8:10 p.m. - 08/09/02
my life's really a lot nicer than I make it sound...
It's paranoid to think that just because every other time I've talked to Sara's mom she's told me where Sara was and when she'd call back (and this time she didn't) - Sara's in the hospital. Isn't it? It's paranoid, right? I didn't realize how much I don't want her to be there until I got off the phone just now. She's probably ok. She has to be ok. And being in the hospital doesn't make her any less ok than she would be outside of the hospital. That's the opposite of what the point is going in...But I still feel shaky on the subject. I still really want her to call me tomorrow and be like, "what are you crazy? of course I'm home! my electrolytes were fine, and I've been kicking ass ever since..." I don't want it to be so hard as it is.
I'm really scared, you guys. Like really scared. I just can't handle the world as it is. I can't handle everyone being in so much pain. People having to cut and do drugs and have unwanted sex and not eat and purge and binge and do everything else that people do because life is less than simple. Something is wrong in my head, and I don't know what it is. It's a feeling with no name, a sort of craziness that has me fine one second and wanting to hide in bed and not wake up the next. It isn't wanting to die, but sleep is easier. When I'm not having nightmares, sleep is easier. There's nothing to get done, there's nothing to remember, there's no reason to be afraid.
She has to be ok; she has to. Sara, you're my inspiration, and I know you aren't back there unless you need to be, but how could those people, never having been through it, know what you need? And I'll admit it, if you're back at Rogers, I'll break. Because all I want in the whole world is to have this August be last August, and if it is for you, no matter how many horrible things that means, there is envy stirring in my stomach. I don't want to be there, I don't want you to be there, and I don't mean to minimize the pain of anyone who *is* there, but there's nothing I want more than to have never have left, and if you found a way back, I don't know what I'll do.
Why, why, why am I the one who's nearing a year of abstinence? Why is this so much easier for me than for everyone else? How can I be scared out of my mind, and still less scared than you, still more stable than you manage? What is with me? It's weird, but after all the illness, sanity is lonely, and I'm scared.
If I thought this were just a response to my fears about Sara, I would cut it off. I would say, "I'm being paranoid, I'm going to stop now," but I've gone off on this before with just as little reason, and I know it's about me. I want to fix everything lately, and even though it's not quite as overwhelming as it was the last time around, it's still making me crazy. I say things and then I want to take them back because I know I'm saying them for myself and not for you. It doesn't mean I mean what I say any less; I don't...but I regret it afterward because I've said so many things I didn't mean trying to feel better about other people's feelings (in the past.) I've said I love you, let me fix it, you will be ok, when I didn't believe any of those things were possible for anyone. Or maybe I did but I didn't understand how to get from point a (gony) to point b (etter).
The thing is, in many ways, I still don't. My life now is (despite all the really good things) like a repetition of that one moment sitting in my room at RED with Heather on my bed. Paging through the notebook paper she offered me, trying to find my way through her tears. And she's asking me, "How do I do this? I'm really scared, but I want to get better. How did you get where you are?" And I want to cry because this girl trusts me, she really trusts me, but what can I do because there's no answer to give her. There's no formula, and I don't even have a memory of the days that passed between admission and discharge. I didn't keep a diary those days, and I don't remember how I filled them. It's like waking up a butterfly and wanting to go back into the chrysalis. I can't explain the transformation; I fell asleep and woke up changed.
I know that I had to want it very badly, but I didn't have to stop being scared. I could be scared so long as I kept trying, so long as I still started therapy, and went to Rogers, and took the little challenges even when I just ended up crying. I know it has to do with trying and realizing that you'll learn as much from the tears as you do from the successes. It's being among people who are worthy of your trust, then trusting them. It's taking risks, believing what you're scared to believe - like that no matter what you're good enough, like that you deserve better than what you've been given, and that you deserve better than what you are giving yourself.
I want to be able to write Heather. And Katia. And everyone else. I want to be able to say to them- hey, I'm here, remember me. I want to be able to sit on my bed at Rogers with someone else in the chair, someone else paging through my questions, looking at my tears. I want someone to answer the questions *I still have* - like why did I get better when no one else does? And how can it be this hard when everything is so obviously well?
They promised me they wouldn't think I was cured if I started eating again. I forgot to make the same promise to myself, and now I'm lost. I miss having a group of people in the same part of battle I was in. I miss being close enough to those people to know when they were struggling and to be sure they were surrounded by support. It's too hard with all of us in different states, coutries, continents, doing everything we can to get better. I can't keep track of it all, and I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm trying desperately to take care of everyone, but I need someone here to take care of me...
Sara. Please. Be ok.
chord
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