2:30 p.m. - 07/11/02
in which genuine gratitude sounds frightfully crush-like.
I almost don't want to admit this, but I occasionally understand why my parents walk into the yard and say, "I can't believe we live here." Granted, my little urban heart despises how far we are from city-life, and I don't appreciate my (geographically) closest friends being 2 hours away, but it truly is beautiful inside these hills. I met a doe and three fawns on the road today, and I just sat on my bike quietly, trying to explain to the mother that I would not move until she did- she was safe. I see deer almost every day here, and I'm still not used to how beautiful they are.
I think (knocks viligantly on wood) that my undefined illness has gotten better. I slept later than I want to admit today (I couldn't *believe* the clock when I woke up), and all I have is a dull headache and a slightly confused stomach. I forgot to ask the doctor what he thought about postponing the tests, but I realized this morning that for better or worse in 9 days I will be in New York, and that means I'll get a fortnight off from testing by default. So there's really no reason to *decide* to quit looking into this, as I'll get my break either way.
If one can call a nerve-wracking journey across country to see a play she isn't sure she's proud of a break. I'm really looking forward to the moment when my first full-scale production (in New York city, no less) is something I'm proud to talk about. I'd really like to be looking forward to this. It helps that I was absolutely not interested in going to the YPI workshop in December and had a marvelous time. It helps that I felt the same anxious dread six months ago and all worked out for the best. One of these days, vacations will call forth joy in me. They will.
It's a very good thing that I (finally?) realized my recent caretaking urges have nothing to do with others and everything to do with what's going on in me. (This became quite a bit more evident when I was not only worried about people I don't know but people I don't *like.*) Because if I hadn't, it would have been very easy yesterday, talking to Sara, and the day before, talking to Sije, to say, "See! I'm going crazy because everyone *is* struggling! I'm going crazy because everyone *really isn't* ok!" I mentioned that Silje called to tell me she'd "relapsed" (I don't believe in relapse; hence the quotations), and when I called Sara last night she sounded ready to cry and said she was having a really hard time with bingeing, purging, and the suchlike. I wanted to cry, I wanted to pull my hair out, I wanted to make it Not True. honestly, I tried very hard to do so. I spent perhaps the first fifteen minutes of the conversation trying to "logic" her out of her feelings, and poof! her problems away. Of course, I succeeded only in making both of us feel like shit.
I did eventually remember that it's ok for her to be struggling, and I will survive the fact that she's not ok. I started talking to her more honestly, challenging her with some things, and talking about things I do that help with the struggling. It's still really weird to me that I'm occasionally in a better place with the ED than Sara is; I guess because I came in RED after her and was of course, not as far along in my recovery. I expect her to stay ahead of me, the same way I expect my sister to always be smarter and more capable (about everything) than I am. but it makes me really happy that sometimes, I talk to Sara and she guides me, and sometimes I talk to Sara and guide her. most of the time, we guide each other. mutual is a beautiful concept, dearlings; it really is.
We're supposed to talk again today, as I had to leave after about 20 minutes to see the Superdoc. I'm hoping I'm awake enough to speak with her. (Despite, of perhaps because of, the fact that I slept for nearly a decade- I'm muy fatigued this afternoon.) If I'm not, I'm going to tell her as much. I promised myself that, and actually, I promised her as well. I said, "You know, call me every night if you need to." (Insert yeah-right-I'll-be-that-needy scoff/laugh from Sara.) "No, seriously. Because like I was saying, I'm working on not taking care of everyone right now, and you're working on asking for help, so you can call me and ask for help, and I can say, 'sorry, can't do it right now!' when I need to, and we'll both get better." She seemed to like that idea. Sometimes the best way to help someone is to find out what will help you, too. It's much easier to ask for what you need if the other person needs you to ask. For me, anyway. And I think, for Sara, too.
So Mom and Dad both drove me to the appointment with the Superdoc. Because, you know, what's more exciting on a Wednesday night than a drive through the post-rain coolness to the psych office? I figured this was a good thing because certainly between the two of them they could entertain each other, and I could go into the appointment by myself, which I really wanted to do yesterday, but when I asked them to drop me off, my mom flipped a little. Which confused me. I mean, is it really that exciting to sit in a waiting room for an hour? It kind of pissed me off, especially when she said she'd brought a book. Who brings a book when they have someone to talk with? She invites my dad to come along, then brings a book to wait out the time with him. And they wonder why *they* are in therapy as well...
