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5:25 p.m. - 10/17/02
:&peeling back the layers):
Dr. R told me yesterday that, at the very least, I have a severe case of jet lag, and I'm confounded by his accuracy. I fell asleep last night at 7:00, was up from two to four, and fell sleep again until 10:30. I'm considerably tired-like at the moment (once again) and would happily put my head to the pillow and conk. Of course, part of this is just my current escapism. He said something yesterday about all the pain making it hard to get out of bed, and I asked if I could just *not*- considering. It doesn't sound like such a horrible idea, to give into a slight coma. My anxiety is super sky-high at this point, and I'm beginning to feel like if the spinning isn't going to stop, I just want to be put down.

It used to happen at Rogers. The anxiety would funnel me higher and higher up, and I wouldn't be able to come down. I remember Oshiana writing me a poem about how she wanted to destroy my anxiety at all cost, and how surprised I was that anyone would care about it, other than me. Another time, Sara (staff-sara) met me in the darkness of the end room just after I had done some cutting. Or maybe I had only come close, I can't quite remember. I told her how upset I was, how I didn't want anyone to think I wasn't trying, or that I was just begging for attention, and she looked at me with that kind, why-would-we-ever-think-that look, which I know as her trademark, and said that as far as she was concerned, and she guessed as far as the other staff members were as well, my anxiety was unbearable. It was just too much. So of course she understood what lengths I would go to for a moment of calm. She didn't think I was trying to be manipulative or passive-aggressive; she knew I just wanted a moment in which I could breathe. That's really stayed with me. Understanding remains such a novelty.

So that's where I'm at today- again. Crazy anxious/stressed and unable to break free of it. Generally speaking my anxiety meds are wonderful; I get nervous about something, I take them, I calm down. As Dr. R puts it (sounding frightfully similar to a drug-dealer) they "take the edge off"- they allow me to deal with what is otherwise unbearable. But generally speaking, I only need them for out-of-the-ordinary stressful situations. I need them to leave the house when I am in a particularly agoraphobic place or when I am leaving to do something particularly difficult. I need them when I am feeling compulsive and inadequate and have studying to do. I need them when I have a test that I have built up in my head as the One True Estimation of my worth. I need them, basically, when my anxiety is making a difficult situation more than "difficult."

Lately, it doesn't go away. Lately, all I feel is stress and fear and anxiety. This pushes up all sorts of self-harming urges because I simply can't move past the craziness. I can't focus on the moment; the moment frightens me. I can't focus on the short-term future, the long-term future, or any sort of past. Thinking about tomorrow, when I have to take a physics test, terrifies me. Thinking about next fall, when I should be in college, terrifies me. Thinking about the past weekend, when I fell into such hell (again) terrifies me. Thinking about last fall when I was home-again-home-again-jiggity-jig does not exactly make it easier to breathe. In this moment, even the breathlessness of love is not something I have the strength to endure.

We didn't talk a great deal about issues at my appointment yesterday, mainly because I'm spinning so fast that going into any of the issues would probably be dangerous. I felt good about it, nonetheless, because I wasn't keeping anything from him, and I *was* pushing myself to talk, so much as I was able to do so. I didn't tell him about the cutting, and I have mixed feelings regarding that. I think I need to tell him, just so my head can stop saying, "you're keeping it from him!" but at the same time, I was kind of glad I didn't bring it up. It's another reminder of how different things are with him than they were with Harriet. Telling Harriet I was cutting was one of the last ways I was able to communicate with her, and even that was unsuccessful. When I started talking to him, I was already explaining what had been going on, how intense and how disarming was my pain, so what I did because of the pain felt kind of irrelevant. I told him that I wasn't sure what to do, that I was having trouble not doing the wrong things, and so forth, and I just didn't feel like telling him I had done one was necessary, since yesterday was a better day in terms of how badly I wanted to repeat that night. I think it's important that he knows just so I know I'm being honest with him, but I read a post at something fishy>something fishy today that made me think maybe I was on the right track with not making that my first statement. I think I was actually very honest with him by talking about why instead of what. I also think it's important I don't use that as an excuse not to tell him if I fall into old patterns again.

