Corners

In elementary school, my erasers never lasted very long. I don’t remember what I would do with them. I don’t think I would ever just leave them on the desk or lend them out and just never get them back. But they would kind of just disappear after a day or two when I stopped caring, because once the edges rounded out I didn’t like to use them anymore. They wouldn’t be able to get the edge of the T without taking out the letters before it too. They couldn’t just fix a word, they’d have to change the entire sentence. The few times I would try to sharpen out a point, I’d be left with a pile of little grey flakes and very little eraser because it was never just quite right. And the little flakes would sit on this blank sheet of paper, and whenever I’d brush them into the trash, a voice in my head would whisper that I didn’t get them all. That one is stuck to my palm, one is on the floor, one is somewhere that I will never find. That in some way, one has managed to erase itself too.

The more poetic side of me has taken a brief hiatus. I’m sure in another week or two she’ll return, but my brain is tired. I have been sleeping more, though still not healthily, and I wonder if sleep deprivation was part of my issue. I have since discovered that what I experienced was less psychosis and more derealization. I like to imagine that it was just the chemicals. But if I actually think back, I’ve always had these strange intrusive thoughts. It was just easier to manage when I could hop over in my mind and focus on someone else. Focus on boys and bathe in the natural high that would give me. But it has been a few days and of course I don’t recognize that thought process anymore. I want to see someone about it, but I don’t know how I would even describe the episode if I’m not in it. I think it also helps that I have been actually a bit more busy than normal, doing work and helping my mom on her things. I recognize that I need to start studying, but I’ll tackle that issue in another week. Monday and Tuesday were mostly work and TV. I haven’t been as consistent with the exercising and it’s been hard to fight the fatigue.

Yesterday, I got dinner with Cashew at BCD Tofu House, who is doing very well for himself. He’s interviewing for new jobs and lives a very full very wonderful life. I would say that this week has been a very nostalgic week in terms of people and music and videos. I’m remembering all of the things I liked to do years ago, and I wonder if I actually really loved it in the moment, or I’m just tricking myself again. I’m quite sure that I did love orchestra. I actually asked Cashew about joining the one he’s in because I miss playing with people. I’m glad I didn’t cancel on him because of the weather. The trek there was horrific, and the way back was also terrible. I waited for a train that didn’t get going until I decided to take a different one, and then had to wait again for the one I switched to. And then I missed my stop because Google maps decided to betray me and I got out at the edge of Central Park where I walked very many blocks to get home. And after a while of fighting the wind with an umbrella that must’ve been made in France, I gave up and just let myself be drenched. And I kind of loved it. It felt powerful and freeing and amazing to just walk through so, so much rain and see the lights of New York City bounce off the clouds and rain and not be sure if those were flashes of billboards or lightning. I didn’t care about my hair or my clothes or the blister on my heel. I didn’t care about anything. I should do that more.

Today I got dinner with Light. And it’s been years since we last spoke but he hasn’t really changed all that much. We got food at Sukhumvit 51 and talked about where everyone else is and what we were up to. And I was particularly proud of myself because there were years where I couldn’t talk to him, but apparently I have since grown. He is still every bit as funny and witty and weird as I remember. And then we got ice cream at Emack and Bolio’s and sat on some stairs because the tiny park across the street from the Thai place was closed. He also gave me chocolate chip cookies that he made from scratch. There was a moment when we were crossing the street and he stood very close to me and I felt my heart beat a little bit faster so maybe I haven’t grown all that much. I hope it wasn’t a date. I don’t think it was a date. No boys for me. Not until I get a life for myself first.

About a week ago, I was rereading my journals from college. For years, I thought that my biggest regret was not kissing One when I had the chance. But past me wrote that we did kiss, and I pulled back. And even my roommates at the time confirmed that I kissed him and didn’t like it. So how was it that my mind decided to erase this memory? This memory that I thought was a huge regret. This memory that I would’ve thought I’d hold onto for sure, considering how much I liked him. I am floored. Because I can read through a series prep book the day before the test and pass the test. But somehow I cannot trust my own mind, and it likes to trick me. At dinner with Light, he brought up a Cat Nats tournament his junior year, my sophomore year and apologized for trying to kiss me if it had made me uncomfortable. And my stupid fucking mind. Did it again. Because I have no memory of that ever happening. I remember needing to share a room with him, I remember we had cuddled. I remember feeling euphoric and awkward and confused. But that he had tried to kiss me? Wiped. Completely. It’s like I found a rubber flake on the ground that I thought had disappeared. It does not look at all like I remember. And there might be some sort of pattern here because they are so similar. And they were boys I liked for years, boys I liked even when dating other boys.

I think I’m just frustrated because I wish it were easier to trick myself. I struggle with reality because a part of me always wants to keep changing it. Even now, I delete things that don’t fit in with my mind. I delete texts with Supposably, with Mambo, and I’ve done this with every boy I’ve been involved with. I delete pictures of myself because the me I see in those is not the me I think I am. I delete recordings, videos, because that is not what I think I should sound like. If I were to pass myself on the street, I know would not recognize me. Sometimes I even get confused looking in the mirror, because is that really what I look like? I wonder if I would find myself pretty. I wonder if I would like me. I wonder about all of the things that I would change. All of the things that, if I had an eraser with a corner sharp enough, I could fix without messing up anything else. I wish it were easier to forget about all of the things that made me sad, the embarrassing moments, the scars from cutting, the boys I liked that never liked me back. But no. My brain chooses to erase the times I had a chance that I didn’t take. Maybe that is for the best. But it makes me wonder, because I used to think that people were made up of their experiences, and especially their memories of those experiences. If my memories are wrong, aren’t I?

At dinner, Light talked about having super high expectations for the new Marvel movie he was going to watch. And when I asked why he would do that if he’d likely just be disappointed as a result, he brought up Mexi’s old oratory. Where she spoke about needing to go through life with your hands and arms open. Because although you might get hurt, you’d be able to catch all of the good too. And it would always outweigh the pain. I think it’s not a surprise that when I’m in the derealization episode, I’m sitting in the corner of a dark room, hands clenched, eyes closed. Someone once told me that in the case of an earthquake, you should go into a corner, where the room should be structurally stronger. Maybe that’s why I think of them as safe. Why I talk to the corner of my room at night, why I can’t use erasers once the corners are worn down, why I back myself into situations until it gets to the point where I have no choice but to act. I do not know if this is good or bad. I’m guessing for the long run it’s tilting towards bad. At some point I am going to have to open my hands and walk to the middle of the room. But for now, I am okay without all of the bad that comes with the good. For now, I am safe.