6:30 p.m. - 11/28/02
yet another rural vortex.
Where to even begin? First off, I should never assume that I know the plan. Because even if I have been told something similar to what people have in their minds to do, it will not work out as *they* are planning. Yes. Tuesday night, I woke up to my mom bein violently ill from some horrid stomach flu that everyone on the planet has decided to give each other (part of the holiday spirit, I suppose.) She wasn't even getting out of bed Wednesday, let alone ready to take me to the doctor or drive to my brother Dale's. For a moment, I thought that my life was going to become even more interesting than Thanksgiving and Christmas with an eating disorder and a shitty virus, as well as major grief over a friend, and no access to a dietician. For a moment I thought I was also losing my time with Dr. R this week, and was really ready to throw myself off the stairs onto the Tile That Kills All. However, John, as he is so good at doing, decided to be an absolute superhero, and drove out to D!@#$%^ to save me from the gremlins that take over my head when I go without therapy. Oh, fuck I can't use the gremlin; it has a whole other connotation for Chicago folk. herm. The evil beings with massive destructive powers who invade my brain for pleasure and do harm. Yes. I am on a crappy keyboard and my brain is mush. Forgive me if that shows in this entry.
Anyway, John took me the doctor, and then we crashed at his apartment. We established a hitman theme through the playing of violent video games and the viewing of Grosse Pointe Blank. I have an interesting dilemma when it comes to violent games, probably similar to my issues with sex. I find it semi-cathartic to harm digital people, the way I enjoy my punching bag for instance, but I am constantly freaking out about what I'm enjoying. My id and my superego do not get along, and it sucks. I ended up apologizing to my stuffed dog for everything I'd made him witness, promising I would never hurt him. John told me I needed some serious help, which is semi-old news but still. I should probably start playing with the idea of safe aggression the way I need to play with the idea of sex as something *other* than aggressive. Something other than violent. I need to open myself up to some things, somehow. Shannon said something really brilliant to me the other day about how the answers are scattered about, and all I need to do right now is prepare myself to not be afraid of the answer. I think that's pretty fabulous.
And can I just say that being in a supposedly liberal but very closed-minded household is fucking annoying? Yesterday at John's was kind of swell. I escaped D!@#$%^, I was with John, and every other word was profane, which was a nice release. But today, I just can't even breathe without feeling like the air is pushing against me. I had Dale listen to Winter Machine because I really thought he'd like the sound, which I *think* he sort of did, but then they just started going off on it in this way all guys in my family do where it isn't ok for anyone to be at all different from them. John started singing "I hate men" along with one of the songs, and I explained that half the team actually was a boy, who *likes* boys, so that feeling must not completely overpower the record. I then made the ultimate mistake of explaining how the other half is Sarah "Henry" Bishop, who is either a girl named Henry or a trannyboy. At that point, I knew I was screwed and it just pisses me off because what is the fucking problem? They aren't bigots, you know; they really aren't. But the way the men in my family talk you could easily get the impression that they will never accept anyone. And I hate it. I hate that we sat around the Thanksgiving table talking negatively about people we barely know to avoid bashing each other. And even though the most vicious remark was one *I* made (actually to Dale, who was obviously in the room at the time) I'm still pissed at them about it. That's why I made the comment, actually. To shoot down the shooter, so to speak.
Just have to focus on me. Just have to focus on finding out who I'm not and coming closer to who I am. Just have to remember that this is not, is not, is not home. (And neither is D!@#$%^ of course.)
Talked with the Doc about that actually. Ha. Doc, like the dwarves leader? Yeah. It sucks that he's taller than me and almost never wears his glasses. He also doesn't mine for diamonds, but now I'm really getting of the point. We talked about the whole whether or not my family is my family case. We did it rather lightly, as I was in my "be sarcastic rather than realistic" sort of mood, where I keep everything curt and semi-stand-up, and he was going with that, probably because I had a fun, fun holiday trip soon after. I was a little annoyed with him at some points; I realize now it was largely because he wasn't reading my mind. And it's not that I can't speak up there, it's just, there are so many cases when he picks up on subtleties accurately enough to make it seem he *has* read my mind that I grow disappointed when he can't. How silly is that? Anyway, I was upset with him for not seeming to feel the way he felt when I was talking about Jenna and he seemed to know whatever it is I pretend I know. I don't really want to have to bring it up, and I thought he was getting closer. But I will bring it up because it has to do with the identity shit. And I know how much an inability to feel rage and sex drives can go into eating disorders. I know. For some reason, I just want him to come to me with the topic. Which is silly because why would he? He has the good sense most people are missing to realize that being gay would not destroy my life, so why would he bring it up, when it's not a problem? And if he doesn't want to say, "this is you" which of course he never does.
My favorite Dr. line ever: "What do you think I think you think?" It's the ultimate, "I say nothing."
Except there is a problem. A problem that I don't know, and am afraid to know. A problem that I can't even make jokes because I'm under suspicion I don't wish to feed and because there's so much fucking prejudice. My family includes people who are the closest I know to "benign bigots." There's absolutely no hatred in what they say- in my father's case for instance, it's all about his inability to command the English language, the gap in how much importance we put in words, and the fact that he grew up amid true bigotry. I just wish there were a safe place to be myself, and since these *questions* are a part of me it sucks that I can't pose them, even humorously. Not only can I not attempt to *be* myself; I can't even listen to my music, talk about my comedy, or mention certain books. I am so ready to not be here.
They critiqued Tori Amos, too. And went off on Hampshire being all about weed. Obviously a liberal arts college is going to be hugely drug-populated, but if it doesn't drive me nuts, I'd like the right to love it there, you know? I guess I'd just like the right to love anything, or anyone...
Wrote a post at something-fishy on the matter (not being myself as opposed to sexuality) and said something near the end about how what I truly want is a group of people who love and support me, whom I can love and support, with whom I am allowed to be myself and have my needs met. It wasn't until I typed that, I realized- it is not so fucking much to ask.
Growing up in scarcity, says Dr. R. It does odd things to a girl.
Being in my semi-mean sarcastic state when I met with him, I was a little irritated by the unconditional positive regard he has for my parents. It was pissing me off some. He would say things like, "Interestingly enough, they're going through a similar phase with their parents" (some 30 yrs too late) or the classic "they did better than the last generation" bullshit. I know my parents went through hell, too, you know? As much as I love my grandparents, I would not want to have grown up in either of those households; I'm truly grateful that I didn't. And I hurt for my parents, that they were never shown love and support like everyone deserves, but as I finally stated to Dr. R yesterday, "I'm just really sick of paying for what my parents didn't get." And instantly, he was on the page: it isn't my cross to bear, it isn't my right to suffer, and it isn't fair that I am paying for what they didn't know was wrong. I don't want to live in that world, and what I need is to learn how *not* to- not simply to hear why my parents aren't bad for perpetuating it.
We talked a little bit about the cycle-breaker position: the power I have to decide whether this environment continues in my life and enters the life of those I call into my world. I talked with him about something that seems kind of weak to me (in a wine sense, "weak"- like it's a diluted explanation): the idea that I could lose my family if I don't stay as who they see me as, and how if there all I'm ever going to have that would really, really suck. We agree that my family would probably never disown me; I'm pretty much certain of that. But there's this feeling of "I would lose them" and he reminded me of something I'd forgotten: It happened to my mom. I grew up being a member of the "black sheep" family, having a great time with my cousins, only to come home with my mom in tears because no one had talked to her, or they had been so cold. I really feel for her, though at times I've felt it was in part her own disconnection that created the situation, but it is what I grew up around. If I'm myself with them, it's over. And when I'm scared they're all I'll ever have...that's really terrifying.
Dr. R is still convinced I will not sit alone in my cafeteria. The ability of that man's brain space devoted to metaphor amazes me. It's almost frightening. In a good way.
We did talk about the possibility that my fear of being cut off is actually a fear of choosing to disconnect on my own, which I think is a really important point. Yes. I need to disconnect some, if not entirely, to know who I am, to know I can be independent, to create and feel comfortable in my own life. I'm convinced if I unravel this tie, it will end up severed. I'm convinced I can only leave if I break us. In part because of what happened with my mom, in part because of the history of "leaving" in my life and how traumatic it always is, and in part because when I tried to keep from coming back to my parents (even when I knew I couldn't stay at Rogers) my family freaked. My entire family- not simply my parents. It was as if I had proposed moving to Mexico and joining a cult with the sole purpose of coming back to murder everyone. It was really not cool. I was breaking the family; I was over-dramatizing the situation, and I could survive my eighteen years like everyone else. (My parents have gotten consistently worse for the record, and John also left at 17. But anyway.) I needed to not go back to that environment, or so I thought. And no one honored it, which is a problem beyond my family. But the way they refused to let me disconnect was just really awful. Sarah is still that way, most of my family is. But Sarah has this need to fix the family all the time, to keep us altogether (and granted, she's done so on several occasions, and it isn't fair to her either...) Still, I flip a little over it. She disconnected in college and is now mending ties. That doesn't mean I'm ready to mend them, and I don't want the pressure to do so. I also don't want my right to do so contingent on the fact that in a few years I'll grow up and be exactly who they want me to be. Like I'll figure it out and do What I'm Supposed To Do, What I Refuse to Do Now. Forget it.
I'm going to build myself a family. I think I probably already have some members, at least some extended relatives. I think I have people who are in my life for the duration, and maybe it's nearing time to ask them to solidify that. To say flat out, "I need you to be family and hear how they respond." I think it's nearing time. I've also all-but decided on (and am practicing with) changing my last name. I adore new names, though I have few I've truly taken on. Atoms and its variants, I suppose- and I guess "Maris/Gitch" among my family are the only ones that I respond to as easily as I do my names. (The latter two make more sense historically; they don't fit me-presently so much.) Anyway, I realize that my surname is about my heritage, is about where I come from, and what helped me survive that night I read the psych paper was the revised definition of where I come from. That Rogers is my heritage, my upbringing, my home. But I really don't think my last name being Rogers works. It's obvious to people I don't want to understand, it's kind of too corny for even me to stomach, and it doesn't seem to flow to me. And yes I am completely jealous of Ursula Gud-in-ow (it's pronounced Gud-in-ow, but it's spelled Goodenough) but that's also kind of silly, I think. And not that what I'm considering *isn't* silly, but I think it could be good. There's actually a Lost and Delirious character by the name, although I don't relate to her much. Maybe I would better in the book. Erm.
Anyway...I'm thinking about introducing myself in certain cases as this name. About letting myself be this person. Just have to get past the fact that my parents get my mail, and where else but on an envelope do people read my last name? Erm. Anyway the name:
Mary Brave.
I'm sorry, but I really really like it. It makes me so very happy. And you know, I also like the fact that I took the dorky route and brought Little Earthquakes to my session Wednesday- because it was important in my past. I also like that he smiled genuinely when I handed it to him, and that he asked right away if he could borrow it before offering to play a track in the session. He made a lot of good offers actually, truly kind ones that show he's worth seeing the same therapist who must regard my parents unconditionally...like doing everything in his power to help me see Tammy Saturday, and promising me a spot on the 21st if I want it come the time.
He is a godsend, that one. As are many of you...On that note, applications for my family are now being accepted at my e-mail. And several of you already come highly recommended by my heart. Oh, why do you just *assume* I don't mean you?
Projection is ever so effective in creating common ground.
love to the masses
chord
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