Anyway, I did convince her to let me go in by myself, even if they were just going to sit down the hall; unfortunately, the doc wasn't there, and the receptionist had left a note on the door for me to hang in this little parlor down the hall. After about five minutes my parents appeared and were like, "Augh! You caught us!" because I wasn't supposed to know, apparently, that they weren't really going anywhere. By that point, though, I didn't really care. I was majorally upset about things- about where I was at, where Silje and Sara were at, the fact that my parents are idiots- and I was no longer paying attention to them. Just waiting, waiting, waiting, until eventually he showed.
I passed the time with one of my first-ever acts of vandalism. I wrote on a magazine cover. Oooh, criminal. Actually, I responded to someone else's vandalism; some idiot had marked "Lesbian" on Rosie O'Donnel's forehad, which seriously pissed me off, so I took my Good Black Pen out of my purse and added "with courage!" Then I quickly turned it over, so the people cleaning the carpet (who I suspected had marked it in the first place) wouldn't see what I'd done, and follow me home, clubs in hand. Apparently, my own courage is still a bit fleeting these days...
The appointment was good, though- as always when I've had a really hard week and am about to be thrown into Life Without Therapy for fourteen days- it didn't last long enough. He really is the greatest thing since (something better than) sliced bread though; he really is. He asked "how goes it?" (which made me really happy because that's what *I* ask people, and it's just different enough from the way he normally begins) and I told him I'd been better. "You've been better this week or you've been better before?" he asked, in a voice that said, "Your face pretty much gives this away, but I don't want to jump to the wrong conclusion." The latter, I explained. And then I told him how Dixie is in the hospital, how Silje called to say she'd relapsed, how Sara was not ok, and on top of *all this* I'm not ok either.
"That does sound like a hard week," he said finally, in this voice that was so sympathetic and genuine and completely not what I expect from people, even now- even after how far I've come. We talked for awhile about caretaking and boundary setting, and I kept explaining that I know it's not about them, it's about me, and he asked if I wasn't being too hard on myself; after all, people really *are* having a hard time, and I told him maybe a little, but seriously when I'm practically worried about Stewart, things are a bit too messy even for me. He asked me if I wanted to not worry about people, offering me a hypothetical Fairy Godmother who could appear and made me never fret over anyone's well-being again, and I instantly started laughing. Me? Choose *not* to worry about people? Ha.
I told him, of course not, of course I didn't want to quit caring about the well-being of others, I just felt there was a line between being attached to people and obsessing over them, a statement with which he readily agreed. He gave me some suggestions about ways to better my boundaries - for instance, telling people I can only talk for so long (an hour earlier, with Sara- "I just want you to know, I can only talk for 30 minutes because I have to leave") or flat out telling them I feel compelled to "fix" it. (An hour earlier, with Sara, "I just have to tell you: I really want to have a magic wand that just lets me fix all of this for you.") I told him both of these examples, and he finally just shook his head and laughed. "The great thing about working with you," he said, "is that you already have all the answers. So I just end up affirming what you've already done." Which of course, is about a 1/50th of what he actually does, but it was still really sweet of him to say. Since he *does* give me suggestions that do better my world, it's nice when the ones he give are things I've already known to do. It was nice to see that my *boundaries* at least have gotten a lot better. I'm a lot smarter about who I let into my life, and I'm a lot better about looking after myself in the relationships I do have. He asked me if I thought the reason no one seemed to push my boundaries these days is because people are aware, however intuitively, that I have them, and I smiled and told him I thought that was possible. I told him how Chas told me once that I had a target on my forehead, that drew negative people to attack or leech off me, and that I don't think this is so true now. Having boundaries keeps me safe in the relationships I do have, but it also, in some ways, dictates what people I relate with at all. I'm actually *proud* of this.
Go me. Being prideful.
I was really pleased about his Fairy Godmother point, especially when he added that for me caretaking was a seriously hard thing, but it was also one of my greatest gifts. That's something I've really wanted to be told lately, and I'd almost forgotten so when he said it. I kind of expected that when I learned to take care of myself, I would just quit needing to take care of others (in some ways that has happened- I no longer need to take care of them to have self-esteem), but of course, I still care about people, and I still want them to be ok- a fact that has been difficult for me to accept. How do I explain to all these anti-codependency gurus that wanting to care for people is actually *a part* of who I am, no matter how unhealthily it has played out? To have him recognize it as a strength was really rewarding for me. The more I'm able to genuinely only care for others because I care *about* them, the better I'll feel, but it's nice to have someone affirm the Good of my always caring.
