10:07 p.m. - 10/14/03
48 hours investigated.
The past 24 hours have been...better than the past 48. Yesterday was seriously difficult, as my anxiety decideed to blow up in my face and make it basically impossible to do anything. A few weeks ago, when I started seeing the doc twice a week, I knew that I was struggling; for some reason, it still shocked me when he left and I had to deal on my own. I have a really, really difficult time with feeling so poorly because even though I know that recovery is not a straight-line upward-trend, I keep expecting it to be; I keep feeling like if I seem the way I used to be, I am who I used to be. And that's entirely untrue; I am a very different person, no matter what I seem. But I need to get into the root of that thought and pluck it up entirely. It's a nasty one that comes back far too often. And struggling is difficult enough without assuming it means relapse. Why do I still not know that, instinctively?
I started to cry while my mom was eating yesterday. Lunch or dinner, I can't remember which. I was sitting across from her, struggling quite a bit, not joining her for the meal (I think I'd already eaten. Unless it was supper - in that case, I was planning to eat later, which I didn't...) and I just started bawling. I started saying how I couldn't leave the house and I couldn't even eat a fucking meal without freaking out, and she just instantly came around the table to my side and held me. I told her how stressed I was about an impending visit to Joel's (Thursday, visiting and supper), how it seems so impossible considering I can't leave or socialize or eat. (When the other Mary came over Sunday, I stayed in my room, trying to write through how anxious I was. I think she's a marvelous person, I was looking forward to being around her, and I didn't even get to say "hi.") Fucking anxiety. And then, yes, to top it off, I missed a meal. It hasn't happened in a long while, though certainly not *as* long awhile as a purge. It's seriously disconcerting. And even though I knew that it was all about anxiety, that my anxiety was truly driving this and not my ed, I can hardly be comforted by the fact, considering that's how my ed started. I was a great deal relieved when I actually went to sleep last night and could finally feel myself getting hungry. I've been spinning (and when I'm not spinning, sleeping, depressed) so much lately that those feelings are hard to find. Being hungry reminded me of the times at Rogers when I hadn't done well with my supper or my snack or something, and I would go to bed feeling the hunger. When time had passed and my eating was generally good, those rare incidents were always sort of a reminder. Of how much it sucked. Of how I wanted to meet my needs, rather than pretend I didn't have them.
Today was better. Mom went grocery shopping last night. (Love bless her; I had entirely forgotten that when she asked me what she could do I mentioned two foods she could buy, and she went out and *bought them* - along with some other needed groceries, at a store out near D!@#$%^ before she taught last night. -The stores here are all still striking.- I was so grateful.) My mom is just astounding me. She's so wrecked right now over the loss of her mom, husband, marriage, and so many other things, and there are a few tiny places where that really starts to grate on me - and it gets hard that I'm the only one here ... but in so many ways, she's changed so much. I want to remember to say that to the person I talk to at Rogers next. I want to tell Brea and Stacy and all those others who helped me through the (beginning of the) pain of how my parents had been/ not been. My mom is really working hard. I feel safe having emotions around her. I feel safe letting her hold me, even when I still feel strong and eighteen and not like a little kid who wants her mommy. I even think that part of the reason I had such a good relationship with my grandmother - despite a few key differences in our life views - was because my mom had transcended those issues. My mom had grown past the boundaries of the woman her mother was, and so I didn't need to take on the pain of the issues that separated us. I don't know if that even makes sense outside my head, but my heart understands it rather well. I'm working on honing my heart-speech interpreting skills, but so far this is the best I can do.
