7:50 p.m. - 03/10/02
what if my skin is truly a sculpture made from tears..?
This will not be half so interesting as the entry I accidentally lost this afternoon...Deal.
*
There's a tear-collective welling up in my chest right now, waiting to be released. That's not to say I'm not doing well, I'm fine - the tears are just leftovers from yesterday, and from the last seventeen years, and they're on the brink of release, waiting. Waiting. I could have let them free (I think) when I hung up the phone just now, but I didn't want it to be like that. I wanted to be happy about having been on the phone. I am happy about it. I'm happy that I have this gorgeous woman named Brea who says really smart insightful things in a soft Wisconsin accent...I'm happy that this woman Brea remembers me and wags verbal fingers at me when I do silly things like say my last name. I'm glad that her voice smiles when I inform her who's calling, that she remembers everything I've ever said to her, and that she doesn't doubt what I tell her. I love that she says things like, "I'm glad your parents are in therapy; they needed to be" and I say, "Oh, you noticed that, too?" and she says, "Yeah, just a bit." And we laugh.
She's so beautiful. And brave. And she talks to me *really* - I can say to her, "and how are you?" and she talks about Jordan and coaching poms and things being hectic but how she'll get through it. And I love her, and the tears curl up to the corners of my eyes and beg to be released, but I tell them, not yet. Not yet. We don't want to call attention to these tears because they don't need to be quieted. They just need to find their way out into pillows and puppy-fur.
Yesterday at Tammy's was good. I was extremely stressed out because although things with my mom are going almost-really well, my dad is beyond depressed and does little more than sleep when he isn't working. It's difficult, and my mom's newfound awareness of what our homelife is like is fragile- she's trying, but change is gradual. So I felt stressed, and Tammy was amazing as always. She told me that I'm doing really well, that all we have to do now is maintain my weight and my health; she said "it's time now to relax and coast. You've worked hard for this." And I, terrified, began crying. Because there are times when I still think, in the core of my fear and shame and pain, that I'll die if I don't have an eating disorder. And eventually, I managed to tell her that, and she helped me breathe and remember that this is good, it really really is, and even though it is hard and scary and (sadly) the quickest way to help someone relapse is to say to them, "you're healthy" - this is what I want. It really is. I'm just scared of what else it might mean.
But giving up the eating disorder does not mean returning to the life I used to have. It does not mean being defenseless or brutalized or "thick." It simply means getting the nutrition necessary to function, and not inducing vomiting. I mean, Christ, I can live without the smell of acid on my fingers, can't I?
Certainly.
I love Brea. The last entry was much more diverse than this, but I can't get over it. I had a dream last night that I went back to RED, and though it wasn't "bad" in the way that the last dream was, (mainly because many more of the right people were there) I eventually went to Dave and told him it was time that I go home. And I'm ok with being here, more than I could have imagined I would be, I'm ok. I miss it, I'd give many, many things to go back there, to have them and hold them and touch them again - but I'm *functioning* now in a way I didn't think possible when I discharged. I even talked to Brea about maybe going back to school, about how once we figure out why it's so scary I might do it, and she said, "I can tell you why it's so scary - because you haven't been there in a long time. When I got out of treatment, I was terrified. I thought I'd die if I walked through the door." And I was like, Brea you are human, and knowing that, I want to be.
Not that I'm going back to high school anytime soon - as she says it will always be there - but the idea that I might decide to, I might push myself to do so sometime before I graduate, is impressive. It really is.
Still, I miss them. I don't like to think about a floor full of new girls crocheting and watching Spongebob. Even moreso, I don't like to think about a floor full of girls not crocheting and watching Alias. I'm glad some things don't change because I want the environment to be the same, even if the girls aren't. I want to be their girl again which is why I felt like crying when I called. Because talking to Brea is a reminder of how much I'm missing not being there, and talking to Brea is a reminder that I am always there. That I *am* their girl. They found me, they coaxed me out, they supported me in ways no one else could. And if I ever lose them, I will lose myself. So I must keep them alive. I must not let another vanishing act occur. They're family and friends and home and heaven all at once. I don't know how to explain it. When you walk in the world, with the trees and the sun, and you know that God exists - even though the sun is not God and the trees are not God, that's how it is to experience them. They aren't angels in a pedestal-perfection sense, but in a way that realigns the self with what is good. They are so incredibly, wingedly human.
And I'm theirs...
It's like when Laura told me that in the dream I was her niece; I was her blood, her family. It says to the girl who felt like a ward so much of her life, who was an orphan of mental illness and pain, you have a home so beautiful. Do you realize you DESERVE it...?
I deserve a place where the light shines through the trees at just the right angle to catch the peace they offer in their eyes.
I'm ready for the tears; I'm ready for my home.
their
chord
"maybe it hasn't been so long/ maybe this dim time is just twilight..."
-rainer maria "the reason the night is long"
�
�
