8:43 p.m. - 10/02/03
^this is me down on my knees^
The most bizarre thing in the world: my grandma died one month ago today, and I feel like I don't even know it yet. I feel like it hasn't even sunk in, slightly. I have her picture here, next to me, and it's a reminder of her and of her absence simultaneously, but I almost need that reminder. There's too much going on to go there, in some ways. In others, I go there everyday. The bog I'm hauling myself through is thick with grief and loss, and I'm sure that's not entirely separate from the Grandma-loss, even if it tends to appear like it's only other pains. One month, and the story isn't even told. I'll give it time to simmer; she knows me, she knows I'll write it in good time. And I know that I'll tell it again and again, my entire life, trying to capture what the poems and pictures never can.
It's a rough few days that have been going on for awhile. I feel similar (I think) to how I did when I chose not to go to NYC. I was hoping those feelings would be calmed by now, though I suppose I have had some steadier moments in the month since that decision. And I've had some extensive blows, which I have to factor into my recoup time as well. Mostly right now, I'm brimming. I'm splitting down the center; the pain is busting at the seams. I feel like I literally can't take anymore, not one more word, not one more story, not one more attack. I can't take any of it. I've reached capacity, and soon I'll be breaking fire codes. I've made my pain quota, and I'm not up for working overtime. I'd much rather sit here and make metaphor after metaphor, and save all that feeling and thinking for later.
The feeling needs to happen, though, as much as I prefer not to admit that, sometimes. Today wasn't the first day that I sat with myself for a good twenty or thirty minutes, straining to have tears. I finally found a couple, realized I wanted to be held, and went into the living room. Going into the living room was supposed to mean finding my mom who would hold and comfort me, but instead I got to listen to her talk about how my dad was emotionally abusive; that's what the doctor's telling her. She didn't know I was listening, and I didn't feel too hurt by what I heard, though I do want to know more about it. It's very, very hard for me to deal with how close I'm getting to my mom in this pain, and how she's taking care of me. It's hard to deal with how little I'm around my dad and how little I want to be (missing him and loving him aside, which they never reallly are.) I like seeing my parents as equal villains much better. But I do understand what she was told. Whatever my dad did that was wrong, he didn't understand why it was wrong, and so we kept holding on waiting for him to get it. He still hasn't gotten it. So, like the doc has said to me, it's not that my dad's evil or he viciously did anything - he didn't have any malicious intent - he just never learned to be an adult. To take responsibility for what he did. To have feelings without hurting himself or someone else. To face his own fallibility.
I am very, very grateful that I got my second upbringing. I love my family, and I wouldn't want to trade in for any other, but I'm very, very glad I got to follow up some of the not-so-good lessons I learned as a kid with the Rogers realities, wisdoms, ways, and new Family. I'm glad for that.
Didn't do much of note today beyond the crying. I slipped back a little into the consumer culture, and wow did I feel the backlash. Crappy television last night, a "mall" of sorts today. I was so offended so fast. Not to extract groans from my entire readership, but the mall is truly mauling these days. And television, if not carefully contained to good shows, taped if possible to avoid commercials, sucks as well. There's a "lake" outside at this particular "mall" (it's half mall, half historic landmark/ tourist attraction; it's a little different) with fishes and fountains and such. So I sat there and felt better. I have to learn that all I need is animation to stay entertained. I don't need the hectic, capitalist chaos. I can go to the zoo, and not feel static, because the animals and the visitors and the place itself, moves. I can go to the garden, too. The Japanese section of the botanical garden has gorgeous fish in a small pond. And nowhere will I see anything remotely making me want to break down and cry or break down a wall. All good.
