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12:15 p.m. - 12/29/01
mama, this must be my dream...
It occurred to me a few moments ago that I've never heard a Staind song I couldn't relate to. Normally, that would be grounds to invest in the CD, but I have such trouble buying "that kind" of music. I'm still so scared of angry boiz. *sigh* At the very least I need to download "Fade" and "For You" to aid in my shadowboxing...I did get my punching bag and gloves for Christmas after all, and I'm beginning to sense they'll come in handy. Harriet said the other day that my anger and sadness might be a bit mixed up still, and so it makes sense that I don't *feel* angry at all, while I keep doing angry things. Or that the things I *do* feel angry over are small and silly. Like, "hey, no one put the soda in the refrigerator; I think I'll punch a hole in that wall." My anger is currently disproportionate, which if I remember correctly, implies that I'm angry about something larger...Yes.

I keep hearing Dave telling me that I think too much and risk too little. He was a full-fledged cannonball type guy, while I kept waiting at the edge of the water, dipping my toes in to see if it suddenly seemed slightly more inviting...

I think these are extinuating circumstances, though. I think there are times when distance and defensiveness make *sense.* The way that eating disorders and disassociation make sense. It ends up being a hard coping mechanism to heal, as you can do more damage using it than you heal, but it does give you a moment to breathe. So I analyze, over-analyze. I learned it from my mom and from my soul...I also crochet. I'm almost finished with my second scarf this week. It's fuzzy blue homespun. I wish it were a blanket, but by the time I ever finished a blanket, I'd feel too much resentment toward the piece to use it. I should just make a bunch of scarves and crochet them together. Maybe I'll do a granny-square piece.

Do I sound like an old lady yet? I talk about meds and yarn and grief. I wonder if I could be an honorary senior citizen. That might be fun for a week.

I went to the doctor today, the country doctor, my psychiatrist who doesn't talk about meds. I don't think he mentioned them once today, which is *slightly* negligent, but not really...seeing as I needed to talk much more than I needed to give him the run-down of symptoms and side-effects, none of which he could medicate based on the fact that all of my recent problems (insomnia for instance), are *recent* problems (i.e. since Sunday when I heard) and we have to wait it out and make sure they are persistent before we jump into prescriptions. I like that about him, too. I hate pills, but I love being healthy. It's important to balance the two.

He did give me a prescription though. It says that my perceptions are completely valid, and that they are as real and as important as everyone else's. Which means even my mom. That's the type of thing they do at RED, give you prescriptions telling you to trust yourself. I mean, they dish out the mood-stabilizers as well...but I think there's a general misunderstanding about which type does more. Seratonin or no seratonin, I still need people *caring* about me...A deficiency in *that* regard is much more difficult to cure.

It's nice to know I have them...I've gotten some really sweet e-mails the past few days, and Britt, your entries mean a lot. I'd tell all of you that I never mean to make you worry, but the people whose worry worries me already know that. There's something beautiful in that you do it anyway...as long as it doesn't escalate to your detriment, you know?

Mom turned off the second Staind song I heard on the radio today. When I asked her why, she said, "I don't know; I guess I was thinking I needed to hear something." She flipped the switch back on, and I couldn't help from echoing, "Yeah, Mom, you do. This. But not until I ask you to listen."

"The silence is what kills me/ I need someone here to help me/ But you don't know how to listen/ And let me make my decisions..."

The silence gets us nowhere/ gets us nowhere way too fast...Yeah, I can relate to that.

chord

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