Mostly, we talked about the ambivalance anxiety, in the context of this past week with the workshops and the play. He said that I had a unique type of anxiety (which made me feel special- silly girl...) in that I wasn't anxious about the risk of doing something difficult, I was anxious because of my split feelings regarding that risk. I didn't really buy into it at first, because I know how high my harm-avoidance scores are, and I know that, for instance, the risk of caring for someone scares me because I know the pain of losing them. After we talked about it for awhile, though, it started to make more sense. I think I do avoid harm, but the intensity does come from my ambivalence regarding what is harmful. What I mean by this: If part of me wants to go out for a night on the town, and part of me wants to stay home and hide, I'm going to be anxious, not simply because there's danger in risking, in making a choice- but because *both* options feel risky. I used to become extremely anxious when I was invited somewhere, especially overnight, and I think that's a good example. Part of me would love to go, but if I give into that part, the self that wants to hide under my bed all week, might be trapped in the social world and not be able to come home. I feel like no matter what choice I make, I'm going to be caught in it, and not be able to come out. I'm scared of the all-or-nothing. That's why it helps me so much to say, "this will end." If I take this test, it doesn't mean I will forever be taking tests. If I choose to postpone it, it doesn't mean I will never again be caught up with my schoolwork. If I visit a friend, it doesn't mean I will never be able to have alone time. If I stay home by myself, it doesn't mean I will forever be alone.

This is new and new is challenging.

Basically, the dissonance between two separate wants keeps me anxious because how does a girl give two completely opposite personalities what they need? I have to see if this is what he was thinking, but to me it's a confirmation of how harm-avoidant I am, not something meant to disclaim that. It's an explanation of why I always feel like I'm running from something- because no matter what the situation is, one of me will be afraid. My stomach and my shoulders are in knots.

I kept telling him I didn't know what to do, and he kept telling me that the rule of thumb in that case is not to do anything. I asked him if he was sure he didn't have a magic way to fix it all, and he said he'd lost his fairy wand awhile back, and since then, he has to talk with people. Stupid boy. Anyway, we talked about the practical-world stresses over the next few weeks- catching up in school, finishing my Hampshire application, and so forth- and I had to admit that there was no decision to stress about in the next few days, so he encouraged me to "let the dust settle" emotionally, and try to find time to rest. He said my past few weeks resembled being thrown from freezing water into boiling, back to freezing, back to boiling, so it was impossible to adjust or feel calm. He said I should take this time to just breathe, reset my routine, calm down again. I told him things hurt really badly and the idea of doing nothing makes me want to bang my head against the wall. Not in so many words.

The real problem is that my anxiety has gone beyond anything distinctly triggered by the events of my life and decided to take over everything. I know that things are relatively calm now, but my head is still flying at light-speed. So any events that are actually making me anxious just add to the pressure. Example: I can't go near schoolwork when I feel like panicking *without* it. Except I have to go near schoolwork. I took a week off, next week is shortened for parent-teacher conferences, and I have a physics test I really need to take. A physics test that involves geometry damn it, even if it doesn't determine my worth. I'm crazy nervous over all of it, but at least I'm plugging through. I worked on a decades-old American History assignment today, and Mom seemed really impressed by it when she came home. Thank God. I'm so glad it's almost finished; I procrastinated to the point I felt I wasn't capable of making a fucking poster. Now I just need to write up the explanation of the invention I created (industrial revolution; whoo) and I'll be finished. And of course, I need to study for that oh-my-god-I-can't-do-it physics test. I think I'm scared my physics teacher doesn't like me anymore. Because I didn't understand a section in this chapter, and I'm not perfectly brilliant anymore. I don't want to do poorly on the test on top of that. Okay, same old mantra. Dear God, just let me get a B. My worth is not pinpointed by my GPA.

And one bad test grade can't kill two As and perfect homework scores can it? And Hampshire will love me so long as I love myself, maybe even when I don't? And life will be ok, and by 5:00 tomorrow I will be free from physics for another weekend? Will someone please volunteer to sit next to me and state these things everytime smoke starts coming out of my hair?

On top of all this, I found out at 2:00 this morning that I actually *do* have one of those I-want-to-do-it-no-I-want-to-hide-forever-and-ever decisions to make, and I need to determine a solution within the next day or two. It's a really wonderful problem, which only makes it more horrible that I'm so pained by it. Once again coming back to the issue of, why can't things ever just be *good?* I mean, this is really fabulous. This is the type of thing a silly little cuddlewhore like me dares dream about. And half of me is already barricading herself in the closet with a flashlight and a high-tech defense system. Some stuffed animals for guards; oh, yes.

