around 7:00 p.m. - 11/22/01
boycott thanksgiving: whine.
Not to sound like an ingrate, but I think I'll have "plenty to be thankful for" when this little holiday celebration has come to a close. I feel claustrophobic on several different levels, as if space, time, and illness are all closing in on me at once. To top it off, our little family tradition is to watch "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles" on Thanksgiving, and Dale is so obsessed with getting the perfect picture that he won't allow any lights on in basically the entire upstairs...this would be fine if I didn't have a major problem being in dark spaces where I can't see my way out. I'm actually frightened to go see Harry Potter tomorrow because I have such a hard time in movie theaters. Sad.
(This keyboard is making me crazy...not only am I spoiled by my split keyboard at home - but the shift key isn't happy with me and it's slowing down the whole operation.)
I slept on a very hard floor last night. I haven't been sleeping well for a few nights now (ever since my fear of the inpatient program instilled major insomnia), and I've been experiencing some intense nerve pain in my back, so that worked out very well. At least I only had Red cameo appearances in my dreams instead of ten straight hours of "homesickness." Sara (resident not RC) and one of the nurses showed up last night. I'm so tired of falling asleep with them and waking up alone. And I called D!@#$%^ home today which scared me so much I wanted to take it back - except I knew that it would seem fishy to them. At least, I haven't slipped and told my parents that I'm homesick for the hospital. My mom feels bad enough.
She's been amazing with the guilt trips lately. Today she even managed to slip one into a thank you. For the most part they center around the way that my being at Red caused such problems for her at work. I don't even really hear them anymore; I just sigh and think about how I might tell the story to Stacy if I were back home. I keep thinking how unhealthy I must sound in this journal, how if my new therapist were to read it she'd probably refuse to see me. "She's calling the hospital home for Christ's sake!" But it just doesn't matter. I miss them so much I'm sick, and there's nothing in the world that can replace what I had there.
I finally broke down and tried to call Brea last night, after almost two weeks of planning to every time she worked. It was basically the one thing I was holding onto all day, and then when I called no one answered the office phone. (I wasn't surprised. I could just picture her sitting on the day room couch, crocheting and watching some amusing SpongeBob episode.) I tried twice more but never got a hold of her. The other possibility is that someone was having a rough night and they just didn't bother to answer the phone. I managed to feel good without talking to her, which is probably a decent thing. With the amount of importance I'd stocked into that phone call, I almost certainly would have ended up having a nervous breakdown after it was over, so compensating with Simpson DVDs was probably muy beneficial. Still...I'm sick with missing them all.
I have pretty decent body image today, which is always a nice surprise. I think the best way to improve body image really is to focus on what your body can do instead of how it looks. Ropes really was the best thing that every happened to my perception of my physical self - I never felt so good about the body-me until I realized the strength that was in it...not that I'm not still a terrible weakling, but I have more confidence now. I told my brother today that I could take him on the ropes course. And John keeps calling me Mary Croft, telling everybody I'm tough...it's nice.
I'm really scared about going to New York in a week, so I'm trying not to think about it too much while making sure I'm prepared. Not sure how that works. I'm still brooding over the fact that Chelsea got the tube - thinking about what I could do for her. I know I have a key to it - if only people weren't so insistent on me doing things normally. Who cares about high school, college, and age? I know a whole lot of shit...
I have to stop now. Every line I type, I can see Brea sitting on my bed saying something relevant. This is a whole new level of flashback...
(chord)
�
�
