4:45 p.m. - 07/30/02
my adventures in the empire state. [first installment]
NY PART ONE:
July 20th - 10:00 a.m. - the plane
I'm writing this on the plane, waiting for takeoff. The pen is an illegible neon green, which I suppose is good for privacy's sake (the way my minuscule handwriting is good) I just hope I'll be able to read it later well enough to post. It must be about ten now, maybe a little earlier, and I'm feeling calm as always - now that I'm on the plane with my bag stowed securely below the seat before me, and my belt locked around my waist. I got a window sweat which always secures the idea that all is right with the world, and as usual, time at the gate convinced me that I was not on a plane filled with ill-fated hellions God might feel compelled to teach a lesson. Actually, I had more to rely on than simple observation. Heather and her entire family are on this flight as well. We gave each other about twenty-thousand hugs and joked about what we'd been up to in the time since our last e-mail; it was good. Mom kept trying to intervene, have us get seated together and so forth, not completely understanding that Healy and I are out of practice in our friendship and might find even the short two-hour conversation difficult to fill. I wish it were different, but we always were good at brightening each other's days. As wonderful as she is, is difficult to fill a flight with comic relief.
I feel kind of not-okay all of the sudden. Everyone seems so nice: the flight attendants are cheery and the man with the aisle seat hardly flinched when I nearly smacked him in the face with my overloaded backpack. There's this awful high-pitched mechanical squeal that won't quit, but certainly if something were wrong they'd have told us by now. The man across the aisle is reading Night; I'm all but back in sophomore year. I've had to think about Neverland a lot lately, which I guess isn't a horrible thing, but it doesn't always feel so great. Being away is nice enough at moments like those waiting to board, moments when I run into people from the past and get to feel like I've been having some wonderful adventure. I guess I don't feel the same about adventures when I'm experiencing them. I don't have the same joy when I can't relate them to a friend. I did appreciate the opportunity to prove to a handful of witnesses that I still exist. Maybe there's a part of me that needs to be reminded.
These people are seniors. They're band camp section leaders, militant honors students, invested romantics. I have a hard time remembering my worth in the face of that. Adolescence may not be the best time of our lives, but it must have some merit. Is mine worth any less than theirs? Am I somehow inferior because I can�t drive a car, attend school or audition any more? So what happened to me? And if I�m not inferior, why do I feel that way? How can the reality I�ve condemned so long make me mistrust who I am?
I remember fourth grade when Brooke started running with a more popular crowd. I remember how it felt to observe and be among them, aware that even armed with the knowledge that this is not who I want to be I still wondered if maybe my identity was less than theirs. Of course, if it were only about my relationship with Brooke the fact that she�s away from all those girls and back with me, would change something. As thrilled as I am to have her back in my life, it doesn�t affect the inferiority. I guess this feeling comes from me�to think he could replace the missing elements in me/ how extremely lazy of me.
We've taken off now and are slowly climbing over Oz. I adore take-offs: it's the only part of the flight where I feel like I'm really flying. And as predicted, I feel much safer in the air than I did waiting to enter it. The gravity and air pressure pushing at me feel like bodyguards who will keep danger out. I'm thinking I'm not done yet. I have more I need to know.
But for now, there are clouds like white sand beaches out my window, and the small-boned businessman at the aisle has taken off his shoes, wrapped himself in a red blanket, and prepared to catch a few winks. More later, as I have hopes of doing the same.
LATER- more clouds
They just handed us or snack (my stomach would suggest it's lunchtime) and I don't think Rogers would approve. I feel a little like I'm on a field trip, or back in kindergarten, being handed my Rold Gold ration and my juice. The one flight attendant is fabulously good humored; a woman managed to squeeze past the tray table and he said, "Everybody clap!" but no one really did. It's a really beautiful day outside the window: land and clouds, so I guess everyone is happy. I'm really enjoying freedom from my family, at the same time it would be nice to have support. I think in some ways my RED-withdrawal has gotten worse since my "confession" to the doctor, though the agony of it feels a little less. I guess in some odd way, finally telling someone there is more than just the joy has confirmed the joy. Having now been honest about the pain, and not having someone attack them as a response, made the peace equally true. I'm not lying to myself about being scared and hurt and angry, so I don't have to worry that I'm lying about anything else.
