8:30 p.m. - 11/22/01
boycott thanksgiving: rant.
At Red they used to preach all the time about how we would have to rebuild trust after we discharged. When residents got angry with this, they'd be reminded about everything they'd done in their addiction to break that trust. My mom used to lean over and tell me that she didn't understand any of it, that she trusted me perfectly well, and there was no reason for them to be saying this.
Yesterday she told me she does trust me, it's just that she doesn't trust the illness. In many ways this is a step up from where we used to be. I told them after one of the trust lectures that I wasn't worried about having to build trust back up with my parents (or anyone else) I was worried that they'd trust me too much. After all, they'd trusted me fully (except when I said I needed help) up until the day they actually saw me throwing up food. I didn't think them *not* trusting me would be the problem.
And I still don't think it's a major issue, but it's annoying as hell. She's knocking on the bathroom door, asking me if I'm alright, saying she knows it's been a rough day. The thing is, it's not the fact that she's *asking* that bothers me - it's the fact that *she's* asking. I'm not ready to let her back in, and I don't like her to be the one checking up on me, when half the time I have to take care of her. (Even Judie told me that I have to be the rational one in the relationship a lot of the time.) And most of all, it pisses me off that she's not getting help for any of her issues, yet she has to make sure I'm not acting on mine. I know she does it out of love, but I'm still so frustrated.
Doesn't she know all it does is make "the illness" think "Well, everyone thinks I'm doing it, I might as well go ahead and prove them right?"
Case and point: John just came in to make sure I was okay. He "wasn't sure what happened to me." I told him Mom had pissed me off, and I'd just come in to write about it...when he left, I actually thanked him for checking up on me. It means a lot that he'd do that. But having my mom come up to me every five minutes and ask me if I'm ok, then telling me I'm not, then telling everyone else that whatever they did, said, or were about to do/ say, is *why* I'm not just doesn't feel the same.
BREA, STACY, SOMEONE! SHE'S FUCKING CRAZY, AND I WANT TO GO HOME!!!
Jesus, if she ever reads this, she'll cry.
guiltychord
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