11:59 p.m. - 12/25/02
:-until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow!:
Just barely. :) Anything special I'm supposed to do in this last minute?
It's funny, but I've gotten so grateful for how simple Christmas can be. Even with its rough spots this year, it couldn't compare to the shock and pain of the last time around. I still thought about what it means that Tracy has no presents, but maybe she can see what she does have, and maybe it isn't so awful to see the world through her perspective. It wasn't like last year, when her parents had surely bought her gifts already, when she couldn't open them, and I had barely heard before the holiday arrived. The fact that it will never again be like last year (God willing) is comforting, even through the anniversary. And I feel more confident in the idea that she's ok, that I can be ok myself. Something I read on-line said that I need to take the anniversary as my time to celebrate my own progress, and I think that's extended into celebrating the progress we've made together. Realizing we've had time together this past year made a significant difference. I mean, I can't have new memories if she's over, can I? I'd rather believe this than not so I will. I will teach myself to have this deep a faith, even though it will take great time. I need to learn to quit saying "dead" as a synonym for finished. I need to throw that word out and find something new.
Something new, born for the first time or in a way not yet attempted. A death blow is a life blow to some. ..Over and over and over again, until I believe fully. Until I believe something that lets me sleep at night.
Joe finally made his way through the snow to arrive in the early afternoon. He pushed through the thickness surrounding the house, snowflakes fine as sand that cannot form a snowball. We forced him into a chair, fed him roast beef, and began the present-opening. And I remembered last year, when I couldn't touch my gifts. I felt some excitement, though, some anticipation, to give and to receive. Shopping had been so horrendous (I nearly cried in a store, finished, came home by myself, listened to Alice Ripley and fell asleep) that the joy in gift-giving felt odd and unexpected. I started with the gifts I felt less sure of- the Mystery Machine I'd gotten Joe, the cartoon calendar I'd found for Dale, and built up to the better ones, such as John's "Make-A-Bob" (Spongebob equivalent of Mr. Potato Head.) All gifts seemed to go over well, which made me feel better. Going first also helped. I use that as my disclaimer: we'll build from my small budget and uncertain purchases into something hopefully better. I think most people were happy, which was nice. I couldn't believe my fortune, personally. Seems weird to run through the litany, even though so many people do, but what the hey- my kneesock collection doubled (not difficult as I only had three pairs) by way of a red-and-black checkered pair, some standard argyles, and an awesome black pair with silver stars. I know I'm supposed to be sad about socks, but come on- these are kneesocks. And they're cool. Then, Joe got me this amazing Hagrid figure. The quality surprised me, since so much of the HP merchandise is such dreck. But it's great, and it's Hagrid, which makes it particularly wonderful. They don't have a McGonogall, according to the box, which means the only competition for What I Would Have Picked Myself would be Dumbledore. Sweet. Toys are good. Other toys included a Spongebob Uno game and a meowing Gary. Yes! A large, soft Gary that actually meows. Oh, thrilling. I also earned a darling fishnet shirt (black) which can help me look less like Mary-in-middle-school and a pair of Gary shoelaces, which I can't imagine wearing. (Hair ribbons, perhaps?) Dale was surprisingly cool about gifts. I must figure out how he is, who he is. I sent him a list but off it he chose The Female Man and "Massive Blur" which I completely would not have expected. He also hooked me up with Coraline and some random Spongebob wears. (Despite the apparent extensiveness of the Spongebob wears, I was nowhere near Sarah's Hello Kitty stash. Ha.) From John, I got "Ghost World" (haven't seen it, but I grew up loving Thora Birch, and have a great affinity for Steve Buscemi) and a Spongebob racing game, which is thoroughly addictive, despite the fact that it's intended for six-year-olds (methinks.) Sarah got me a book of cool-looking plays called "Cellophane" - along with two of the three kneesock pairs, and my Grandma helped me climb out of my massive brokeness following gift-shopping. Whoo. I can never believe the extent of gifts, even though as my brother pointed out, "you just ask for cheap things." If I were smart, I would have asked for a CD burner, but it didn't occur to me to do so until yesterday. I feel weird writing about it all here, but it's more about how very cool the sentiment is...affirming my writerness, or my silliness, or my cool-sock-ness. I've got to find out what part of Dale reaches for Massive Blur and The Female Man, though. I must tap into said part.
It's actually been a somewhat ok Christmas, surprising as that is. I felt a bit like I had stood in the center of a mall for eighteen hours when my whole family was here, but I took sometime upstairs to clean (Melissa Ferrick, Sleater-Kinney, Alice Ripley...) and that helped calm the nerves a bit. I really do need time of my own, though, along with space of my own. I love that there here, and I'm looking forward to when they're not. Or I would be if I could push my life a little closer to the life I want.
More important points: The eating disorder has been relatively under control all through the holiday, the only exception being somewhat bad body image. Oddly, when I looked at myself I felt find; it was just being in my body that seemed weird. I felt too big when I looked down, but my reflection seems perfectly normal. Perfectly me. Weirdness.
Yesterday, Mom said something along the lines of, "has anyone seen the knife with the candy cane on it that curves to the right? It's part of this set, and I can't imagine where it would be." Everyone started saying how it must be in the cabinet *somewhere*- after all, where else might it go- while I started to feel a little sick inside, and made the impulsive decision to go upstairs and track said knife (with a tree on top, not a candy cane) from its newest hiding spot in my room. I haven't used it in ages, but after taking it last year for not-so-good purposes, I still hadn't decided to return it. It's not that I couldn't get it just as easily from downstairs, but I just couldn't bring it down. Anyway, when she asked, I did- something I never would have done a few months ago. I handed it to her, mumbled, "it was a long time ago" and she smiled and hugged me and said, "I hope for a good reason" but caught on when I didn't respond. I made sure she washed it thoroughly, but I still felt good that I'd done it. Sometimes there are just such little bridges like that, such little parts of the old world that I keep in this one, unnecessarily. Less and less, I hope. Atomgirl, (by which I mean the original entries, not my actual self) in all her loveliness, is starting to seem unfamiliar. I think I'm needing distance from this illness again. I can't read through my journal, it's hard to read the e-mail, and I'm avoiding something fishy. I need some space to know who I am. To be her.
I've been cleaning through my things, also. Getting rid of what I do not need. It started with a wardrobe inventory I had to do for my fashion strategies class, which prompted me to sort out all the clothes that do not fit my body (in one direction or the other) and all those clothes that do not fit my spirit. I bagged up shirts from seventh grade, ones that made me feel withdrawn and mute again. I bagged up conservative pieces that even a funky combination could not reclaim. I bagged up the shrunken xs shirt that I loved and God Willing would never have been able to wear again. I thought about cutting it up and making art with it, but I decided in the end that I didn't even want to hang onto it that way. The memories are strong enough without all those reminders. I just wanted it gone.
And because Sarah-Delancey had the great sense to mention Anastasia Krupnik, I will end with the things that I want to do in place of other less-good things:
-finish cleaning my room and put up my posters
-make a mix tape for Shannon that I'd say should have been done months ago, if "should" weren't a shaming word
-play with clay
-read and read and read and read; read and write down quotes to make it sink even further into my brain
-crochet (I finished my scarf!)
-call Sara; talk to Tracy; write letters
-go in search of Silje's now-belated Christmas present
-work on plays # 4 and 5
-do silly recovery things that make me feel alive
Alive is so so good. I want to be free someday, and if I keep going I will get there. There are so many new beginnings, I hardly realize the progress I have made. But I'm doing damn well, in no small part due to your love...
chord
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