11:18 p.m. - 10/16/03
we interrupt your regularly-scheduled therapy session...
you may be thinking that in less than forty-five minutes I will have reached the long-awaited friday marking the doctor's return. you would be wrong. or rather, you would be right, on points such as, in less than forty-five minutes it will be friday, I've waited somewhat desperately (though only reduced to self-goop for short periods of time, not such abyssmal, long-lasting goopishness as experienced during his previous absence) for this day, and the doctor's return was indeed supposed to be a part of it. I'm guessing your heart didn't plummet at *quite the same* velocity as mine when you realized that "was." but then, perhaps I underestimate your empathy. and I'm ok with this - I really, really am - but my lord, does it suck. the man got back and got the flu at relatively the same time, apparently, and so all his Friday appointments are cancelled. there's a rumor that a message was left on his voicemail for him to try and at least call me (because I'm that much of a basket-case), but whether he will even check his voice-mail, let alone make any calls, is anyone's guess. my guess is he won't, and I'll forgive him because he's so damn good when he *is* around. but I won't say that this doesn't royally (and I mean, royally) suck.
he got the flu just after he came back from his last venture as well. this has me thinking he should not go away. why go away if you get sick every time you come back? the problem with this theory is that, if I mention it, he might notice the loophole that if he went away and didn't come back, he might avoid the sickness. ...and how many times did I make him promise me he'd come back, just from this (short) trip? and how many times did he say he promised? I don't want to know what it would take for him to placate me if there was ever any actual ambivalence, on his part, about returning. I think I'd have to be drugged.
and all of these statements - "I think I'd have to be drugged", "because I'm that much of a basketcase", etc - do not help my recent feelings of I'm too sick, and I'm going to stay sick, and I want to be done with this, but maybe I never will. I have a guess that says my intense need to have health (like I'd even know what to do with it) is why I can't stand the non-linear-nature of my recovery (of anyone's recovery, damnit. of life.) I think having a series of weeks like the last few, where I'm on such shaky ground, intensifies that fear of "I'll never be better" and/or "I'll never be well." and the truth is, it's been more than the past few weeks, though if I say that I'm likely to start thinking I've been feeling this way forever, that I'm a hopeless case, which I'm trying to avoid, as it isn't true, and it isn't enjoyable. but when I think about things like, when we first talked of starting systematic desensitization work, I'm pretty sure we scheduled it for *April* - and it's now *October* - and it's still on a back burner. it gets put on a back burner because I'm not ok ... or because other things are happening ... and that has me thinking that I've been unstable for several months, and that's just not ok. although when I'm logical, I know that many things have come up (but things will always come up!), and in general, I've been known to adapt behaviorally (even in breaking out of illness) without a rigid behavioral attack. maybe some of the phobias are dismantling as my shame continues to dismantle. I hope so, anyway. I hope that's the case. I feel behind.
he'd want to know that. he'd think of a way to tell me it isn't true. and that would help because even when I can't believe what he says, I know that he believes it. I know he doesn't say things that he does not believe, which gives me hope.
oh, and that feeling from a bit over a week ago, the one that Mom triggered without meaning to that just exploded all over me? the words of that feeling keep appearing in my life, and now that I'm aware of them, it's eerie how often they're around. tonight I ate my supper out (good for me); I was with my mom and hadn't thought to bring any cash with me. she was about to pay the waitress, and was talking about how she didn't want to wait for change, and she didn't have small enough bills, and so she was only going to tip the waitress 10%. I flipped out a little. I think I sputtered. "But - but she didn't do anything wrong!" somehow, in my imagination, when I see this girlwoman walking over to pick up her cash, I don't see her muttering a few expletives along with "cheapskates" and moving on, I see her counting and recounting the money going, "What? Why? What did I do? I didn't do anything wrong!"
projection is a fine, fine thing. and healthy as it is to have an internal locus of control, when that becomes "everything that happens in my life is the consequence of my action or inaction" and/or "I'm responsible, and should be able to live up to the responsibility, for taking care of the entire world" it becomes not so healthy. and not so helpful. it's downright detrimental not to mention annoying, and oy. today has put the oy in annoying, let me tell you.
oh, you are, aren't you? you are letting me tell you. by reading this. oh, right; I'd forgotten.
it occurs to me that cheapskates should be a rollerskate/ -blade brand name. I wonder if it is. and speaking of brand names, I picked up "Pattern Recognition" - in which a character has "allergic reactions" in response to logos and brand names - in a bookstore today. I very much enjoyed the first two pages, and think I need to read it. entirely due to the allergic reactions. it's good to feel like less of a media-slave. weird - because before I started to separate myself from as much of that garbage as possible, I resented the idea that just because I was in range of the media, I was perverted by it - but good. and I still think there's truth to how I felt before; this isn't so much an ethical must as a life choice. kind of like my vegetarianism.
