9:51 p.m. - 08/17/03
as told on a sunday.
Mmm, winding down. I've just gotten some heartening affirmations from some lovely people, my hair is exactly how it's meant to be (federal regulation should insist it stay between my ears and my jaw, honestly; it's just so much happier there), on top of which said jaw (which decided to slip and lock out of place for a couple days, as it does occasionally) has popped back into position, which means my bones have officially stopped grinding against each other. I appreciate this. It's surprisingly unpleasant to have your bones scaping against your other bones... Which reminds me, I was going to schedule a dentist appointment, to be followed by a doctor's appointment...I want to give my teeth the fighting chance they didn't have two years ago, and I want to quench my paranoia with a physical. If only it didn't have to be so hard to keep these appointments. Difficult but important.
Speaking of difficult but important things, I backed off myself a little and decided not to call Rogers today. I'm really tired, and not particularly in the mood to talk, which needs to not keep me from calling them, but could perhaps be reason to postpone it - very temporarily. I've decided to give myself a little break, as today was exhausting, and not mandate a call for tomorrow - as I have an appointment with the Superdoc and a play-date with my father...I'll resume the calling spree on Tuesday. Of course, if I want to call tomorrow, I totally can, but it isn't a must. On Tuesday, it's a must again. The longer I wait, the harder it will be, and I am not losing the chance to talk to (staff) Sara before she leaves. That is, assuming I won't be able to talk her out of leaving if I get in touch with her. I'm too tired to go into those details, though. I'll rehash when they're more relevant.
What are today's relevant pieces of information? Let's see. I went out with my mom a little before noon, and it didn't go well. I started spiraling into depression and feeling really low about everything. This is happening so often lately; I'm not sure what to do with it. I really doubt it's a medical issue, considering I've been on the same anti-depressant for over two years. I'm fairly certain it's "just" the circumstances as they stand...but...I'm really tired of feeling so low. I don't feel like myself, even though I know I still am. I definitely feel more like myself then I did during my middle/ early high school depression period - and it's nice to know that I've gotten to a point where not only do I have a self that stays steady throughout illness, but a part I can touch on - if barely - during that illness. I'm so used to being someone that listens, someone that people lean on...when it's not codependent, I love being that person, and it's so weird to be crying and venting to other people. When I'm not busy worrying that I've reverted back to the constant non-okayness of junior high, I just miss my optimism. Somewhere inside me the glass is half-full. There's just a city's worth of dirty dishes in the way.
I managed to fall asleep after we came back (and after I ate lunch, thank you very much. My eating disorder is being more vocal - and mean, damnit - than it usually is, so I'm going to make a bigger deal out of kicking its ass) which helped. I'm a bit sleep-deprived. When I woke up, I actually suggested to my mom that we travel out into the world (or at least, the suburban outskirts of the world) again, which went mainly well. We picked up boxes for moving, and I got slightly upset because I didn't feel comfortable in the situation - which I told her several times - and finally she told me that I didn't have to help, she'd make an extra trip if I really felt that uncomfortable carrying the boxes (it's more complicated than I'm telling), and that upset me because right after she said I didn't have to, she started to walk out, as if she knew I would concede, as if she hadn't genuinely meant what she said, and I sort of slammed everything down and stalked outside to load the car while she went back for more. Basic summary: I probably could have lightened up and truseted her in the situation, even though it was a bit uncomfortable for me, but I need her to genuinely understand the challenges I face in certain (simple-seeming) situations, and not just say I can have an out, so that it looks like she didn't force me...
In other family fun, my (oldest) brother called tonight and talked at my mom for a good two hours. I felt for her, until she started venting onto me everything that he had vented onto her (seriously, the woman needs to discover diaryland; we'd get along so much more easily) until I felt ready to yell not only at my brother but at her as well. It turns out he decided to tell her that he feels personally attacked by the term feminist (oh, Godd, not this again...I suppose I feel personally attacked by the people who are constantly undermining the word and the people who make up the movement), which - considering my mom is a Goddess-loving, Divine-Feminine-teaching, naked-woman-painting, gender-barrier-breaking, "she can't possibly be straight" empowered woman (though actually, I see her as less rooted in feminism than I am, and she's actively against the male-bashing people tend to associate with the term) - did not go over well. She talked to him about the way that the need for this movement is undermined by the assualt against naming it, and they apparently argued it back and forth until he felt compelled to say, "We should really just never talk about this again." Great. The perfect counterpart to my brother John's theory, "Best to feel as little as possible." Now we're not going to speak or feel. Oh, wait. I tried that. A great deal of suckiness ensued.