It�s funny in the plane, I�m happy to be going somewhere, but I can�t really think of where I�d like to touch down. Norway, maybe, or at Hampshire. Really, though, I�d like to just keep traveling and never arrive. So for once the journey is the destination.
Well, that and NYC, NY. Back in D!@#$%^, Dad brought treasure from the post office yesterday. I�ve had the most amazing luck that way, but I guess such gold comes with its price. The package was from Neverland, from Shandi, Brooke, and the other kiddles, and it was absolutely AMAZING: notebooks, journals, letters � Brooke even sent me a troll like the ones we used to play with as kids. I was awestruck, perhaps most of all to discover an address book nearly filed with contact info for my friends. Not only do they apparently not hate me, but I feel some definite love as well.
The price, I guess, was the feeling I started thinking about all the notes that appeared with my homework, all the cards, and the butterfly balloon. These people gave me so much support, and even though I�ve no desire to be back in that school, there�s a longing that�s stayed with me. The problem with the past is you can never get hold of it long enough to change how you feel about the time. Letters must be written I suppose; phone calls made.
And then, from Shandi, a volume of letters written during my absence, said to have maintained her sanity, described as "a journal addressed to you." I'd heard from Shandi that junior year was tough, but I had no idea now to take the reference. This is a girl who's survived crazy parents, 3 divorces, and so much else I doubt I even know. The not from her about the letters mentions that she experienced severe depression and felt suicidal, something that - naively - I never felt she was susceptible to. Of course, I wish a thousand times over that I would have been there for her, at the same time I'm aware that in that case, I'd only be wishing my own pain hadn't been terrible to the point that I neglected her. I'm glad that I know now as I am now and that through the letters I was sort of there for her. I'm speechless that she trusted me with that, that even whole state lines away, she knew I would understand. I'm waiting until I�m home to read them, but I know even without any of the details that I need to talk or write to her. She needs to know HOW understood she is, how strong and wonderful - or at least, I need to tell her.
It's hard, though. Shandi was my best friend in seventh grade. In eighth, I completely withdrew, ninth- I broke down, and tenth I was so threatened by her talent I alternately hid and lashed out. I was insecure, felt like she achieved everything I wished I could, felt like the recognition I needed to stay on the same level as everyone else was negated when she hit the same mark. I felt sick when I read it. Did I - supposedly so intelligent, insightful, aware - really fall for that whole "girl who has it all" fantasy? I actually resented her at times for "stealing my identity" (jesus) and now she has my depression and I honestly feel no grief for that. The competition at Neverland really was bad, and it has to end somewhere. I just wish I'd been there for her sooner. No matter how much a "high schooler" she was ALWAYS there for me, and there was always something deeper than her surface. I just feel such remorse- not really guilt, but remorse for how the past few years played out. We didn�t know the wrongs of the system programming us, so how could have fought them? But I will fight it now, God willing. None of us have it easy, and those who seem to must have such pain in THAT.
We�ll be on the ground in less than thirty minutes. My ears ache and I really hope the evil noise from earlier is back because otherwise these ears are ringing badly.
Love to all-
chord
*
July 21st - 9:40 a.m. � Sarah�s Apartment
There�s just no TIME here. If I could type, I could document more quickly but I don�t have time now to type and post the entry before this, and I don�t want to save journal on Sarah�s computer. Why am I wasting time talking about this when I just said I don�t have any? Onto the events thus far.
We touched down without a hitch after circling a little to avoid some billowing black smoke. A transformer burst at Con-Ed and there was a massive fire yesterday so about half the city lost power and the train signals were down. We ended up canceling the meeting scheduled for last night � me, Sarah, and the two cast members � because people were stranded in various places in the city. I preferred the newly-elected Saturday plans, which involved staying in Astoria (Queens) where Sarah lives and which I love. The best part was that Steve came back with a friend of his just moved to the city, a woman named Michelle, and she was fabulous beyond words. Simply put, I�m relieved she said some things about boys because it meant I could dull down my mounting infatuation. I�m actually proud of the experience for multiple reasons. It affirmed what Dr. R said about my stronger self attracting healthier people. I also managed to not obsess about her (obsessively) by the time she headed back to Brooklyn and �falling for� and �getting over� a girl so quickly suggests to me that MY health is improving as well. Not that I want to be someone who rushes through relationships but it would also be nice to abstain from hooking myself to people virus-style and ending up with stalker levels of emotional investment (i.e. my life thus far.) Basically, I felt like I�d been given an example of what �emotional fullness� (the Rogers love=food metaphor) might look like in my life, and even though the initial new-person high dissipated more quickly than other times, that high is exhausting eventually, it didn�t mean I quit liking her and I didn�t have to be hurt in order to regain independence. So maybe wanting to be with someone can be similarly intoxicating without all the rip-tides of needing someone. It gives me a new perspective of what happened with Billy. I didn�t sabotage the relationship and I wasn�t consciously waiting for him to hurt me � but entering into a relationship as enmeshed as that set me up to leave violently. If I could have kept boundaries, maintained an identity, and so forth, an end like what happened would not have been the only option. But anyway that was a while ago, I as different, he made mistakes as well. Back to the present day.