and then, I also have this weird feeling like I 'should' be able to withstand the media without separating myself from it. that would prove greater strength than just removing myself from certain influences. if I could be ok with those influences, I'd be stronger. I don't think that's rational. it smacks a bit of my (not-so-trustworthy) "whatever hurts the most is what you're supposed to do" philosophy. the greatest challenge, the test of will. right. well. I don't have a lot of positive regard for "will power" anymore, considering the amount of times my ed berated me for not having any, and how useless the concept was in recovery. (you can't get well in the manner you got sick; therefore, you cannot recover through will power.) and in terms of challenges, I think I have plenty. and sometimes what I think is the most challenging isn't really. like I tend to think being sick is the most difficult thing, overlooking how hard it is to be getting healthy. it's more difficult to live through an illness than it is to die from one. the doctor says it's more painful, and I try to believe him. it's a bit too close to his "the victims of suicide are the people left behind" theory, which I also would probably benefit from believing, but haven't been able to as yet. what the hell was I talking about? oh, the media. right, well. I'm watching 2-3 television shows (taped, minus commercials), listening to more indie music and less radio, and generally feeling better doing so. I consider that grounds to continue. and on the random perk side, I've noticed that my aversion to spending money (the shame that comes up when I buy myself anything), is significantly less present when the 'something' is, erm, non-mass-market. for instance, a record by an indie artist as opposed to one on a record label. (not that I'm going to stop investing in good music that's been signed...) I've even considered commissioning one of the lovely d*land designers to make me a layout, and the money issue isn't coming up. I'm more prevented, apparently, by the fact that I always fall out of love with a layout eventually (with the exception of the one Linds did for atomgirl - the one with the very cool fairy picture) and I'm not into the idea of asking a stranger for something. even a service for which I would compensate them. it seems too weird to me. I even checked out the custom works at raging pistachio because I've used two of her designs, and therefore have something slightly more like acquaintance with her. but the customs page is so disturbing to me that whenever I see it, I don't know if I can handle using any of her templates, despite the fact that I fell in love with two of her templates in succession. (the girl with the apple, and the girl by the train...)
decisions. not my forte. not even my piano, honestly.
otherwise, life seems to be going along well enough, in an odd fashion that allows entire experiences to be summarized in about a sentence. for instance: "according to the image archive, you can't be spiritual in the city," "she had a small black bear posing as a dog", "I think I qualify as a social catterpillar," and "someone tied balloons to the parking meter." although certain stories require a bit more information. such as:
I walked to the mailbox today to post the letter to Dave, and just as I was reaching the box, a girl - approximately my age, wearing a loose grey sweater-robey thing and a headscarf, with a cobalt bookbag slung over her shoulder - appeared. as I dropped the letter into the hands of the postal gods, she cut through the fountain area (the fountain's turned off, sob) and ended up walking down the block I'd walked up (and needed to walk back down), about five steps ahead of me. it felt entirely ridiculous. we're two people, on a sidewalk, in a residential area of the city, with no one else around, and we're pretending we don't notice that there's someone else around. I can hear our footsteps syncopate on the fallen leaves, and it feels like I'm following her (intentionally.) just as I think this, she stops walking, and stands, still, on the sidewalk - as if she's listening. instantly, I think, "ah, yes, she's stopped to see if the other footsteps she hears will continue, or if she's imagined them" - even though I doubt it's really true, and so I finally just say, "I feel like I'm stalking you." which, granted, may not be the best opening line in the world. it may not be up to par with "I paid for it; I swear", but I'm a beginner, and I'm not aiming for that sort of quality. the fact that I'm attempting to initiate discussions with strangers *at all* is fairly huge. (though it doesn't feel huge when I do it. and that's really, really cool. it feels natural. like I'm less and less the shy anxiety-disordered girl and more and more the ever-so-connecting social butterfly. social catterpillar. mmm. though the idea of a social catterpillar is actually rather complicated, considering: how does the social catterpillar evolve into a social butterfly, given that general catterpillars evolve into general butterflies through a process of isolation? overthink with me. it passes time.
anyway, it was a line, ok? not the best line, but better than anything I've heard from any of the boys I've run into on the street. (when I told Mom this, she pointed out that a line about stalking would not be so good for a boy, and I agreed, but insisted that...well, hold on a moment; let me finish the story.) I say to this girl, "I feel like I'm stalking you," with a smile and a little laugh, and she gives me this entirely vacant expression and says, "Oh." I swear to Kermit: "Oh." Oh. she responds with "oh"! how the hell do I work with that? I can't possibly build on the conversation with an answer like "oh" and since everyone I try and strike up a conversation with seems intent on being that elusive, I'm getting annoyed. so, anyway, I came home fuming (in a silly, melodramatic way) about how Mortal City people suck, and Mom made her point about the line not working so well for guys, and I said, "But! But! If someone had said that *to me*...if a guy had said that to me...I would have said something like...'Well, so long as you're not actually stalking me, so long as you just feel like you are, I guess we're ok.' And you'll notice, that's a response that actually, *gasp*, allows the conversation to build." now, granted, there's the very understandable possibility that this particular sidewalk-girl did not want the conversation to continue, and I understand that. but a simple, polite-but-not-actually-amused sniff would have sufficed. don't toy with me by proving you have working vocal cords and then putting them to such poor use.
and now I'm thinking about all the poor classmates I had who attempted to talk with me and received so little in response. mainly, I'm remembering a girl who thought I hated her, considered her seriously aggravating and unworthy of my attention, simply because I did not have the ability to respond when she talked to me. maybe the grey-sweater girl has an anxiety disorder. or a tendency toward delayed responses. something. maybe I need to seek people in venues other than the nearby sidewalks. but I do. I talked to the girl in the bookstore, didn't I? I'm initiating conversation for Godd's sake. unfortunately, the people who I choose to converse with don't seem to understand how ground-breaking it is.
bah. I need to call one of my established friends. otherwise, the ridiculousness of this process (the post-move meet-and-greet) could get to me.
in other news, I'm emotionally sore and semi-seriously homesick. correction. in other entirely standard, not the least bit extraordinary pieces of information, I feel the same way I have for (almost) a year and eleven months. and I haven't returned a phone call all week. however, I've found entertainment in displacing phrases from the structure of their original sentences, kidnapping them from context, to see them stand alone. my best example of this so far?
let the expletives dance.
I consider illustrating that with two waltzing figures comprised entirely of fucks and damnits. I consider many things. otherwise, how would you be at all entertained by the transcribed ramblings of my brain? and it's all about you, dear reader. it's all about you.
(speaking of, props to all the people who joined the new rings ((or the 'old' ones)). you rule the school of rock, you cool creature, you.)
chord
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