I did hear back from Chas; she left the most beautiful message on my voice mail. I didn't have the (lack of) heart to erase it, not yet. I listened to it twice; she sounds so wonderful, and I can't wait to talk to her, just as she said she can't wait to talk to me. (I need to call her, obviously.) I did call my dad, who I've been avoiding, and scheduled a Sunday date (tomorrow I have the doctor, and Saturday I'm doing a walk for Autism research) for a movie. Dad and I do best with inactive togetherness. He's wonderful for driving around listening to music (so long as I supply the tunes), for seeing movies or theater with, for not dissecting everything we see. Conversing and the suchlike is a bit more challenging, so we'll keep it low-key for awhile. We scheduled comedy for the movie slot, so hopefully comedy will be the general theme. I really don't need more time with the "depressed, regressing, won't handle my own shit" version of him. it's too draining. and like I said, I've reached my limit.
most of the pain that's pouring out has to do with Rogers and eating disorders. got yet another hit off a search for pro-ana/mia today. damn it. caged was listed in their search results as well, which made me happy. at least they didn't solely come across the bullshit I read and think, "is this satire? are they joking? are they mad? IS IT FUCKING OPPOSITE DAY?" ...lots of pain like that lately. and different pain. remembering me and my sickness and the trauma of it pain. thinking of all the Rogers girls and how are they doing, do you think they're ok pain. it's so unfair that any of them - any of us - had to deal with this. and we're probably all still dealing with it, and oh, that isn't fair. it's so, so wrong.
I think I had some similar strong feelings/ memories this time last year, when the weather started to feel so much like Autumn, and sensations were triggering Wisconsin right and left. I'm not sure. I'm doing a lot of random writing about it. The first draft of a short play, a maybe-monologue today, some thoughts on other parts. I want to talk to my sister to see if she's still interested in staging a production for EDAW^, but unfortunately, the lucky girl is in LONDON at the moment. So, I can't pop her an e-mail per our usual routine. (Beth [Ann]: I don't know if that's grammatically correct; I can't seem to find it condoned anywhere, but when did that ever stop me from using a word?) I think it could be cool, though. One very striking thing about the play, to me, is that it never mentions eating disorders. Just like I've said I always want it - it never brings out the war stories. It doesn't have anyone staring at their body in a mirror or refusing to eat. I think it's about the negative space around the phrase eating disorder, around the reality even. We all have a life around this disease, especially as we work to be better from it. The play, for instance, is about a really important relationship, that's really painful and really vital simultaneously. That's something I've experienced around having an eating disorder and having friends with eating disorders, but it isn't exactly the Lifetime original movie. I feel like maybe I'm onto something. I feel like things are starting to flow.
I also really, really want to write some Rogers people that I haven't written either ever or in a very, very long time. I don't know if I'll go through with it. I think I still have needs for things, though. Even if I can't have the people back, even if they aren't going to write. I'm still pacing back and forth going, can't I just have a picture of Rae? Oshiana? Jenny? Dave? It's weird. I think I'm slowly getting to a place where I know I can survive without them in my future (though I certainly don't want to); I would just like to cement their presence in my past. I would like to know I'm never going to forget what her face looks like or how she smiled. I want photos of the building. I want scraps of handwriting and locks of hair. I want to give them their space, but I want *something* to hold onto...
And I want to call Sara. I think maybe I can tomorrow. I wanted to tonight, but had too much of my emotion-yolk spilling from the egg. I don't need to be ok to call her; I just need to be capable of taking in new information, stimuli, et cetera, and I'm not right now. I'd probably pass out if I tried to instant message. Time to be an introvert and convalesce.
Oh, and I came up with another silly recovery slogan today - not very critical for me because I didn't have to do a lot of weight gain... but I thought, "Recovery: It's Worth the Weight." It's appropriately cheesy, right? Up there with, "To stop going through the motions, you must go through the emotions." Ah, cheesiness. It offers protein and fat exchanges, you know. I appreciate it both as a dork and a vegetarian.
Raise your hand if you can tell I'm really tired. Honk if you're relieved I have therapy tomorrow. Yeah, that's what I thought.
chord
^Eating Disorder Awareness Week (in the US, generally the end of February into the beginning of March)
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