Anyway, my brother told my mom he thought they should never talk about it again, and I was working a slow and steady anger up about it all, when my mom told me that she had, despite feeling hurt, agreed to do that if he thought it was right. Basically, she told him that it hurt her - because this is an important part of who she is - but he's more important to her, and so she's willing to put it aside to have him in her life.
Ok. What's wrong with this picture according to Mary? To begin with, viewing my mother objectively, as another woman, "aihhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" What the fuck do you mean you're willing to put aside who you are in order to have someone in your life? Your willing to *silence* part of who you are in order to know someone? No. You are willing to work with that someone until they understand that they do not get to decide who you are, only how they relate to you. You do *not* sacrifice yourself for the sake of a relationship. (And I don't mean, she shouldn't be flexible around this. I'm by no means saying she should have given him so ultimatum. I'm just saying you don't abandon who you are that quickly. He's her firstborn son. He's going to stay in her life. She could have held in a bit longer and worked on the relationship.) On top of which, she's supposed to be somewhat of a role model for me, and if she can't model that you don't put aside who you are because it displeases someone in your life, we're really screwed. Most upsetting, however, was the inconsistency. It really pissed me off that she was sitting on that ugly-like-you-would-not-believe sofa, looking martyred, and telling me that he comes first. Her child comes first. Not only is there a bit of a problem because the thought of her sacrificing her feminism puts me even farther out in my family's universe, so it seems like a choice of him over me (which I know it's not)...but also...there's this whole "divorce" issue you may recall. There's the fact that she made the decision to pursue her own needs in spite of the intense pain and cost each of her children would experience, and whether I agree with that option or not...the (victimized) expression on her face alone as she told me this story seemed ludicrous. She has to stop pretending that she chose to end a marriage, independent of the family dynamic - that the divorce does not ripple into who we are as a family. She has to clarify for me what she's choosing to prioritize: herself or her kids. And I won't condemn her for either decision, but I can't stand the hypocrisy of giving herself up to placate a passing preference of Dale's at the same time she's making a decision that will hurt all of us so much more deeply. Then again, she might very well have agreed to respect his need to not hear about it the same way she decided to respect my need with the boxes: in order to look better as she got what she wanted. And Godd, do I sound like an ingrate. You know what sucks about being intelligent and aware? I know that I don't know everything. I understand that I could be completely misjudging this situation and am only documenting my thoughts because they're what I'm thinking now - not because I believe they're the true gauge of what happened. I don't think I know what happened. I understand that it's likely I'll look at this tomorrow and think the huge points were really rather minor, and my interpretation was inaccurate. I know my parents are human and generally as confused as I am. So even as I'm ranting and raving, I'm defending them. And I'm doing an upstanding job of defending them. It makes the adolescent, rightfully-pissed-off, prosecution-me a bit crazy. Sometimes, I don't want to sympathize. I don't want to put myself in their shoes. I don't want to understand them. Sometimes, I just want to be a teenager who thinks her parents are aliens incapable of understanding how life really works here on Earth. Oh, to live in an Apple paperback.
Speaking of books, I did some actual writing tonight. I bit the bullet and began working a little at my poetry, based on what I'm reading (mainly Marge Piercy and Margaret Atwood.) I've gotten very comfortable with the rhythmic, spoken-word style over the past few years, and I've never enjoyed the more prose-like academic poetry much, but Marge and Margaret speak in an almost academic style in a way that's not foreign to me...and they discuss subjects I relate to, have passion for, am honestly invested in. I feel like if I keep reading them, and take some risks with my writing, I can work whatever it is I like about their work into my own. I can refine my voice based on what I connect to in each of theirs. Unfortunately, that means being willing to write some really bad poetry. Consciously. To understand it will be less than good and write it anyway. Eep.
I'm also working on a play that could very well help me finish the last part of our three-part piece, if it doesn't end up being the last part. I'd really rather use the play I was working on, after some revising, but I worry that so many of my questions about that play are being answered with this one that after I revise it, we won't be able to produce the one I'm working on now. (Too similar...) And since I'm growing attached to it, I want to see it staged. Grr. I suppose I could take about ten steps back and just focus on the writing. That might make sense.
I'm so incredibly glad I have a session with the doctor tomorrow, even though I'll probably feel wrecked again afterward. I'm so ready to feel connected to someone. I'm spoiled by all my long-distance loves. It makes it so very hard to be on my own in the everyday walk of life. (Thank goodness. I'll be Mary Brave instead of Emily Dickinson after all. Yey.)
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