9:22 p.m. - 06/19/03
another week, another session.
It just occurred to me that, less than a week ago, my mom was telling me that Dad and I need to get wireless headsets so we can each listen to our music in the new apartment complex without annoying her or the other tenants. No wonder this caught me off guard. Seriously. My siblings have this theory that since I see my parents the most, I must have seen it coming, but I think I'm the most surprised of everyone. And if I am the one most equipped to handle it, by virtue of age and emotional awareness, that only means I'm feeling it more - and more openly. Somehow it doesn't feel like handling it when everyone around you looks calm and you're wrecked... But then, it does mean I'm not denying the storm. At least, I'm trying not to.
I have been in definite denial for the past few days, though today I mixed it up with a little bargaining. It's so bizarre to me; I'm either sick over it, or it doesn't seem real. I keep thinking they're going to regain their senses. This divorce makes no sense. It logically does not make sense, if only because they've lived basically their entire adult lives together, not exactly pleasantly, and now they're deciding to throw it away. I liked it better when they quit their jobs to start over. I would occasionally like to feel I'm the only adolescent in the house...
The aforementioned bargaining was with said parents, however, (one of the perks of grieving something other than a death), and it sounds like they're intent on keeping our family as in tact as possible despite the end of their marriage. That helped me feel like things were back in place, until my dad began moving his things out tonight. I didn't want to see that. Suddenly, there's no upright bass in the living room; soon, his favorite chair will disappear. I don't like watching. I hate that they've spent my entire life desensitizing me toward their discord and the past few years thoroughly desensitizing me to their separation, so that nothing could look like a sign of what was to come, or even an illustration of what is happening. It still doesn't seem real to me, in part because I don't want it to be. Obviously. I think they're insane. I think they're being ridiculous. I think it's a completely illogical decision. I also think it's selfish.
I'm being not-so understanding about this whole situation. I think that's what helps me deal with it better. The more I can push my ego and superego out of the situation and just "put the id in kid" (so to speak; go ahead and roll your eyes, it's ok) the better I feel. I'm being obnoxious about it, which is hard for me, but I'm also being really honest. I'm saying hurtful things, which I hate to do, but I'm hurt myself and I'm angry with them. It's not rational anger; I don't know how to express it rationally. And, as I have such an easy time forgetting, they're my parents; this relationship isn't supposed to be one of peers, though I was raised to view it that way. They're supposed to take my rebellion, my anger, my angst, my imperfection, better than friends. This is the first time I've really continually acted as if that's true, but it seems to be working ok, especially after Mom saw the doctor yesterday. He probably told her not to take it personally, even though it is her fault that I feel this way. Whatever he said, he's gotten that stupid guilty look off her face and brought her voice down to a level that doesn't start the dogs howling...therefore I'm grateful. I've been able to move on from my first instinct - to be mad at the doctor. I forgot to tell him about that, but I find it funny now. Who's the safest person in my life right now? Who did I feel I could feel anything with? It's so silly to be mad at him, though. I don't feel it anymore. If anything, I'm struggling not to commiserate with him. I want to console him on not managing to magically transform their relationship, or even to keep them intent on fixing it. It has to suck to invest such time in keeping a family safe, only to have no control over the decisions the family members make outside his office. And I guess it just amuses me to imagine him in a similar state to mine. It amuses me to think that while I was screaming into the silent house, "Why did you have to give me yet another current to fight against?" he might have been screaming the same. He might have been inclined to damn them for making his job that much harder.
This is total fantasy... But I don't suppose there's anything too wrong with that.
The appointment today was good. I felt better for it than I'd anticipated. I took my stressed-out meds before I left - because I was spending time with both my parents and it was stressful; I was obviously anxious even though it was manifesting as hyperactivity which is harder to check. (It's kind of fun...for awhile, but it's just as bad as freaking-out-anxiety in time.) I also made sure to have a good supply of yarn and music with me throughout the day. I waited for the doctor alone, the way I like it, and when he came out into the waiting room, he sat down next to me and said, "Have you ever read A Tale of Two Cities?" I confessed that I'd started it (and loved the beginning) but hadn't finished it. He asked if I remembered Madame DeFarge, and I grinned and told him yes. I rarely crochet (even though it's crocheting, not knitting) without thinking of her. It's better to connotate it with revolution than domestic imprisonment...
