4:55 p.m. - 03/22/02
walk around in circles walk around in circles walk around in...
Somehow or another I've developed a strong adversion toward IM conversations, but I actually *want* to have one right now, and no one (with the exception of my eldest brother) is on! Fucking IM karma.
Please excuse my dear Aunt Sally; I am having some major caffiene-induced jitters, so any typos can be blamed on my convulsing fingertips, and any incoherency can be blamed on the little mind-tremors I am trying to pass off as thoughts. Note to self: do not make rule never to consume caffeinated soda pop due to anxiety disorder, follow said rule long enough for body to lose any tolerance to caffeine, and then decide it won't be a big deal to drink a soda the color of slime, that resembles a radioactive chemical compound far more than it does a tasty treat.
It *really* wasn't my fault because I have a fucking migraine again and so few things are consume-able when you have a migraine. I needed to wet my pallate a bit, but I couldn't convince myself to drink any of the possible beverages, until the can of this Devil Soda caught my eye and convinced me it would be ok. Never trust a soda that glows in the dark.
I really should see a doctor about these headaches and bouts of queasiness that have begun ruling my life, but I see so many doctors, it really seems insane to tell my parents I need to see another one. And the goal of all the doctor visits I *do* have is to develop and maintain sanity, so doing something so obviously psychotic is simply not a good idea.
Salty grains are my life saver. I don't know why, but they're the only thing that goes down easily when I'm having a migraine. Break out the Tostitoes and the saltines. For some reason I have yet to discern, they kick viral ass. Actually, I don't think migraines are viral - they're some silly sleep-deprivation/stress induced syndrome that sites online try to pass off as a political issue, which I don't really understand. I mean, I have them (I think), I hate them, they're the worst (physical) pain I've been in next to the sixth-grade ear aches that almost permanently deafened me. But when I read that the President made some official statement to Migraine sufferers, I'm a bit wary. I mean, there is not, as far as I'm aware, a social cause of migraines, so why is the President involved? I think he should put together some committee to come up with a cure, and then he should try and remember that he announced a fucking *war* and maybe it's time he paid attention to that.
I was going to write yesterday, but it was the fourth day in my typical cycle of "no sleep, no sleep, no sleep, coma"...which means that from about 7:00 on, I was zombielike. Which sucked a bit because I really needed to let some things out either here or via the telephone, and I just couldn't bring myself to call anyone. Or actually RED. I wanted to call RED. I'm not sure why, but for some reason I was convinced I would talk to Lainie (or perhaps Leah) and I couldn't handle that. The thing that makes this really odd is that today I called *wanting* to talk to Lainie (who I haven't spoken with since discharge)...I didn't get her, but I did end up with "What A Difference A Day Makes" stuck in my head which is (also) annoying because I only know the first two lines, and when I tried to look them up online I ended up getting all this shit referring to September 11th.
A day? Fuck them. Try what a difference a terrorist attack killing thousands of people makes. The sun didn't exactly rise on 9/11 and influence several people to attack the United States. I mean, there *was* a bit of a build-up...
Like, say, a couple hundred years...
Ah, patriotism. I realized yesterday that I'm a pretty sucky person in terms of spirit - be it for my nation, my state, my county, or my school. I always figured it was because I lived in a dumb state and went to a dumb school, but I moved and I'm still just as bitter. It's ok though because I don't really like any other country *better* than America, and I don't hold the fact that people are from the US against them - I just hold the fact that they're zealous nationalists against them. This is completely not what I should be talking about (hello, caffeine) but it interests me. I used to mutter obscenities at drivers who had Confederate flags on their truck bumpers; now I get just as pissed when people drive by with the current flag posted in view. I mean brainwashing.
Ok, I've calmed down a bit; maybe I can talk about something a little more worthwhile now. Though the headache (despite all the happy white flour salt) is still going strong, and if I think too much about things that actually matter I'll stress, the anxiety and the headache will get worse, and no one will enjoy this entry. So I'll try to keep it kind of low-key...
Low-key. Chord. Ha.
I saw Harriet yesterday night (the Friday appointments are now on Thursdays - except for next week because Thursday is Passover, and Harriet, God bless her, is actually religious). It went really fucking bad. Bad enough that when it was over, I took the long way out- through the little hidden sitting area outside, that no one can really see from the parking lot, and I just sat on a bench and cried my eyes out for a few minutes because I thought the tears were inevitable and I didn't want my dad to see. But then I realized that I was more needing to scream and sob than I was to physically *cry.* The tears were secondary; I was mostly making noise. So I put my coat down, shivered, (because it's been a whole 2 degrees the past few days), wiped my eyes and glasses so that I looked a little more presentable, and called on my best acting training - which, unfortunately, was not enough to call Dad off the scent. But it did a little good. At least I didn't start bawling on the way home.