Here goes. Laura- my Laura- Laura, the fantabulous, wonderful, especially special, creature among creatures, is coming to Neverland Mon-Tues next week. She's going to be in the general area. She's going to be a mere two hours away, instead of a daunting two states. She's going to be *near* enough that I can reach out, with the help of an automobile, and give her a big old hug for the first time in two years- the first time since my sophomore year training. This is a very huge deal. In all of her wonderfulness with my getting sick, needing money, being in the hospital, I never once got to hug her thank-you. In all of the wonder of still knowing her the past two years, I've never once gotten to give her a sensate girl's I-love-you. I want it muchly; I really, really do, and I know that I'll throw myself out a window with regret if I back out of this. But. I'm really, really scared. I'm really, really scared to risk seeing her, and sounding dumb, and not having a good visit, and possibly being in Neverland, and maybe seeing people other than her, or not knowing what to say at all, or somehow being disappointing, or having a panic attack, or being visibly eating-disordered right in front of her, or not looking healthy or pretty or smart, or something else highly embarrassing and triggering and downright horrible. Basically, I'm being irrational and insecure. But telling an emotion, "you're irrational and insecure," does not exactly poof! it away.

So I left the doctor a message saying, in lieu of discovering the secret to *my* magic wand, I needed to try this "talking" thing he spoke of...and I'm still waiting to hear back from him. It was a little odd to call, as I almost never do unless I'm falling off the edge of my world. I called his exchange number, so I could just leave him a message and not have to speak with anyone else, and hearing him say, "if this is a medical emergency" when it wasn't, kind of threw me. I kind of need to know that it's still ok for me to ask for help if it isn't a crisis. And I guess I'm a little happy that today has not been crisis-big. Crazy anxiety, which is finally filtering down, and crazy perfectionism which is extending into shame and fear and guilt...but not crisis-big. The urges to cut were so strong, but they're gone now, and that's nice. I think I'd actually rather have a little bit of difficulty each day than do really well for days and then fall really deeply. It's harder to remember you came out of it, when you're looking back to weeks ago.

I know I have to see Laura. I have to choose that option. Because I love her and I haven't seen her in two years. Because I'm better now, and I can express my needs around the visit. Because few people touch me, and I take what I can get.

I guess I just want to talk to him about how I don't flip out anticipating it and solidifying details, how I take care of myself in the preparatory work. I guess I just want to say, "Hey, I realized today when I was anxious and couldn't understand why on earth something this good would possibly make me anxious, that the thing you said about my anxiety was probably true. Think you could elaborate a little? Knowledge is armor; I'll take all I can get..."

Today is nearly over. I've had crazy pain all day, feeling worthless and guilty, trapped and bad. Every day is a huge challenge now, which I guess means every night is a success. I just wish I could see it that way again. I wish I could look at my life and see that whatever I am doing is the right thing, is ok, is good for me. So long as I am taking care of me, I am working for my best interest, I am being my best self. I'm tired of thinking I'm behind and bad and undeserving. I'm tired of flipping out over school when my teachers are beyond impressed and my grades are the best they've been in years. I want to think the way the people around me think, the way that says, "You think you're behind? In comparison to whom? Who are you competing with?" I want to talk to myself the way I talk to other people. Again.

Dr. R said that I can't possibly be behind because homebound is not a correspondence course. I'm not simply doing the work from a distant location; there's a reason and a purpose *in* my being homebound. Whatever I'm doing, whatever it takes for me to do it, whatever amount of time I need, is ok. Homebound is separate, he said. It's about different things, the main one being *me* and so it's important that I remember that. I told him I'm afraid my teachers will hate me, and he said if I had any reason to believe that, it meant there was miscommunication about the purpose of my homebound status, and he or my mom would go to the school and fix that problem. He also said he completely understood my being nervous, even though he didn't want me to be so freaked about it. He said it's normal, to want so much to have your mentors like you.

It's funny. I haven't met most of my teachers, and I wouldn't strive to- with only a couple exceptions. But when he said that, I was like. "It's normal?...so...it's ok for me to ask you if you like me? It's ok for me to want that?"

We talked about the play a little, too, though not too deeply. When we did, he said, "Thank you for sharing another wonderful part of yourself with me." I think I suck at being detached from people. And I think, at moments like that, I'm grateful that I do.

(Even if the other half of my head is busy being anxious...)

chord

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