7:55 p.m. - 06/13/02
my stomach hurts when I hear your name.
I have an eight-o'clock 'date' with my mom, so obviously it's not in the best interest of promise to be here writing this instead. But I feel so sick right now, I don't know where else to turn. I paged through my personal telephone book, but everytime I imagined speaking I couldn't find a voice. I did try RED; I thought maybe someone would answer who could summon it out for me, and I was lucky because the people who usually transfer callers to the right extensions were already gone for the night. Then Frank answered the phone, and even as I was thinking, "Oh, God, Frank, how wonderful you are" I was already hanging up. There is too large a possibility that Frank has no idea what face to put with my name, what story corresponds with my late evening call. I remember Frank...in reference to Rae, mostly. I remember the way he smiled and laughed and treated everyone with kidding honesty. I'd love to talk to him, but really, I'd love to be in the office and not have to talk with him. That was always my problem at Rogers, too; I couldn't stay in the office if I wouldn't talk. And sometimes I just needed the light, the table, the company, and the view out the window by the chair...I told Dr. R that on the nights when things are rough, I have the capacity to go inside my head and talk with people; this is true. But lately, I have no voice to talk with them, and I have to listen to both parties as an observer. Moreso, what I really need is to be held, even just in proximity to someone safe, and that's impossible without the lifeline of my voice to another.
I'm supposed to go to my oldest brother's tomorrow afternoon and I won't be back until Saturday night. So if Sara does try to call me as she said, I won't be here to take it. I don't think Dale will like the long-distance bill, and I don't think my dad will appreciate the cell phone minutes. I can call RED from there, as they have a toll-free line, but if Sara doesn't call before I have to live, I'll have to wait. I thought on calling her, but really the name that caught my eye in the book was Silje. Silje would be perfect right now; she would understand a silent call. Unfortunately, it's three in the morning there, and I can't steal her sleep.
I'm not sure where things went. Some part of me is majorally resisting whatever progress I described in the last entry. Sometime, usually in the afternoon, it completely implodes, and I feel depression equal to the peace. I'm just really needy right now; every sweet e-mail I get is like another drink of (sugar-free) sustenance. Every rejection is cardiac arrest.
I need some tender loving, stat.
chord
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