It's not that I have to hide things from him; it's just that I want to choose when people approach me about how I'm doing. I did not want to talk to him about what had gone on with Harriet, I did not want to talk to him about how I was feeling, and I did not want to risk how cold I would sound if I said that, so I just tried to cover it as best as possible and decide which would be a better remedy once I got home: soft boy vocals or sappy brassy break up songs.
I chose the soft boy vocals, but I ended up not listening to anything - because, you know, the coma kicked in.
I'm not completely sure what happened, though I knew last night, and I probably will remember again once my brain begins functioning correctly again. Right now it's going fast-speed, slow-mo, fast-speed, slow-mo, like a dying car attempting to shift gears. This is not a good place from which to construct sentences.
I do know that I really need to see her, and I really hate seeing her. I can't manipulate her. (I know. This is good.) I can't make her like me or pity me or feel any sort of "there, there, you poor thing" ness for me, and as much as I don't want to be treated like a child, it's better than being treated like a client. It really is.
I mean...it's not. It's not. It's bad to be treated like a child when you're not one, and it's good to have a professional relationship with someone who is a professional in your life, but it simply sucks that I have no offline friends in hugging distance, and one of the three or four people I talk to each week, (parents, teacher, Harriet) I feel no connection toward. She talked to me a time or two ago about how good it is of me to risk connecting with her and even though I know I *have* (a little bit) I'm aware that one of the reasons I've stayed is because I know I can't connect to her in a way that feels unbearable to break. I have my separation issues, and any sort of break-up is still hell, but Harriet doesn't call forth my somewhat high-strung infatuation. She isn't Chas or Ruth or Mandy or anyone else who makes me salivate.
I don't know. It just sucks that she's so good for me when she feels so non-good. I'm the type of kid who *likes* spinach and brussel sprouts and all of those things, so it's really hard to draw a parallel. Most things that are good for me, I like. Moving is good for me, and I like moving. Spongebob is good for me, and I like Spongebob. Therapy is good for me, and I like therapy. Therapy with Harriet is good for me, and I can't stand it.
I mean, I can - I wouldn't even want to cut down to once a week because I know I need those two appointments still, but I'm just in need of people that I really feel connected to, and Harriet isn't one of those people. Which is also good for me because if that need was fulfilled by her, I'd probably never fight my social anxiety and my shame and all the other shit that keeps me in my pseudo-agoraphobia and *meet* people but in this in-between period, before I've successfully fought it, before I've met people, it still sucks. I want a friend, damnit.
I'm a pretty good friend. Maybe I should put up a want ad. That would be amusing. I could put it up at that grocery store where I saw the girl by the soda machine. Maybe she'd call me and we could be friends.
Or maybe I should just suck it up and go to school. Maybe but not yet.
I talked to Brea today (instead of Lainie.) It's odd to talk to her again so soon, even though I guess it's been a week or two. It was nice, though, even though my voice was shaking the whole time, and I felt dumb because I couldn't control it. We had some fun exchanges. Like, she asked me how I was doing with food, and I told her it was fine, and she said, "Yeah?" and I said "Yeah. Actually. I didn't even really think about it, but yesterday...yesterday was seven months without purging."
And she said, "Seven months?" (Yeah.) "HOLY SHIT!" I laughed, and she said, "Sorry," and I laughed again and told her that was the last thing in the world she should feel a need to apologize to me for. It made me feel good. And she started talking about how she and Leann had talked about me today, how I'd called recently and was doing well, and that Dave would be excited to hear about the seven months. Dave. What a dork.
It's sad, but somehow, in the four months I've been out of the hospital, I've gone from being annoyed with the quirks of Dave to genuinely missing him. Maybe I will end up writing that book with him. If he lets me. I had a dream last night that I talked at my middle school the way I've considered doing, and afterward, Dave was there and he was teasing me and being all shitty, because I actually told him that I want to do the book, and he kept stringing me along saying how he wasn't sure...
It would be a pretty unique book that Dave and I would write. And we'd be funny on talk shows. Because I think it's rare that two people who give each other so much shit engage in a major project together. Other than marriage that is.
So I talked to Brea (who has mono! why the fuck does she have to have mono?! poor Brea), and it was good. She got on me about not writing her, and I said, "I did write you!" (like three months ago; yeah, Mary, that counts.) Then I added, "Did you write *me?*" (No.) And she was like, "I can't write you yet!" and I was like, "well, I know...but *still*..."
So then I said (Jesus, I sound like a bad forties movie) "So what, I just have to keep writing, and keep calling, and basically keep doing *all* the work until it's been a year?" And she was like, "Yes" and I laughed and she asked how long it's been. I calculated. "Four months."
"It's only been four months?!" she cried.
I calculated again. "Yeah," I said. "'Cause I left in November."
"Oh," she said. "Right. November."
"So I have to do the rest of the work for six more" (wait, there are 12 months in a year, not 10, "I mean - eight more, months?"
