9:00 p.m. - 11/23/02
&and-though-I-know who.i'm.not - I still don't know who.i.am.*
Combination sinus drainage/ ice cream shake have made my tummy not so happy. I would whine, but there are better subjects to discuss. So I'm going to minimize my physical pain with the end of this paragrah. *sob* Ok, I'm done...
I had a pretty low-key day, after John's party last night. Neither went particularly poorly, which in our family is a huge success. I did manage to turn around my sadness somewhat last night before he arrived, and that put me in a better spot. I'm a little annoyed with myself, as my feelings seem to be talking through their eating disorder lingo instead of their actual needs. I know my body image can't be *this* shitty, and I can't really be that down on myself about pizza, but it's happening anyway. Tonight is a little better, though. I just stroke myself and pretend someone else is doing it. Once upon a time other people touched me without fear. My body does not sicken; it sustains.
I think it's about identity again, actually- my need to sustain who I am between moods/ episodes. I've focused lately on keeping the world "real"- not blurring it out visually or through fantasy (without consciously making the choice to do so) and confirming, through touch, the existence of my environment. I think that's important for me, I really do, but I think the larger issue is my *own* permanence. It isn't enough to know that I am for the moment existing in a real place. I need to know that *I* am at all times real.
My thoughts on identity "constants" were pretty much fruitless. Although I imagine that the essence of who I am remains throughout the depressive or anxious bouts (it is always there when they end, after all) I couldn't seem to think of anything that I would be able to *see* inside those depressive lenses. And that's what I need. I need a link back into myself, so that my seratonin taking a holiday doesn't mean feeling soul-less for a week. I need a means to stay connected to myself, and I think I stumbled onto a possibility last night while I was feeling sad.
After writing, I climbed upstairs into my bedroom, and I came across that paper I turned in for psych - the chronicle of my illness/recovery that I used to escape her "simulate the addictive mindset" assignment. I reread it, as well as her kind comments about certain feelings/thoughts I've had about myself at times, and by the end, I felt oddly revived. I even managed to go downstairs and eat my dinner with the simple encouragement of, "I have a right to sustain myself. If I'm going to survive this, I need to be fed" - which after yesterday was once again, a semi-big deal.
I didn't understand it at first. I've gone through my writing before during moments of non-okayness, and it usually does more damage than good. Reading atomgirl, for instance, very rarely sends me into joyfullness. But I think a lot of it had to do with the reminder of what I've come through, and even more so, where I come from. Such a huge part of identity seems to be heritage, our background, our origin, those who helped us surface even in the pain. The last part of the paper states very clearly that Rogers was my first home, the people their my first loving family, and that I owe the opportunity to be myself to them. Having stated that so clearly, I felt reconnected. I know it's a struggle for me to keep believing that, when so many people would rather I didn't, when Rogers-people themselves might encourage me to do otherwise, but not doing so makes me feel so distorted, so fraudulent and grossly out of sync. I said it a few entries back, that I've been living every day as someone other than myself, and the psychic craziness of that has escalated as of late. I think that's a huge part of what's been bothering me, a huge part of what's translating into food. I think I'm dreading Thanksgiving because it means several thousand pies sitting around for days; the truth is I'm dreading Thanksgiving because it means even more family around, even more perceived pressure to be someone other than myself.
I don't know if it makes sense, really, but I almost feel I don't have a right to tell them who I'm not because I don't know who I am. Case and point: I feel I can't tell people to shut the fuck up about guys because I can't say I like girls. Again, I just feel being gay would make things so much easier. I hate what I have to put up with, what feels so fundamentally wrong, downright abrasive, to me. I hate the guys who can't take no for an answer, and the older girls who think it's *so cute* if someone (even a complete creep) is interested, and the fact that I can't even make a girl-meets-girl sort of joke without having to disclaim it. It's just one instance, but that's how so much of my life feels. It's like, if I could just *know* who I am, then maybe I could share it with people, but I don't feel it's fair to tell them something's wrong if I can't give them any understanding to replace it.