I saw a live run-through of the play for the first time today, and � despite my mixed feelings after seeing the video, I have to say I loved it. More pathetic girl-talk (how out of character- I hope): but I think it would have been fulfilling for me (no matter what else) just to see Rachel play a part that came from me. I�ve been thinking about how different I felt around Sarah�s friends than I did when I visited her during college. I would still like to feel more comfortable (and I think I would if I weren�t coming into the process so late and if there wasn�t this semi-eerie you-knew-me-when-I-was-a-highly-introerted-overcompensating-teenager-ness with Rachel. She treats me wonderfully and everything but I feel a little ashamed of who I used to be- and still am in some ways. It actually occurred to me that great as Rachel is, I�m infatuated by who she is onstage- an incredibly strong, quietly wounded neurotic (generally speaking.) Or rather I would like to think, the honesty of being that visibly vulnerable. She�s a bit more reserved off-stage, and I kind of overdosed on reservation during the whole Jenna-is-god(dess) ordeal. Anyway- I don�t really know WHY I am going on about all this as there was never any future with Rachel, I�m still in love with her as soon as the lights go up, and I might very well never be in a relationship so all this speculation may prove erroneous. But all the same, it�s good to know that girls with short blonde hair (damn you Jenna), mustard cords, magenta tank tops, and headphones, who read sociology books on the subway (random encounter); women from Brooklyn with formula racing fathers and crazy Italian school stories, who spontaneously decide to postpone their doctorate programs to move to NY, and older flames (or sparks, rather) who rip themselves apart onstage and put you back together with humor after bows are all very good things. I�m sure that�ll be on a test someday.
Chord
July 23rd � 8:35 a.m. � Live at Lincoln Center
At the time, the tone will be�yeah, I�m smart. So here I am, alone in the city for the first (real) time. Making my way on my own or rather hiding out in one of the windows at the Met, hoping that the sprinklers don�t go off, as they�re my only source of hydration. Frightening realization to admit. I�m writing this with the (same invisible) feathery green pen and it completely matches my shirt. So not intentional and so very disturbing.
Oh dear, the sprinklers are down. I repeat, the sprinklers are down.
So here I am and here I will be for the next three or so hours until the library opens. Sarah works nearby and as her work is a bit boring and I would have to push through the obligatory, �Oh, you�re Sarah�s sister�s I opted for the performing arts library which is very cool � when it�s open. I�m psyched to check out some Craig Lucas script and maybe a bit of Kushner. It�s a little fucked that I still have to true concept of �Angels In America� after all, and I�m sure to find time since I�ll be here today until 6 and probably tomorrow as well. I wish that I weren�t such a dork about the subway (more fear than incompetence though I certainly have healthy levels of the latter as well. I also wish Julie and Cami were here to run me around, but alas, they�ve returned to that toddlin� town. It just occurred to me that I could catch the train to visit YPI, and I might actually do that one, especially if Ruth misses the play. For good reason: I�d like to talk to her, though I should probably conduct a minor investigation into what that reason is. After all, Ruth turned into one of the infamous Girls during my last trip, and I�m not interested in rehashing that insanity though I AM curious as to why Miss Asexual Mary keeps picking out girls and only girls. There are seriously no physical elements to the attraction (hot still refers to the weather and so forth) but my �observer� skills seem most keenly focused on the female half of the population, though the fact that I am a girl is largely underestimated (by my own equation) and the fact that my needs right now are largely �feminine� traits. Despite the impossible success with Dr. R, I�m still quicker to trust women in most circumstances; not to gender-stereotype but feminine responses just make more sense, and are more comfortable to me. Example: when Billy used to feel neglected (which granted was more a trait of codependence than masculinity) he would feel angry, which I Understood, but then he�d lash out at me, which I didn�t. Generally, speaking, I feel like my girl-friends are more likely to lash in and since that�s how I was (am�) his anger was always like a second attack. Now hopefully, I�ll tend to be in relationships where attacking each other is not so frequent a sport, but I�m just more likely to stay invested if I only have to defend myself to myself. It seems to me I shouldn�t deal with their judgment. What do they know about who I am?