We went into his office, and he asked how I'd been surviving. I told him I'd been semi-ok, mainly by way of the yarn and other distraction methods, and then occasionally very not-ok because the distraction wasn't enough to use against this particular impediment. He reminded me that it *has* been a useful tool in the past, which I already knew, and I smiled a little shyly, then grinned and said, "Whatever. The obsession's mounting. I'll just say it." He moved and said he was ready for whatever "it" was, and I told him (while wearing a Harry Potter t-shirt and scheming how to get the fifth book early) that lately I've been thinking of everything in Harry Potter terms (especially since I just reread the fourth book.) I told him that I was thinking about the spells and charms and things they learn at Hogwarts and how some of them work really well on small villains or from short distances, but up against a bigger villain, they aren't powerful enough. I told him that toward the end of the fourth book, Harry and another young wizard each try the same spell on a creature that's attacking them, and neither spell does anything, but then they do it at the same time, and it works. So basically, distraction is a good spell to have in what he calls my "bag of tricks" (or my tool box, depending which metaphors we're mixing that day); it just couldn't defeat something this huge. He asked how I might fight it with someone else, and I told him that I can't really talk to my siblings right now (it's very, very painful, especially since they're having such different responses), which he said seemed like it would be difficult. I told him that I'd been leaning (on him, obviously) and on my friends, who are being very, very good (kudos to you...) He said I'd done a very good job picking my friends, and I fought to say a thank you which never made it out. It's a lovely compliment, but once again those two words were not to be constructed by this mouth. Oh, how I hate that. I didn't get to thank him (and the two receptionists, and the other doctor) for the very wonderful graduation card they sent me, either. The graduation card which simply proves I'm his favorite, which quotes Harry Potter (though it probably didn't mean to), and probably means I spend way too much time at that office. As I told my dad, though, "I'd rather be at the office too often than be crazy..." That's certainly true.
He suggested that I continue to balance - no, toggle (what a fabulous word) - distraction with "paralytic awareness." Based on my experience this first week, I'd guess it'll be more "spasmodic awareness" - I seem to become rather frenzied when I realize what's actually happening. I really do hate it, and it's so hard to explain that to people, when I'm also having a fairly good day, and taking good care of myself, and not wholly understanding that it's real. I can't really defend myself against all those voices saying, "well, at least they didn't do this" (when I want to, when I want to say, "there's no such thing as a hierarchy of pain, and I have more than enough of it, thank you") or make it clear that I need support even when I seem ok. But I'm trying. I finally had the courage to reread some of the entries from after Tracy's death, and that - combined with Dr. R's promise that those who care about me won't let me lose - and that's given me a little more strength. Surviving Tracy's death meant impossible surviving, and I've done it. I continue to do it. And this...isn't that. It may affect me more immediately, but I don't think it's even as bad. (Hard to say. I suppose that would require a hierarchy of pain...) So. Doing my best not to let this wreck me, and not to pretend it hasn't...
The doctor suggested "toggling" without going too far in either direction. He was very amusing about it. He said something like, "Do one until you need to do the other. Don't go so far into distraction that you lose track of what's going on and don't even seem to notice it's happening, and don't get so caught up in your feelings that - " at which point I cut him off and said, "You can just say, 'Don't turn into your parents.' It's ok" and we laughed and he repeated what I'd said. My parents have good methods, different methods, extremist, polar opposite methods. I need to find the happy medium.
It was actually kind of a light session. I guess it needed to be. I remembered afterward something he's said to me a few times about how he's going to do his best to keep me from taking on too much at once, even when I think I want to. He really does try to keep it at a manageable level...and I appreciate that. He seemed to anticipate a lot of what's going on for me; for instance, he basically knew that this frailty of family has my own autonomy (and the name that represents it) feeling less definitely perfect. I told him how I hope my mom keeps her name (I think she will, but how would I know) because then it stays the family name, and having a different one is still about claiming my right to do, think, and be differently than my family does, instead of ridding myself of a link to my dad. I don't want to do that. I suppose it's all good to walk away from something when it's stable; it's much more difficult when it's so fragile as right now. So I'm holding onto the one name, which safeguards all that I've learned at Rogers, since Rogers, about who I really am, etc - and the other, which holds all the ties to my family and my old life. I hope in the end I can still be Mary Brave. I need to be her in order to live the life I want. I suppose I can be her whether I'm called her or not. For now, I need to be uncertain. I need this word "divorce" to define itself in technical terms, and I need to feel my family is safe enough to withstand certain disconnections from me.
Agh. I still just really want to go home. At least this house is about to sell. We're in an offer-counter-offer stage. Yeay. I think tomorrow I'm going to end up at my brother Dale's for a couple of days. Neither of those (escaping D!@#$%^ finally or going to Dale's) is going home, and I know that. I wish one of them were. In the meantime, I guess I'm drawing closer. The Mortal City is definitely a step in the right direction.
Oh and, while I'm referencing Dar, can I just say that "The Beauty of the Rain" is positively gorgeous? This cd is like...a soft sunbeam or a quiet spring. It's somewhere between a lullaby and a cry of freedom. I do believe I'm in love. Again.
chorddle
�
�
