew what I couldn't feel, he'd be horrified. I don't want to hurt him, any of them. I don't want them to know. That my body feels as though it's fallen into a stupor, dragging my mind with it. Enveloped, numb. Tugged towards oblivion. Insecurity fades, but with it life and love and hope. It seems too heavy a price.
It would be so easy.
A quick heavy swipe. Another room of red to be discovered by the unsuspecting. I wonder if I would be immortalized in song. It's the true agony of fear that I *wouldn't* be that is the greatest. The one I rarely think about, but never fails to bring me back, if only for a little while.
It is a pain I embrace. Sometimes, there's nothing else.
Sometimes, pain is everything.
A/N: *sighs* I've missed tormenting Markie. :)