So what is this � the relationship vacation? I�d like to think of it more as the self-exploration vacation. I�m very aware being here this time that I will be eighteen in just over six months and I need to be able to handle my fear affectively. I need to know how to able not only alone at home, but in a crowded city and a deserted park. I need to know how to pay for something without shaking. (Probably because of my parents� financial straits, I have a crazy phobia that I will not have enough money and someone will shoot forth a lightning bolt on the spot. That�s the thing about phobias. The �would it really be so bad?� logic of what genuinely feels like mortal danger.)
Anyway, I do have an awareness that, freed to do so, I survive alone. I am genuinely capable of meeting my needs for food, water, and safety. I am capable of finding my way, asking for help and still maintaining sanity. And interestingly enough it�s in some ways a relief to be pushed out of the nest. I guess my ambivalence about autonomy breeds indecisiveness. When I�m forced through my fear into a situation, I usually manage. I trust it�s the combination fear of leaving with the fear of where I�ll end up that keeps me a bit too overwhelmed to act. But it is a relief to have an independence practice round, to be aware that even though I�m terrified to leave, I can still pack. I guess there�s comfort in knowing that I don�t have to stop being afraid of college in order to go. Though I do need to apply. I will work on my portfolio when I get home. I will.
It occurred to me about a paragraph back that I forgot to take my meds for the second day in a row. Not good news. As pleased as I am that I�m out and about without my panic meds, I don�t need to throw my brain out of whack this way. I wonder if that accounts for my being more eating-disordered lately than I normally am/ Probably not. I think mostly I�m just being eating-disordered because I�m a freak. Ok, that�s not the most productive statement, but this is seriously annoying the shit out of me. Time to suck it up and discuss, I suppose.
(A man just came over to ask if I had a light, and I felt really stupid because it didn�t register at first. I wish I could have given him one, but this girl is still too fond of breathing; she achieves her calm in other ways. He�s returned and now I�m watching what I think is beer while he goes God knows where. I hope no one messes with it as I�m more likely to hightail it than explain. It doesn�t help that I can�t even see his beer. Yeah.)
Back to my misadventure with that sly arch-enemy, Ed, I�ve been comparing like a girl possessed � nowhere near as bad as two trips ago when I was in agony over the thinness of every person in the city of New York, but still not exactly a model of recovered thinking. I had a lot of trouble with Rachel yesterday (which sucks because she�s so cool and the thoughts are so dumb) and also with random people who pass by. My body image was SHIT the past few days, which is pretty odd for me. I usually focus on how much stronger I am how that�s evident in my body so to feel so obsessive about curve-versus bone again is not exactly exhilarating. I have no idea why it�s this bad, unless I�m just transferring my feelings of inability to inadequacy about weight. Like, �I�m ugly and round and therefore out of luck� is easier to deal with than �I�m foreign and unpracticed and therefore inferior.� I certainly don�t know.
So anyway, that�s probably been the worst aspect, though the first night dinner-out-Italian-restaurant-decorated-with-mirrors was not exactly cause to jig. I thought of Sara and felt comforted by her delayed-but-inevitable sympathy, and at the same time, aware that I was probably a lot more ok, because of my relative behavioral solidarity then she would be. I�ve actually noticed an unhappy reality of feeling better if I don�t think about my friends with eating disorders. I guess I�m ok with this during meals; it makes sense sort of that the memories would be a difficult influence but it sucks to feel better not remembering. I think it�d help to bring myself out of it by thinking of who my friends really ARE rather than just cutting off the thought. It�s the memory of sickness I find painful, not my friends.
