10:26 - 04/17/03
no longer crazy for feeling.
A few days ago I had this really brilliant thought that if we scheduled my second appointment this week for Saturday, instead of Thursday, I would have significantly less time between my last appointment before New York and my first appointment afterward. Unfortunately, I failed to communicate this to anyone (partly because I never think about scheduling, and partly because when I did think about it, I was gearing up to call Steph, and I wanted to wait and make sure that the call didn't screw with me so significantly that I needed to see him Thursday. That was Tuesday. I already broke my plan and didn't call yesterday because the migraine was bad, and I didn't want to call when I felt poorly, in case it went poorly, and I was unable to handle that. I asked my parents to try and schedule the Saturday appointment during their appointment (during my old time, on Wednesdays) and apparently, the doctor was like, "That's a really good idea...I wish I'd thought of it" because, surprise, he's booked all day Saturday. And that just really hurt because I'm homesick, and I'm still realing (a bit) from the Hampshire rejection and the pain with him following it. Also, my mom said something she really should not have told me - the type of thing that makes me wish she maintained the same confidentiality about what he tells her, that he does about what she tells him. She said that, in case he asked, Thursdays would be better for her to take me, and I was like, "Umm, that's already how it's set up" (and also pissed because a Tuesday-Saturday schedule makes so much more sense.) And she was like, "No, I mean when you go from two appointments back to one, Thursdays are better than Tuesdays." I was like, Are you crazy? "Did he say that we were going down to one appointment?" She said, "Yeah, he said that was the plan." I looked at her, absolutely torn to shreds, and said, "Well...I guess we'll see about that." Here's the thing: I know with every atom in me that if I tell him I'm not ready to go back to one appointment, he'll say, "ok" and we'll stay at two. (Well, maybe all but one atom knows that.) So I honestly do believe it's not out of my hands. If I say I'm not ready, he'll understand that. But the way my mom quoted him was absolutely terrifying; it was so definitive. And I guess, in the wake of April Fools, in the wake of feeling so, so homesick, nearing a trip that will already fuck up the schedule, (and which I'm looking forward to, still...but this close to a trip I am always dreading it...and the good parts slip out of my mind)...in the wake of everything feeling very similar to certain pretty volatile points (like what we triggered about just after Rogers and the last NYC trip when I freaked out and finally talked to him about RED), with this whole concept of mine that miscommunication precedes abandonment- I am not ok. And I'm hoping I can go in and say that, right off, first thing today. Say, "I'm actually really not ok because I'm convince you're leaving again." Fucking abandonment shit. I hate this. How many times does he have to tell me? He isn't leaving. I don't have to stay sick, or become sick, or run away; he isn't going anywhere. I know this. Why am I ready to cry?
Because they did. Because they will. Because, because, because...I don't want to get hurt again. Because I'm scared. I don't want to go to New York. What if I end up screwing up? I have so many good things that could happen. What if I end up fucking it all up? I'm scared about my food. I'm scared. I'm screwing up already, and I just keep trying to make sure it's ok, to make it better, but there's no way to convince myself I have. Jesus. What am I doing? Is this normal? I can't tell without Tammy. I don't trust myself with this migraine so bad; I know I must be fucking up. The pain has to be my fault, has to be my food. So how can I call Rogers? How can I call Rogers when obviously I'm fucking up, and will just lie to them, and say I'm doing well say, "20 months on Monday" - it's all lies. It's not lies. I know this. I know this is true. I haven't binged or purged in 20 months on Monday. I'm not restricting; I'm just really scared. And I don't even know why except I have nearly two weeks coming up in which I won't see the doctor, and I haven't gone more than four days in over a month. I'm scared that I'll be Sarah's little sister again because I'm too scared to be anything else. I'm scared that I'll just act like a ten-year-old the whole time, and that I won't be able to do stupid things like eat meals and relax and look after myself. And I'm mad because I want to be a college kid this time. I want to go this time, and say, look at me, I'm doing it. I want to go and shove it in all their faces that Im finally a grown-up; I'm finally preparing for my own exodus...and I can't. Because I'm still a stupid phobic eating-disordered mess.
No. I'm not. I haven't purged in 20 months on Monday, and I take really good care of myself, and *this* is all lies. But I'm scared and that's real, and I'm scared, and I'm scared, and I'm scared. I have to call RED today; I promised myself I would. But how do I call them crying? How do I call them scared? How do I not like and cover it all with I'm fine, and how do I be honest and show them what a mess I am. I'm so far because of them. I'm so sad because of them, because they let me leave.
Leah, I'm still in the woods. Find me, find me, find me.
It's not fine. I'm ok, I guess, but it's not fine. And it's not fair. And I love them, and I just want to be able to say that out loud to someone who can say, "We love you, too."
chord
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