I think he's a little like this, too.
One of the things that makes him so good at what he does (just call this the weekly superdoc-gushing) is how genuinely he believes in the strength of each person's psyche. He doesn't sit with me and try to explain to me the "healthy" ways of doing things; he explains to me that the way I'm doing them, is *out* of a need for health. I go in beating myself up for how guilty I feel (guilt over guilt, woo-hoo) and he explains to me how protective and purposeful my guilt is. He seems to believe, first and foremost, that we are not unhealthy and we are not ignorant. He sees the health in me, and I really appreciate that, because let's face it, I rarely see the health in me.
On the guilt tangent: I told him how the caretaking annoys me because I end up trying to take care of people in a way that would likely bring *me* to slap someone. (Which made him laugh. I love it when he laughs.) I explained that I firmly believe my friends are capable of getting through anything. I thought of Silje, and what she survived, even as a small child- what she was capable of *living through*...I would never assume that they do not have the power to live through their own circumstance, but I have this Incredibly Overpowering Fear that something is going to happen *to* them. That some evil is going to steal them away, attack them, or that they won't have the time to overcome what they most certainly have the power to.
It's like- I think they all drive amazingly well, but I'm convinced someone is going to speed through a red light and kill them. This is my view of the world, which only gets more confusing when I realize that I realize that the Unknown Person speeding through the light is trustworthy as well...
And he said a little gently, a little obviously (because I think he knew that I was talking about this and just couldn't say it aloud), "Well, that's your experience. You had a friend - die. Of course you expect this." And I was like, Yes! I know! Exactly! I told him how I believe everyone is capable of getting through Ed and at the same time, Tracy was capable and *didn't.* I told him how people do fine, but then the physical shit catches up with them and they end up in the hospital. I told him I just want to - rush - people's healing; I know they can do it, but I just want to speed them along because I'm afraid if they don't get started now, they won't have time to finish, and I can't bear to lose them. I can't.
And I told him about the guilt. I told him what it's like to have my friends call me and tell me they can't stop purging, or they're back on their feeding tube, when I've just finished my third meal of the day. I told him what it's like to eat so easily, to finish everything so easily, and know that my friends are crying over every bite, if they're even managing the bites at all. I told him how guilty I feel about how easy it all is for me, and how I don't understand why it has to be so much harder for them.
He asked me if I really thought it was easy for me, and I started crying. "No," I said. "It's not." It's not easy; it's fucking difficult as hell, but at the same time, "but at the same time - I can do it. Why does it have to be so hard for them?"
And he said..."You know, Mary, there are some people who never in their lives struggle with an eating disorder. There are some people who never have to worry one moment about food." I hadn't thought of that. I'd put us in sort of a separate league, us kids with the EDs. I hadn't thought about all the people who never have to struggle. But at the same time - "but at the same time, *I* had one. I have one...? And I don't have to fight it this way."
He reminded me that my eating disorder was in response to a lot of other shit that has been to some extent "fixed" now. It was in response to anxiety and depression and other issues that have gotten a lot better. And even though, that's true for everyone else- their disorders are reactionary coping mechanisms as well- for some of them that was the first "disorder" and for me, it was one of the last straws. I guess it just happened to be the one that people finally listened to. It was the one that finally *got* me help, but it was by no means the worst one. And also, this entity of "cutting, depression, binging, purging, restricting, anxiety, compulsive studying, caretaking" and so forth would, in a world without labels, all be the same thing in my head. I would call it Mary's Disorder. *This* is what I really struggle with; it's all one thing. So just because I'm not having a problem with the one "symptom" of the ED, that doesn't mean I'm not struggling.
It's really hard for me to realize that. It's really hard for me to not just say, "You never had an eating disorder, and you never had it as hard as them, and you shouldn't even have been at RED in the first place, you little faker-girl."
But that's erm...her past speaking up. And we don't listen too closely to the lies they told her, growing up.