"Yeah. Well...at least for a couple more. Maybe then we can fudge it a little."
And we laughed. And smiled. And I thought, holy cat-eating pudding, this girl is really going to stay in my life whether I like it or not, and I'm so so so so so so so so glad. I got off the phone with her and actually *sang* "Brea/ I just met a girl named Brea/ and suddenly that name/ will never be the same/ to me..." which is really idiotic considering that, among other things, I met her seven months ago. But at least it temporarily removed "What A Difference A Day Makes."
Auditions for the play that comes after the play that won YPI's contest are tomorrow. Sarah's directing it, and she and I are kind of in a so-so spot right now (which is a step down from where we normally are.) We never really *fight,* (which sucks - fighting is good; it convinces me that I can say the wrong thing and have a relationship survive) but every now and again we catch each other when we're both insecure, and she tries to fix my insecurity, which pisses me off, and my being upset upsets her, and it just gets bad. For instance, the play sucks right now, and I'm having trouble with it, and so of course, she's having trouble with the fact that she's directing a play I think sucks (even though I *wrote* it and am allowed to have a moment when I think it's shit) so we kind smacked heads a little yesterday on the phone. And I ended up crying and she ended up apologizing and it was just dumb because I shouldn't put her through that and still, I should be able to say I think something I wrote is bad (and needs to be worked on) without her flipping out.
I mean, Jesus. I look up to her. She's a great girl. I love her. But the dear grew up in this house, too, and is, therefore, not completely stable either. So...occasionally, I'm reminded of that, and it's hard.
I need to make a list of all the offline people in my life who I want to stay in my life (that sounds really awful, but I don't mean it to be) so that I can keep track of whether or not I'm staying in touch of them. Since I found those three addresses, I've gotten a lot more hopeful because I know that some of them, if they write back, can get me in touch with more of the girls, and I can really start to have a network to know how people are doing. I need that. Even if I don't maintain real relationships with all of, or any of, these girls - even if they don't need to be penpals- I need to know how they're doing. I guess I really am RED's poster child. I was thinking today about what it means to me that I'm a Rogers alum (they're actually called that, just like college) and I realized it's going to be a big part of my life. I'm never going to be the girl who doesn't mention it, who hides it, who covers up that part of her. I'll probably be the girl coming back to help with the newsletter. I always thought that was sad- for instance, I never understood why someone would move back to my hometown after college to work at the school...but it doesn't make me sad anymore. I mean, this part of my life is important to me, and there really isn't anything wrong with honoring the fact that it's important.
So screw my former misperceptions.
I think the other thing that strains my relationship with Sarah (that she understands is there, and that we really should talk about at some point) is that she is a 20-something girl for whom our production company really is a life and a job and a goal, and for me...I'm 17. I haven't graduated high school, I haven't gone to college, I haven't figured out who I am or what I want. And even though I know that, basically, no one has, that that's a process everyone is going through, I can't make the same sort of committment to the company that she makes. Which is ok with her, but it's still hard. I mean, for all I know, I'll graduate my please-god-college, move to Wisconsin, and work at RED for years. I think I'd be happy doing that, especially if I lived in Madison because then I could have culture, and if I continued writing. I don't necessarily want to move to NY and be known for RMM. And she understands that, but she doesn't (she's asked me about it, but I haven't been fully honest- so we need to talk.)
The other thing that bothered me - she said that it's ok if the play isn't ground-breaking theater, and that RMM isn't going to change the face of theater and that's ok. And I know that's just her way of keeping her perfectionism from taking over, which I understand. It's ok with me that we're not going to change the face of theater because I don't want to - I want to change the world, and if I survive my life, I *will.* I don't plan to settle for doing my best. I plan to live in a way that affects the people I know. I'm not going to use my best as an excuse. I'm going to push myself. I do that too much sometimes, but there has to be a balance, and I refuse to let some form of "relaxation" keep me from doing what I dream.
I know Sarah wants to push the envelope - I mean, she's *my* sister, and she's in experimental theater for Christ's sake. But still, I'm really starting to realize that we aren't of the same mold in every way, which is a hard thing to determine for me. I spent most of my life trying to be Sarah, and to realize that not only am I not her, but I don't completely want to be, is tough. I love her, I admire her, I think she's incredible - but she's human, and it isn't fair to idolize a human. And it isn't fair to me to make my own being secondary to someone who already exists. Let Sarah be Sarah, in other cliche words.
As for me, I'll keep trying to be me - as Brea says, "in the end it'll work out..." One of these days, it'll all be grand. I have a new realization that I'm not human, which I'll have to talk about later. I don't fully understand it, but I know it's true. I know in that deep-down, call-me-crazy-if-you-want-to, sort of way.
So whatever I am, whoever I am, I have to be me. Because Brea and Ruth and whoever else is going to stay in *my* life - so...it's in my best interest to do so as well.
a very ramblish
chord
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