That could very well be therapy's fault. I learned early on that telling people *how* to be helpful was a lot more effective than bashing them for not being so. But I'm just so tired. I'm tired of shutting everyone out, trying to keep who I am safe from their comments, safe from their judgment or even their evaluation. I'm tired of keeping who I am under wraps because if I don't know who I am, what right do I have to ask they not mistreat the person? I don't really understand why saying, "I'm asexual" doesn't have the same effect. I mean, that should be just as valid a reason for people to shut the fuck up on the guy-issue as being gay. Except. I don't feel asexuality is valid. I experience it, but I doubt it at the same time. I tell myself constantly that people hear that and just think, "God, she's kidding herself" because I think so, too. When's the last time you met an asexual adult? But anything else seems like hell to me because I'm so afraid and can't imagine being otherwise. Let's cuddle and talk late and play with each other's skin, but please don't make me take off my clothes and be a woman.
Jesus.
I want to go home. And that's more than Rogers, whether I want to admit it or not. (not.) It's about the freedom to be who I am exactly as I am, without any self-imposed censors. I don't want to tailor myself to the expectations I perceive; that only leads to losing sense of who I am completely, and I know that. I experienced that. I lost myself completely once, and so I *feel* it when it starts to happen. I feel the loss, the disconnection, the detachment from something so vital as who I am. I feel the craziness of a world that spins around and doesn't recognize me - because I refuse to show them fully who I am...
That I get angry. I get frustrated. I'm not amused by people who have shit to deal with and don't start. I'm not amused by people with mental illness who won't get help, who pout or say they are not worthy. Even if they believe it, and I'm hurt by the trut, I'm not amused. That I'm tired. I'm tired of parents who don't know who the fuck they are or how to cope with life, let alone how to cope with anyone else in a relationship. I'm tired of them being my "guardians" and my key example of what relation is. I'm tired of not being able to call the people who I love, either for inner fear or outer restrictions, and I'm tired of not letting myself come out to play enough to even recognize who she is. I didn't know who I was when I started being her at Red, and the truth is, if I wait my whole life to be myself, I'll never know. I can't keep her in the dark hollows of my shoulder blades, peering in at her during the night, and expect her to flourish and fuel me. I have to find out who I am by letting myself be the parts of her I know. And one of those parts says, "FUCK OFF, BOYS." I don't know why it says that, and I know it doesn't include all of them. It doesn't include Scotty or Matt or Dr. R...I hate it because it seems so like prejudice, and I know I have to talk to him about this, but I just feel like such a freak. Again. Like it would be easier if I could say, "I like girls." Hey, how cool would that be? Who would expect me to like guys when there are *girls* in the world? But not having a pull toward either? That's just a cop-out. Maybe I watch too many movies and I have the Token Rapist in my head, telling the lesbian he's going to teach her how sex is supposed to be. I know it's fucked, but I feel like normal rights about sexuality, and yes about identity, don't apply to me. Like I don't have the right to say, I don't want this, unless I know what it is I do want. I can't leave if I don't have somewhere to go. I can't say no or yes or this-is-how-I-feel, if I don't have a reason to justify it.
I want to be enough. Just me. And I realize now that I have to choose that beyond the messages I give myself internally. I have to choose it in my life, my action. I talk against the shame, and then I reinforce that- for protection at the very least- I cannot be who I am. And that's bullshit. If I want to believe my soul-self is good, I have to know who she is and be who she is, not necessarily in that order. I'm making a soul-survival kit, as suggested by everyone's favorite self-help guru, Melody Beattie. I think it might end up a mobile, which is rather scary, but it's a good reminder of what has sustained me. I think that was the real lesson in my paper. My past is constant, no matter what lenses I see it through. And the especially important thing is not what I've experienced, but that I survived it, and *how* I survived it. It's one thing to say, "I nearly died in seventh grade" and another to say, "but listening to Tori Amos saved my life." That means she touched on something in me, gave me something new or access to a part of myself, and those are gifts that I still have. If I can gather the gifts maybe they can be keys to who I am. Herm. Maybe I need to make a key chain.
blessings, all.
chord
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