Speaking of said skills - I sent Sarah the script for the most recent play, a one-act called "Steep", today. She whipped back an e-mail saying she thinks it's better than the piece before it (which still needs some work) and the piece before *that* (which was our favorite.) We talked on the phone for a moment, and I told her that I thought it was the clearest since the one that won YPI's contest, but had poetic merit gained through the process of writing the others, and she wholeheartedly agreed. Whee. This is what I've been working on in my writing: balancing symbolism and emotive expression with realistic, rational communication, instead of getting caught up at one extreme or the other. And it worked! I still have some developmental work to do on the piece (obviously), but it's always heartening to hear your newest work is your best, even if it's just one girl's opinion. Actually, at this point, it's maybe two girls' opinions. I have to decide whether or not I concur. I have the not-entirely-unhappy complication of feeling like the plays and the characters therein are family and not wanting to choose favorites. But by the end of the process, I can usually tell objectively what I think of a piece - on its own and in relation to the others. Anyway, a couple of edits thrown in tomorrow morning, and then "Steep" and the YPI play are both off to Perishable Theatre's International Women's Festival (or something like that). The group is in search of I think it was, "emerging women playwrights with unique voices"... Can we say calling Mary Brave? They even wanted ten to thirty minute plays, and Godd knows I can't write anything over forty minutes! So, woot! I send the parcel off to Providence tomorrow. And what a lovely place to submit to Providence is. I've never been to Rhode Island, but after the recent struggle (once again) with trying to control the entire universe instead of letting the universe work itself out, tossing a couple of plays to Providence doesn't seem like a bad metaphor. It sounds good to me. I'd like to give a little more of my life back to that Love. I'm a bit calmer now (after a near panic attack tonight - again, it's been so long...I was terrified; it's just how I feel in my nightmares: heart pounding or seeming to stop, unable to breathe, temperature shooting up and down - oh, and did I mention the nightmares haven't stopped?), and I'm remembering that the fact that I'm not responsible for the universe is a gift, not a curse, and that I can "surrender" what isn't mine to fix, revel in what I do have, and thank "God" that I'm only responsible for my small portion of life. I have a difficult enough time with that.
Mm. Ever since I started to broaden my belief of "God" beyond a typical personification, I have a harder and harder time communicating in human ways (like, you know, praying) and feeling heard. In my head, I believe that I can interpret what-I-don't-call-God however I need to in order to connect in that moment, but my heart struggles more with it. It's difficult to talk to a force instead of a being. Maybe I need the force to be a being. Maybe I need more time, time to find balance the way I'm finding balance in my writing, so that I'm not at the extreme of trying to fit myself into standard religion (which did not work) or the extreme of tossing the generally-accepted God to the wind and creating my own. I mean, I haven't gone *quite that far* - seeing as I do still believe in something, and I accept the interpretations of it that most religions use...I just need to come into my own understanding a bit more. Because not being able to hand over the heavy things is not working for me. It's a very good thing when the doctor offers to problem-sit for me, to babysit this or that issue until I'm ready. And "God" is...(I'm not taking this seriously, don't worry)..."God" is like the Great Therapist, the genuine SuperSuperDoc. And now I have to wonder...in all the literature and journeying recorded for religion (or spirituality) has *that* name ever been used before? Or am I the only person who finds a counselor-god easier to talk with than a parental one? The only problem with all of this is that I'm saying God to begin with ... that is not what I believe! Grr. The limitations of words. I'll figure out my own in time, and in the meanwhile, I'll try to accept imperfect phrasing. My beliefs are evolving constantly; it would be impossible to accurately convey what I believe beyond the second in which I am typing the sentence...so I can be ok with the imperfect attempts at articulation as I become more acquainted with what I'm trying to say and the words that work best for saying it. I can try and do that.
I still hold to the fact that English is my second language. (Oh, and...for my own affirmation let me just say: All three meals - and snacks - again today. Back on track. Back to struggling with the more invisible monsters. Which *is* worth something.)
-chorddle
p.s. I got the most amazing card from Robyn today, thanking me for participating in the walk for Autism research. I couldn't believe how touched she was. I may have to be silly and send her a thank-you-for-the-thank-you card, just to explain, what I'm sure she already sort of understands...that I had huge support in my own battle against disease two years ago (and continue to now), that walking with those 5000 people (the largest inaugural crowd the NAAR has ever had, thank you very much) was a moving experience for *me*, and that I felt peace there, understanding that their pain and my pain, their illnesses and my illness, are all so similar. We're all so similar. And "my world view is not so myopic"^ as to allow me to attend a fundraiser for EDs and not this one for autism. I need to do more of this sort of thing. Though, having them start sometime *after* ten in the morning, would be appreciated... Blessed, nightmare-free, uninterrupted sleep. Oh, how I hope for this. Ok, I'm really off now. To dream, perchance to sleep...
^Rosie O'Donnell, talking about how she wouldn't protest hate crimes against gay individuals until she could offer the same support to other hate crime victims...because if you're against hate, you're always against it, not just in the places where it fits your lifestyle
p.p.s. we're getting closer to the doctor's return. whee! -c.
�
�
