9:05 p.m. - 05/25/02
documentation of my medical condition won't help me sleep tonight.
Back again. I have to decide where to sleep tonight, and I haven't the slightest idea. On the one hand, I want to be far away from my parents. On the other, the idea of being alone in my room with the mess and the millions of (mostly imagined) insects completely twists around my insides.
I don't know what's up with me and filth lately. It isn't technically lately, but it's bothering me more the past few months. If my parents even speak of bugs for instance, or a place dirty enough to house them, I completely freak out. Generally, I contort into myself and tell them to stop repeatedly. I hate it because I feel like such a wimp about these things. I'm not scared of bugs, honestly, but (as overly-analytical as this sounds) I'm honestly terrified of the way they make me feel. I don't know if it's OCD or what, but there are certain times when I seriously cannot handle dirt or mess. I do semi-ok with "clutter" (so long as it doesn't seem a conducive living environment for the more disturbing inhabitants of the creature kingdom) but filth makes me physically and emotionally sick. My anxiety skyrockets, and I seriously think I could have a panic attack over this at some point.
As unstable as I seem, not many things rise to that level. I don't even take my as-needed meds as much as I used to. I've even *gone out* without taking them, and if you have any understanding of what the front door, and the garage door, and the car door do to me, you will understand that this is a very big deal.
It's odd because it's sort of a combination of feeling an inability to keep myself clean (for instance: I'm washing my hands, but this water isn't clean, and that towel isn't clean, and that doorknob isn't clean, et cetera) and a fear of 'infecting' others. When I feel this dirt-fear and I shake someone's hand, I'm not afraid they're transmitting germs- I'm afraid I am. I guess it goes back to feeling 'poisoned' - but this is so much more real than that. It's harder to challenge than a thought or a system of thoughts because its new and because- it's visceral. I have such a physical response to shame that it's extremely difficult to convince myself that what I'm feeling in my body is not necessarily a sign of something real. For instance, the shock waves that rage through my brain after I do something perceivably wrong are not necessarily actual bolts of lightning raging through my nervous system.
But what does that mean? Does that mean they aren't real? Because I honestly do feel them, though less so on the meds, and when that part of my head aches (the top middle and then down to my spine) I still feel like it must stem from that. I really don't want to be crazy. I guess I won't know if I'm crazy until I try to challenge this and see what happens. I heard that's what they do with trichotillomaniacs: They shave their heads. If the person stops pulling out their hair, they're somewhat ok. If they have a psychotic episode, there's more central damage done. It seems really brutal to me; I can't imagine forcing someone's sanity to the breaking point just to see what would happen. But I guess if I were psychotic, I'd rather know.
I'm not psychotic; I'm just seventeen and have a journal.
I know I need to talk with someone about this, but it's just so hard to bring up. How do you tell someone you feel like you're formed from a landfill? It's immensely harder now, too, because I started to tell Harriet, and she became so angry. I needed to talk about the shame, but she wouldn't listen to it; she would skip to challenging it, saying that she wouldn't sit there and fuel the shame. I didn't want her to and I didn't expect her to, but I didn't need her sarcasm and her constant frustration. It was hard for me, too. Maybe I was stating what I felt because I couldn't challenge it at that moment and needed someone else to do so. Maybe I was explaining it because I honestly want it to change.
Why couldn't she understand that?
I guess it didn't help that Tammy told me she still recommends people to Harriet. I didn't even think of that, and I don't know why it bothers me. I guess it has something to do with the fact that after my experience with Bojangles (remember Bojangles?), she quit referring clients to him. I know that some of what went on with Harriet was simple conflict of personalities, but I really need someone to tell me that some of her half was beyond that. Some of it was truly inappropriate behavior and unnecessary action. The woman yelled at me for being ashamed. I just want someone to say to me, "Yes, that was wrong." Is that asking to be coddled? Is that not taking care of myself?
I have all of these inadequacies bubbling around in my head. The dirt, the inability to sleep in my room, what Mistrandy said about a seventeen-year-old discussing their own schedule with their own guidance counselor. I feel completely incapable of anything, and it's honestly painful to me. I don't know how to believe that my not having a job doesn't imply laziness, that my lack of contact with friends isn't callousness, that my weight concerns aren't petty superficialities, or that my fear of bug-presences isn't childish. I want to be strong, self-sufficient, mature, capable, intelligent, dedicated, and enduring.
Tonight my dad walked out again. My mom stopped him before he actually left; they talked outside for a long time, but I didn't listen. I thought of something I had said to Tammy- how I am doing fairly well despite how hard it is; how I understand that so long as I live with my parents I'm not going to be "wonderful." (Which isn't to say that my life would fall perfectly into place if the parent issue was resolved- I know there are many other factors in my current juggernaut- but I do know from experience that if I live in a supportive, safe environment I will not have so hard a time accepting myself and dealing with my problems. I told her this.) I was starting to feel strong about it. Not exactly proud but strong. I don't enjoy having to achieve my recovery "the hard way" (if there's such a thing as the easy way, I'd like to see it.) I don't enjoy living here or watching them go through this...but...there's something about being steady within the chaos that makes me feel adult. People misinterpreted my wanting to stay at Rogers as wanting to stay in the cocoon, and I guess I feel now that I have proven that untrue. I've shown that I am capable of continuing in a dangerous environment, that I won't be overwhelmed by it, and that I will still search for the more peaceful home. Though it isn't much of a search when you know exactly which highways lead to exactly which towns. When you know the hallways by your heart and then some.
I guess my juggernaut isn't so all-inclusive as its definition would attest.
chord
who is going to sleep in her bedroom
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