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8:49 p.m. - 03/28/03
raging down a spiral stair.))*)
I don't have spring-cleaning urges. I don't clean, as a rule, during any season. Which is not the same as saying I do not have strict standards about cleanliness. I like things tidy, and I hate things buggy or grimy or dirty, etc. I simply cannot stand to be in a room of such quality long enough to do anything about it. So, I certainly do not get spring-cleaning urges. And this year?

I want to spring-clean my life.

I want to take every possession, every token, every e-mail, dust it off, and either dispose or memorialize it (or something in between. I want to clean through my books (even) and put them in cardboard boxes, and I want to tape up the boxes. I want to do similar work to every aspect of my material world. And then I want to sit in the loft with the sun pouring onto the white walls and know that everything I don't need I no longer have, and I'm on my way to something...organized.

I guess it's helpful that we're moving. If the doc and I have our way, we're moving to the city. Definitely. Otherwise, I hope to move to the city as soon as possible. Systematic densensitization (or as he and I prefer to refer to it, "that Thing") starts next month. I have no clue where I'll be after graduation, but I've decided I need to be out of my parent's world sooner than later. I think I decided that in middle school. Maybe that's the real reason I want to clean so thoroughly through my life. I don't think I'm moving out the way that most people do. I don't think I'm packing up my world and planting it somewhere else. I think I'm moving with my parents (into the city) and learning with the doc how to practically take care of myself (buy food, answer phones, etc). I think I'm gradually learning how to be independent from a safe spot (toxic as it is here; it's less scary to fight phobias from somewhere familiar than somewhere foreign. And it's certainly less scary to learn gradually than it would be all at once) and then when I already know how to do all the things most people learn as they go, I'll go. I'm still terrified, but the move helps. Thank God they both decided to quit their jobs again. Well, Dad quit. Mom's place of employment is closing. And I have no idea how they're going to pay medical bills, but the miniature-superdoc that sits in my head and chatters things at me keeps saying that's not mine to worry about. And that brainwashing is generally followed to my benefit. So. I'll try and go with that.

I talked to Shannon today. I heard her voice over and over and over again. She has this sweet voice, and she was quieter than *I* am...though in different circumstances, we'd probably be pretty neck-and-neck. I hope the hospital really helps her... The conversation was so fluid, so easy; I got off thinking, "How often do you talk to someone and realize they're even better than you knew they were?" I wish there was a way for her to be at Rogers. (Like, my Rogers- not the psych hospital there, which I heard was not so comparable.) I'd feel better than. But no one's beating her up, and she'll form some good alliances soon. Gosh. I'm all busy missing her.

Back in my self-absorption, things are not entirely unpleasant. I didn't sleep long enough last night but got about an extra hour just before we left. I couldn't find time for schoolwork and studying and all that supposedly important shite, so I ended up just giving myself permission to not take a test today. I turned in some work and explained the situation, and Mistrandy didn't even bat an eye. I love teachers who make N*land look like the horror-film version of reality.

In between the nap and school, I had a doctor's appointment, and as predicted, it was definitively better than Tuesday's. He wasn't quite so punctual for one thing, (which is good; he scares me when he's punctual - it's sooo uncharacteristic) and we talked more in-depth, I think. We laughed, we cried. Well, I cried. I don't think he cried. But then, I can't make eye contact with him, so he could cry and I'd miss it entirely. I'll add that to my list of reasons to start looking people in the eye. (Actually, I do fine looking at his eyes when we're not in his office. It's just in session it gets hard.)

The possibly-less-pointless recap: It was raining outside and cold, and it didn't take long for the doorman to buzz us in. (I always smile at the camera in hopes of speeding along the process.) The scary muzak was playing again, but the secretary who was all sweet about my crocheting was there and she smiled and said hi in a way that was comforting, but made me feel a little pathetic. It wasn't the cool, common greeting between client and employee; it was this, "oh, you again! yes, I see you all the time!" exchange, which is a little unnerving. But then, I don't like cool, non-heartfelt exchanges. And two appointments a week has not hurt me yet. So fuck the "spostas." Let's go with what works.

He held the door for me, and I said thanks (it's easier for simple courtesies)...he asked how I have been. I told him ok- struggling to find time for school. He brought up something we talked about Tuesday- that we could work to move our appointments around so that they're not on schooldays. I like that idea muchly, except that it might mean Tuesdays and Thursdays (which seems a litttle too quick and than a little too long for me.) He seemed surprised that I wasn't gung-ho about changing the appointments; apparently, my parents told him we'd discussed it and were all set to do so. (These are the people- well, rather person: my mom- who called my sister to tell her my travel plans before talking to me about them and who told my brother Joe I'd visit for his birthday- this weekend- without asking me if I wanted to go.) We laughed, he said that was "interesting" in his amused doctor voice, and I groaned a little at their absurdity.

And somehow from there, we just started talking about the absolute polarity that is my mom and dad. My mom: the confrontational, assertive, liberal, goddess-woman. My dad: the passive-aggressive, not-quite-conservative Catholic "priest." My mom hot, my dad cold. My mom red, my dad green. My mom happy, my dad upset. My mom in control, my dad off his rocker. (Not that any of those are consistent, but if one's stationed somewhere, the other will damn sure be as far away as they can. They continually live in different states for Christ's sake.)

And for a very good illustration of the next turn in my conversation with the doc: Just now my mom and dad approached me (completely interrupting my train of thought, with no compassion for the fact that I even have a train of thought to own.) My mom says, "Dad needs the phone line to be open tomorrow. You normally check your e-mail in the morning and then you're off-line until night, correct?" I say, "No." (My dad rolls his eyes, and points at my mom as if to say, "What is she thinking? *I* know the truth.") My mom says, "Well, what kind of time do you need?" I say, "I don't know. I normally just go on throughout the day as I feel like it. (to my dad) What do you need?" My dad: "I was going to use her phone. But she won't let me! I told the [place where he does massage] to call her cell phone." "Whoa, whoa, whoa," say I, "Ok. I don't know about that. I'm not here to three-way." (All that talk about phoning.) "I just need to know what you need." Well, as soon as the "I'm not here to" was out of my mouth, my dad had thrown his hands in the air and stormed off. I was utterly speechless. My mom asked me again what kind of time I needed, ignoring my dad, and I said, "No. No, no. You go deal with that. Come talk to me when you have that figured out." She stayed; she kept asking. I said, "No! I'm not taking that! You go figure that out." She kept asking. I said, "Just go talk to him! Of course I'll stay off the phone line; just go!"

The point of this paragraph, other then to vent, is to illustrate the complete freakshow that is my parents' relationship. It's so very hard to summarize, and then an event like this makes it all so clear. I can't believe there are people in the world who treat each other that way - let alone that they do so as a form of marriage. Jesus.

That was the bulk of my conversation with the doc. That I'm the buffer. If only in the sense of, they tend to detach from each other; if they treat me poorly, I detach (rebel like a normal human being would) and they don't have to do so within the relationship. So if I leave, I'm no longer the buffer, and they're on their own, and who can guess what will happen then. He explained all this to me very thoroughly, before telling me that in doing so, he by no means wanted to imply it was mine to fix. I was glad to hear that. My parents may be worried about this whole lost-buffer issue, but it is not my top concern about moving out. It isn't even my top concern when it's happening. I'm being attacked, and I respond so. It's "toxic" or however one describes this, and I respond accordingly. I'm not thinking about how I have to stay and save them. I'm thinking, "I have to get out of here! These people are insane!" ...Which is apparently exactly what saves them. God, how I hate that.

So then we talked about my top-concerns, the possibility that I won't be so sick anymore, and I equate that with being alone. The idea that I'll fall on my face when I give this whole "life" thing a whirl. He said those are very real fears (he knows better than to say otherwise) but he thought they might be masking something even deeper. Turns out he's right. Behind the fear of falling flat on my face (which is real) there's an even bigger fear of not falling on my face. The differentiation, not-your-definition, fear. The "I want to be myself and they take that as rejection" issue. The "who I am hurts them" "I can't be who I want without losing my family" craziness. I have a nice little set of fear stacking dolls, all of which need to be healed. Grrr.

Then, he gives me a metaphor. Yeay, metaphors. He says, "The function of a tailpipe in a car is to let out all the gas and fluid and steam that builds up while the car is functioning. So sometimes when you turn on the car, it smokes a little from the tailpipe, or it drips water, or there's steam. And if you looked at that and went, 'Oh, my God, look at what's coming out of that tailpipe! This car does not want to move today!' you'd have misinterpreted its purpose entirely. The car did that in preparation to move. It's more ready to go for having done so. For many people their mouths are their tailpipes." (Say whaa? He had me until the last line.) "If you were to tell your family something - like the organ donation thing - that they disagreed with - and their response was all this noise and yelling and 'How can you do this?' etc, and you looked at that as a clear indicator of how they would always feel, you might be misinterpreting. That might be the steam they have to let loose before they can come around and see where you are." And I was like- this makes sense. This makes such sense. If I were to tell someone who's not expecting it, "I'm gay" (for instance, myself) and they went all ballistic, it'd be more out of surprise than real sentiment. And if I know that, I might not be so caught up in the first response. Also, he said I need to factor in that we're talking about being myself a few months from now, when I'll already be much further along than I am, and so it's not as if I'll be phobia-free and as unconfident as I am. I'll be better all-around. (Better. Not well. Well scares me too much right now.)

I told him that all sounded good except...it's a hell of a lot harder to stand and listen to someone rip apart who you are or what you believe than it is to watch a tailpipe smoking. He agreed. I told him it shouldn't have to be this hard- home, support, life. And he agreed with that as well.

He also passionately agrees with me about what my parents are doing with/to me that's so awful. I told him about being tired of the "you're just like him/her" comment (even though it's usually silent) on both the grounds of- it's such a low hit and I'm just like *me*, damnit. He thinks that sentiment should be outlawed for parents. And that children should be born with signs in their pockets that, upon hearing those words, pop out and say, "Look, you chose to fucking marry them, ok? Not me!" And truly, someone *should* event that.

I didn't choose this. But I will choose to get out of it. I don't think I'll pay the highest price I can imagine now, and if I do, I'll still have quite a bit left. I've never had a savings account, but I think I have the equivalent in friendships; I've saved up some good ones. The doc said to me, "She" (Shan) "is lucky to have a friend who is a fledgling relationship wizard." And I said, "Whaa?" and he repeated it. I told him I think of myself more as a mess, and he said that maybe part of the gift of a relationship wizard is that she can feel like a mess inside and still be a gem on the outside. And sincerely...not as a mask or a game or a shield.

He's so worth whatever we're (not) paying him. God-or-whomever bless Tammy for that one.

chord

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