Which is another reason I think the Italian restaurant was better for me. Simply put, I was never attracted to thinness and I wasn�t sucked in by the media until years into my sickness. For me, the draw of being underweight was to be ill, to be worthy of attention, visibly sick. I can push myself through with the fact that I look healthy, not huge, because the extreme thinness was not a healthy possibility. I know that my weight is fine and that it wouldn�t be if it went much lower. That thinness is separate from the thinness of the healthy continuum. I try to be proud that I�m as healthy as I am which is a little, after all.
And there are times when I feel real disdain for the sickness, beyond even the pride I take in having fought it thus far. Yesterday, for instance, I ate my slightly smaller breakfast that I normally eat, but didn�t have lunch until three. I was so sick, I was upset about it. I�m really grateful that I can feel things, that I can know what I need and when, and to feel myself go past hunger into the same starvation mode so prevalent last year- it sucks. It sucks to be that sick, especially when you can feel so fully as a healthy person. I�m committing myself to keeping that at bay the rest of the trip. More nourishment and meds, less beer-sitting for strange boys.
Thought actually, he�s gone now. He retrieved his drink, met up with a pack of friends, and scooted. Only the bottle remains. Sarah actually stopped by on an errand as well, so that was nice. And I think I was mistaken for a Julliard student, which is also very cool in the grand vacation scheme. All in all, it�s a pretty day and this is a fabulous nook, but I think it�s time to stretch the sleeping muscles and rest (a few) of the wracked ones. Like my fingers.
chord
July 23rd � 4:20 p.m. � (Barely A)live at Lincoln Center
It�s the heat maybe. It�s not getting enough sleep or reading too long. The sun is bearing down, I�ve felt sick all day, and suddenly nothing sounds better than my own air-conditioned space. I was reading in the library and started to feel sick, so I went walking through the shelves, ended up in the women�s restroom, and when the privacy of a public bathroom stall felt refreshing, I knew I was in trouble. I still have just under two hours until Sarah�s off work for the night. I was feeling completely up for another day of this but I may opt for the lonely subway ride tomorrow, just to keep from feeling crazy. Sarah�s schedule sucks. If you�re going to stay up late, you life should allow you to sleep late or to nap or something. I guess it has to do with how many years I spent running on empty (from so many things) but these days, I just feel a need to meet my needs. I need space of my own, I need air and good food, I need privacy and friends. I need a schedule that allows me to stay sane. I guess it�s good to know these things- �space� for instance is a need likely to check NY off my possible relocation list, as much as I love it here. I�ve been thinking lately that my physical home needs average Joe and Sarah, and wondering if that places me in the Midwest, a thought I found very disturbing until I realized the Midwest includes its Northern states.
July 24th � 10:00 a.m. � Back at Abe�s
Day number two of kicking it with the pigeons. Yesterday I passed the time by being productive; today I�m passing it by being lazy. I�m doing everything in my power not to fall asleep, though I worry it�s a losing battle. I�m avoiding the urge to read, enticing as it is. I have a feeling if I push my eyes to do much beyond staying open, they�ll have grounds for mutiny. I�m going over the other entries in blue pen so I can read them, drawing the other people, shifting my weight every two or so minutes. It�s not that I woke up early so much as that I woke up too quickly. One second I�m dreaming, the next I�m in the shower, and my body doesn�t dig that so much.
July 26th - 3:20 p.m. � Sarah�s Apartment
The other day I spent several hours at Barnes and Noble and one of the things I found to do was read the first half of The Last Time I Wore A Dress. I had no idea how much I�d relate to it and now, in my own little-girly dress, I�m reminded again of how terribly uncomfortable I am as a girl. (At the same time, can you imagine me as a boy? With my fear of them? Scary.) I would really like to be in totally boy clothes about a thousand miles from where I am right now. My parents arrived today and the threefold judgment/ overprotection is a little more than I can handle. Two days of existing with the guidance of anyone has all but convinced me I can survive that way. I just can�t explain how irritating it is to spend the day alone, doing whatever feels right only to have someone go over your day and judge every moment. Like I�m incapable of keeping myself safe. Like I�m incapable of keeping myself together. I just want to smack everyone. I�m not twelve and I�m not a complete moron. I don�t really understand my family. Who else would feel obligated to tell you how to live your life. Older isn�t better or smarter; it�s older. And I�d really not like to feel compelled to move out of the continent just to be allowed my own mind. I�ve noticed it�s better because I�m more fierce about separating myself now. But I�m still really wishing someone
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