We talked about Tracy for what is basically the first time ever, or rather, we talked about me at the moment in regard to what happened with Tracy- because I've basically decided that my grief and guilt over her is what is making the caretaking so huge in my life again. (Excerpt from the paper journal: I started feeling guilty, I guess, because I was powerless in the situation and also because beating myself up was easier than feeling the emotion. Because ultimately there was no punishment great enough to balance what hapened to Tracy, and because guilt requires punishment, I switched gears to shame. I no longer "felt uilty about what had happened" - I now *am* guilty, almost irreparably for who I am, how I live, and what I've done/ continue to do.) I told Dr. R this, how when I feel guilty, I always try to compensate- if I do something mean, I make an effort to be extra nice- and there is nothing- absolutely *nothing*- I can do that balances what happened. No matter how many people I take care of, no matter how much I deprive and punish myself, I can't bring her back. I can't un-kill her.
I didn't tell him that I feel like I killed her, but you know, he knows me pretty well.
He said that maybe the reason I can't balance it is because it's an exorbitant demand- because I feel more guilt than is truly mine to own. I guess- I don't have as much responsibility in this as I feel guilt for, and so I can't balance it with action. Say some all-powerful God had killed her, and felt guilty; well, that all-powerful God could bring her back because (s)he was all-powerful, but since I didn't actually *do* it, I can't un-do it. I think that's what he meant. Therefore, my guilt must have some other meaning, some other purpose than just, "I feel guilty because I did this."
I told him my John Bradshaw quote that, "[Guilt is] a way of feeling powerful in a powerless situation"- if this is my fault, I don't have to feel how little control I had over it, which he seemed to understand. He also suggested that when I feel guilty, I feel angry at myself, and I don't have to feel angry at Tracy. He talked about how feelings are illogical (and told me for the millionth time that it is each of our birthrights to have emotions and never once have to rationalize or justify them) and as human as it is to be angry at someone for dying on us, our conscience will kick in and shut off the feeling for being unfair. I sat quietly, trying to draw up a single reason to be angry with Tracy, only to discover, for the thousandth time (people have been telling me to get angry since December) that I'm not angry. Finally, I said, "my conscience must be really quick. Because I can't even imagine being angry. I can't come up with one reason, but then...I guess that makes sense. If it isn't rational anger, than I wouldn't be able to 'think up' a reason."
And he said the most bizarrely wonderful thing - the type of thing that confirms I need him as a therapist and not just the Little Counselor in my head; he said, "I'm not at all telling you to get in touch with your anger." (?!) He said that my guilt was obviously serving a purpose; if I was putting this much energy into avoiding my anger (which I still assured him I didn't have), then it really wasn't a good idea to force msyelf into feeling it. He reminded me that, no matter how much I minimize it, I'm in recovery, and at least the first two years are rocky. Feeling such overwhelming anger at this point might very well be too much, he said, and the only reason he was suggesting the *possibility* that I *might* be angry (he was catching onto the fact that I think it completely impossible that I'm angry at The Girl) was to help me be more at peace with the guilt. If it's *possible* that the guilt is helping me, I don't have to be so upset for feeling it.
See, he really is a genius. And he's all mine. I'm stealing him when I move to Massachusetts in a year. He doesn't know this, but I am. I refuse to give him up next fall. But that's kind of jumping ahead. Just a bit.
I did think of one reason to be angry on the way home- not at Tracy but at my friends who are struggling. I'm angry that they can't take care of me. I still want to be taken care of, and I feel like they can't do that because they're having a hard time, which makes me (illogically) angry. I almost rushed to the computer to e-mail him this, but I realized I could probably remember it and tell him in a week. I also almost asked for an extra appointment (other than the one I have) before the NY trip, but realized that his appointments are so good, it'd probably *not* be helpful to stack two on top of each other. And of course, I call if I need to. Superdoc has even convinced *me* I can call if I need to...
When I left, he told me to take care. Which is not something he says synonymously with, "see you next week"...it's something he honestly meant. And I thought, "You don't even know that my parents went off the deep end and are simultaneously about to quit both their jobs, and you're still ready to hug me because you know I'm struggling and you're the only person in my week-to-week life that I can count on..."
Which is the long way of explaining that when I said, "you, too" it was synonymous with, "thank you for being a superhero at the same time you are oh-so-very human with the Crazy Girl Kiddle I call me." It's the long way of explaining that, while everyone falls in love with their therapist, mine actually deserves this adoration. *nod*
a slightly embarrassed
chord
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