10:20 p.m. - 01/30/03
let me take time breathing in. *>>>
I swear I should keep a portfolio of scathing letters, if only to confirm my own suspicions about the frightful number of them I write. Tonight's wasn't particularly "scathing" though- just a quick note written to ask "ER" to keep its doctors from bashing eating-disordered patients. That's the second time I've seen such a scene on television (needlessly, of course) this week. So, despite the fact that I know they probably go unread, and despite the fact that I sometimes feel I'm overreacting, I write my letters and send them off to the appropriate addresses. Any action that can make me ashamed of myself or my illness deserves a response. And I think it really is about me, more than it's about the extent to which they'll take the wisdom in my words. When I break my own code of ethics, I apologize, whether or not I believe the person will hear me. When I feel violated, I speak up, whether or not I'll be heard. This includes media violations. When I know what else to do, I'll do it. In the meantime, I'm doing far more than I used to, but like I say often, I'm aware beyond my own awareness now. I act for myself and for the people who helped me find her. I fight the force that helped kill Tracy. I wouldn't know what else to do.
And sometimes I do wish someone would write me back. I want a letter that says, "Dear Mary Brave. We would like to thank you for the respect, sincerity, and importance of your comments regarding this issue. We recognize your perspective and share your injury. Thank you for bringing it to our attention. We have taken steps to prevent such matters in the future, and hope that you will continue to use your voice and keep us informed, to help in this process. Also, we respectfully suggest that your action is very much befitting of your name."
A stretch, yes. Far beyond what would light my heart a bit, considering. However, the fact that I can write myself that letter, that I can even dream of it, is further evidence that things have changed for me. Things have changed. And whatever that means, whatever's left to heal of it, I'm glad for this one part.
*
Change. It's interesting, honestly. My life is on its way to being infinitely better than it once was, and has honestly moved several thousand degrees in that direction. Despite this, I feel something like guilt, like sympathy, toward the part of me who wrote Atomgirl. I still call myself Atoms, I still consider myself that- because Atoms/Atomgirl was always bigger than who I was able to be when I first adapted her name. Atomgirl, the identity, had very little to do with the pain, something friends have helped me to see again. What I struggle with is this mindset I maintain that I was born at Rogers, that I have established a new life, that I'm so much "better" than I was. It's not meant as a judgment of that person I was, though honestly, I wouldn't mind a judgment. It's true that I am better now, that my life is better, that I'm more secure, that who I am now is good in a way who I was then could only want to be. My real problem is the disconnection, the need to have some part of her in myself, the need to know she's still here, that I still have her, that she, too, is experiencing this transformation. I need to claim her, which means to separate her from the pain, but I can't seem to do that. I know she's not the illness, but all I see of her connects her to it. If not the pain, she's the manner in which she survived it, and I wonder constantly where she is in me. I still ferociously identify as a survivor. I still call myself Atoms. But I can't seem to find her in a way that's firm, that's permanent.
Give it time, I guess. Maybe with time. And effort. And constant obsessing. Obsessing does actually change the outcome of things, doesn't it? (Please don't disillusion me now.) I wish they'd come out with a "legitimate study" on that. Speaking of "legitimate studies" - Jon Stewert said something yesterday on the Daily Show (which helped me feel just a skotch better about the State of the Union Address) about how the most ridiculous idea could be given validity with the phrase "a new study has proven." If I'd been in the mood to beat a dead issue, I would have e-mailed the quote to the prickish news producer who tried to sway me with said words. Since I wasn't in the mood, and since- as stated earlier- this is largely something I do for my own sanity, I just allowed the comment to affirm. I'd much rather be affirmed by Jon Stewert than a prickish news producer anyway.
*
I had a better day today. Honestly. I didn't feel so much like my head was planning to cave in on itself, and I even did a (very) little schoolwork. Answered those questions posed by my enthusiastic-not-scary Diversity instructor (in response to my answers to the questions he'd already posed.) I added to the e-mail check-in I've been doing with Dr. R, which went from about every three days, to every one. But I officially have less than a week now; I've survived over half the time. Woot. And even though I strongly suspect that I'm fooling myself saying that the struggle lately is about his absence, and not about the actual issues I realize now have been overwhelming me, I'm prepared to stay delusioned until 11:00 Wednesday morning. I'm prepared to do this, and do it well. And I'm prepared to amuse myself with the hypocrisy of being "delusioned" and simultaneously stating what's actually going on.
Though honestly, when he is back, I will have a nearby ally, in front of whom I feel safe even when I'm breaking down. So, it will definitely be helpful, if not instantly healing. I just also realize that issues of identity- especially ones as complicated as identity before, during, after illness and relational identity- probably won't be magically fixed within the first hour I see him. I just...have to hold onto that hope a little. It's taking a lot for me to even consider that this might stay around now until I deal with it. I'm overwhelmed and scared and caught off guard by it. Understand: I've never faced this before. Speaking specifically about the relationality issue; it's something that pops into my head occasionally, but never stays around long. I keep expecting it to flit back out of my consciousness, and it's taken me all this pain to realize that it's even the issue at all. I read through the past ten days of journal entries this morning and realized that we talked at the last session about relationships, something I'd forgotten in the semi-psychotic episode I've been having this week. (No, I don't mean that literally, and I don't mean to minimize what actual psychotics manage to endure.) I guess it does make sense, somewhat, that this is coming up...I mean, the dialoguing from the 20th could have a whole new meaning in light of the past week. Of course, that's one of the things that keeps me scared to look into this at all. I don't want my past redefined by my future. I don't want what I was struggling with to be re-explained with whatever happens now. I think that has a lot to do with my fears about what power I have after I start to claim this identity (if, indeed, I even have it. And no, I haven't the slightest idea when I'll honestly see that I can't be asexual. No. clue.) There is so much I'm afraid of my family doing, and honestly, I'm not sure how much of it they actually would. I know a lot of people who read this think very little of my family (and at times, I appreciate that) but the truth is they aren't accurately rendered through my phobias. What I worry they will do hardly predicts the actual outcome. The more likely correlation would be between what I worry they will do and what I, on some level, have internalized. Whether I learned it from them, or from Neverland schools, isn't so important as that I unlearn it now. That I find new power that doesn't have such scary parallels to anorexia. That's what matters now.
matter snow. That's what I just typed. and there's something beautiful in that phrase. matter snow. snow matter. I don't know. Maybe I've learned to displace my affectionate energy into word-lust. I have plenty of that. Maybe it is late, and I should quit analyzing my life and have some sleep, while I feel decently. The second one is what I'd go with.
In other news, Silje called today. Beautiful, fantabulous Silje. It was our first contact since the visit, as we've both had crazy times. But we had a lovely talk, and she told me I was the highlight of her trip, and reminded me of how great it was. (Remembering not be able to decide which was better? That we, two recovering ed patients ate lunch *and* dinner together? or that we, two people never allowed to eat together in treatment, managed to break yet another rule? ...We weren't technically allowed to associate, since we're on separate sides of the 18 yr mark. A rule I'm very, very glad I ignored.) She also told me that Dave and Stacy sent their greetings and that Stacy said I should call her at work and not even worry about talking to anyone else. "Don't even worry about telling them who you are. Just ask for me." She said something similar in her e-mail, and damn it just feels good. It just *feels good* right now.
The rest of this shit, well...it'll get worked out also, I suppose. For right now, I just want to remember that the shit has nothing to do with relationships or my identity or the possible outcomes. The shit is all based on idiocy I've learned and will unlearn. On fears that, while valid, are not truth. So I can look forward to relation, to identity. I can look forward to someone to wrap around.
love.you
chord
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