8:18 p.m. - 11/08/03
chord: the emotional doogie howser?
I pulled the "this isn't home" card on my mom tonight. That one stings deep, and I always feel terrible afterward. It's been a few months since I last said it, by my memory. The last time I remember, we were still living in D!@#$%^, and I told her I didn't care what the apartment was like because it wouldn't be home. Tonight's recital took place after I'd been staring at my Rogers wall and crying furiously. In my head I was telling her, do you see this? This is my home. This is my family. Do you understand that? Do you understand how much that sucks?
It doesn't suck. It's the best gift I've ever had. But a girl wishes she could live in her home, live with her family. A girl wishes death didn't hang in the air there, keeping her away, wishes the gates weren't closed to her, with the exception of a visit maybe once. Maybe more. A girl wishes that it hadn't taken sixteen years to find and less than three months to lose. Not lose. The doctor said matter cannot be destroyed and character cannot un-develop. ...I'd just finished calling my dad, telling his voicemail that I wouldn't be able to do anything this weekend, that I was sorry, as I really do want to see him, but I couldn't. I told him I loved him and hung up. I didn't tell him that I couldn't see him because he's so sick, and even moreso because every moment of quality time I spend with him is a reminder that my parents are divorcing. Is it fair? Is it fair that I can spend time with my mom and not remember, while the pain in the time I spend with my dad makes that impossible? Is it fair that I live with her? It isn't mine to make fair. It isn't fair to me, either.
I wanted to yell at her, you didn't put an end to any pain when you did this, you know. You just gave it all away. You just gave it all to me. You stopped dealing with his passive-aggression and his illness and his person, in a move that amplified them tenfold, and now I'm the one in closest relation to him. I wanted to scream at her, blame her. I did some. And for every word raging in my head, I could hear another truth. That my dad refused to get well, refused to assume responsibility, to be a person, to be an adult, to be in a relationship. That she was forced, (to some extent; she still chose, but her options weren't enviable) by his inaction, to file for divorce. I know she's in pain, too. When I yelled at her, she pointed to her pain. Did I have any idea how painful this was for her? I do. And I told her as much. I do have an idea of her pain, and how wonderful, to experience that, on top of my own. That, on top of being the child my dad calls every so often, asking to see - who else does he have to do anything with? - on top of loving someone whose presence in my life is so difficult, on top of having to pick up her slack, on top of the pain of divorce atop the pain of everything else I'm going through, on top of having to explain to my dad how it's possible to love him, hate his illness, avoid him, not side with my mom, be angry at him, and still want to see him everyday, I get to feel my mother's pain as well. I don't have the joy of oblivion. As usual, that gift's not one I claim. I don't get to hate them blindly. I don't get clear-cut Disney villains. I have to be a writer. I have to study psychology. I have to know the depth and the imperfection and the good hearts of these people who hurt me so. Who I hurt back. Do I wish I could take back what I said to my mom? I wish there hadn't been emotion enough to warrant it. I wish I'd made a different choice. But I don't know what other choices there are, and I'm still working to discern the difference between an attempt at being the perfect daughter and an attempt to be the most decent human being I can...
I haven't heard from or contacted Sara in days. I don't know how she is. I don't know if Jenna's still in the hospital, or how she's doing. I'm not entirely certain of where I am or how I'm doing. I meant to make so many contacts this weekend. The time disappeared, in sleep, in migraine. Still. I need to add doing what I can to mend my lonely heart to my to-do list. I also definitely need to procure a library card. I'm starting to develop a curriculum for myself, like I wanted to do this fall, a very loose way of learning, of taking in information and stimuli, of responding to it. I'm definitely going to need wonder recommendations. Books, movies, so forth. I'll make a more specific plea in a little while, but feel free to jumpstart the list. I'm not sure exactly what I want to be doing, of course, but I think it's more diverse (oh, dear) than my previous plans. I had plans to read a great deal on women's studies and perhaps some issues that are, to me, related - like hysteria and mutism. I'm still compelled to do that, but I want to study more broadly; I don't want to be so academic about it. One point of this time is that I'm *not* in school, so why pretend I am? I want to study lives as well as the art that arose from them; I know that. I want to read letters or diaries or biographies, or maybe I just want to trail more people. I think the idea of doing more now calms the insanity over what I plan to do later, if only the slightest bit.
I'm back to seriously considering not attending college, taking comfort in the fact that I'm considering it (once again) for a different reason. I may walk in circles, but at least I view each loop differently. I'm not backing away out of fear or fearful notions about "what real artists do" this time. I'm taking a step back because I honestly have no idea how I will handle any outer direction of my life, any system I don't choose to participate in, or any subject that pretends to exist in separation from - or more generally than its effect on - my life. I feel seriously egotistical, but I only have this life once, and after that, it won't be lived again. Do I really want to live it in college and working a job? Of course, I also don't want to live it without any intellectual challenges, without social interaction, without mentors, and so forth. My desire to read more is in no way a desire to attempt college independently. I don't want another four years of homebound education. I just don't know what I want. I always thought a system of chosen apprenticeships would work best for me; maybe I need to look into that. Maybe I need to ask Laura if she and Paul are still and seriously interested in having me intern. Ask what that would mean. Face the fear of discussing plans that would take me out of my room and my schedule and my *therapy*... And if I did that, what after? Would something come up in the mix? Won't I have to go to school at some point, in order to earn the degree that will allow me to effectively place myself in a helping profession? I. don't. know. Laura would actually be a good person to discuss this with, considering she's taken a not-so-normal route with her own life. Another person would be my Uncle Jim, who - although seriously educated, traditionally - has spent his life in many different areas, had many different jobs, tried many experiences. I worry what he will think (I worry what everyone will think) of my consideration of choosing something that isn't college as my next step. I grew up in a world where not going to college meant throwing your life, and all of your *potential*, away. I'm scared of the other people who grew up in that world, and I'm scared that maybe it's true. For me if for no one else... (And that last is a clause that can die a quick and painful death.)
That night when Sandy was over, she and my mom had a quick discussion - while in my presence - about all of the reasons the idea of returning to school disagrees with them so entirely and the idea of continuing to learn and grow, et cetera, feels so necessary. I wanted to break in - but didn't, because I wasn't sure I wanted my mom to know about this yet, and because my previous efforts to join the conversation hadn't gone so smoothly - and ask them how they would instruct a person to deal with those same feelings and those same reasons when they had not yet *gone* to school (to college)? When they were several decades younger but felt the same way - still wanted to study for their own benefit, didn't want to answer to instructors, didn't want to be told how to learn or what to do with that information, didn't want to minimize themselves or the lives they were leading? What would you do? This is the curse of my upbringing. I wanted to be in high school before I was in elementary. I wanted to be in college before I'd made middle school. I am forever ahead of myself, forever ahead of my age group, ahead of my time. And it sucks because the solution to that is never so simple as, "skip ahead a few years." The complex combination of character traits, gifts, experiences, and so forth that I call my *self* can't be quantified so simply as my intellectual age determined by an IQ test. I'm ahead in some places, behind in some places, and entirely removed from a schedule in others. That last is the most difficult to deal with... It's the part people try to label out of this world, extraordinary, spectacular, gifted, above and beyond their expectations...so it's the part that nothing accomodates. I don't want to cut off the essence of who I am, where that odd brilliance extends from; I don't want to do that for anything. But I'm still confused about my alternatives. If I jump from internship to apprenticeship for a time, what do I have at the end? Not to sound overtly American, but what do I have that I can market? What do I have that I can eat off of? That will keep me out of the cold and away from the bigger bugs and the rodents?
What part of my life, unaltered, could secure my living?
chord
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