9:56 p.m. - 03/25/03
wednesdays work better.
Had a not-so-good session today. It felt rushed, and kind of retrsopectively unfocused. I'm really glad that I see him twice a week right now. I can get through a few more days without having said whatever it is I didn't say. I'd feel worse if I knew I had to get through a week. In all likelihood, I was just thrown that I hadn't cried when he said the session was over. When's the last time that happened? Or maybe the (slightly) late start, returned paige, and (all but) on time ending got to me. I don't like being his first patient of the day. He's still trying to maintain punctuality and that sucks.
In better news, I feel really good about the last entry. I suppose it's as simple as there's so little voice involved in having an eating disorder that to have that voice now about it feels liberating. This voice feels liberating, too. It's still odd to me because sometimes all I want to do, ever, is work with people who are going through things similar to what I went through/ am going through, and sometimes I want to be as far away from it as possible. I can go weeks without talking to anyone about my eating disorder, or really going into it here (though the last few, which have been difficult, probably wouldn't testify to that) and then, all of a sudden, I want to talk about it all the time. I don't want to talk *like* I have an eating disorder (i.e. symptoms, weights, bad body image talk- but I've had four good meals in a row now! getting back on track...), but I feel better (sometimes...) talking *about* it.
I just had a completely off-topic epiphany that says, "You know, maybe college is where people support who you are and what you want to become- not where they knock it down." Wow. I don't think that has occurred to me in about six years. Seriously, though, that's cool, and I need to keep it in mind. I've done all this thinking about what the next step is going to be, and I'm kind of downplaying the college option (initially because I doubt I'll be ready to quit therapy by this fall and also) because I don't want to follow anyone else's rules or play on their terms. Maybe it isn't about that. I'm in this diaryland community, and I have all these people who support my story, my choices, my life as I live and want to live it. Maybe that exists in the outside world, too.
I realized this morning that in apologizing to a friend for being upset over an e-mail intended to encourage (got that?) I mistook my own feelings. I was upset, but not for the reasons I articulated. I realize now that all she did was say that she had found homes in this world, and to hear that someone has a home outside of Rogers really gutted me. I think it's (especially) shaky ground at the moment, as I try to discern what life I'll have, with whom, outside of them. I'm potentially facing a truly devastating fact: that Rogers, my Rogers, no longer exists. And a lot of good can come from accepting that but not without pain. It still hurts that the best home I ever had is one I can't return to...Even if it were just because I have to stay healthy, it would hurt. I deserve something permanent, if flexible. Something that will never break or leave. Or at least- can be mended and comes back. I'm not sure how well I'll do with this, though- with letting go of one home while tracking down another...It's kind of like with Tracy; I keep trying to think of some creative, symbolic way to carry them with me, to recreate them, and I can't. They're bigger than any words or any image I can find. The sum is indeed more than its parts, and certainly more than my poems...
I'm just glad I don't have to do it alone. Friday's session will be better because today was flukey, and the sessions are almost always good. I can say that I didn't do anything to make it go poorly. I didn't shut down or stay out of the conversation. I told him my grand old news (the e-mail) and talked about the complications it had summoned to the surface (which are entirely incapable of taking away the fact that this *rocks.*) I even told him when we were onto a new subject that I was still stuck on a comment he had made. He was saying that my mom has grown from who she was during my junior high years, and while I readily recognize that, what I hear when someone says it is, "So shut up about what happened then." Don't say anything, don't speak, be quiet, shut your mouth. He pointed out that saying something's changed and recognizing that, underlines the fact that what went on was not right and could potentially be all the more reason to talk about. (If it had to change, it's worthy of mentioning...) I felt a little better, then. I think it's just hard for me when he "sticks up" for my parents. Which he doesn't do normally (not that he demeans them.) But he doesn't make a lot of extra comments, even when I say they're crazy. I appreciate that.
Speaking of the parental units, they've decided to move again. (Thank you, thank you, God.*) I've been feigning despair ever since I was told, but seriously, how great to live in the city? My dad talked a little tonight about alternate suburbia-ish options, and I interrupted with the city name over and over and over again. Once, they said we'd move to the city, and I ended up in a refurbished barn in D!@#$%^. This cannot happen again.
Of course, I won't be with them for always. But I think the move to the city helps make that a slower transition. I don't think I'm ready to move out all at once. I don't think I could have an apartment, get a job, take care of my own practical needs, all in the same day. I need practice. I need someone to ride the bus with until it doesn't feel scary. I need to go up to the cashier, then converse with zir, then pay for my own purchases, then do it on my own. I guess systematic desensitization is the right track after all. I just freak out so fully at the last idea that I struggle to manage the first...but we're supposed to start that in April. And we're not supposed to go any further than what brings me stress. Which probably means we'll say half-a-syllable about it all for awhile. God, I'm glad I trust him...
I do trust him, and I normally feel way better for having talked to him, so today has no bearing on my vision of the world. Or at least, no bearing on my vision of him. My voice on the other hand has pertinent power which I feel the need to recognize. I was searching for my last blank tape tonight (mix tapes are gooood), and found a journal of about five poems. It's really weird to read my old-old work. You can see the seeds of what I'm writing now, the growth since then, and also...there's just this real attachment to the girl I was. I want to hold her and honor her and protect her and admire her all at the same time. Which is nice.
The doc kept trying to tell me I've changed ("you're actually audible, and you breathe now. you still have trouble sometimes, but a year ago, you'd actually get flushed from not taking in enough air")...maybe he just needed supplementary examples. Exhibit A: your middle school poetry. Poor girl.
I'm glad she's going to make it.
chord
*or whomever
�
�
