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10:35 p.m. - 11/10/02
if I lived in spite// would you still be here, no// would you disappear?
Just take a quiet moment to recover from typing the date. After all the times you've thought through it, it may as well be old-hat. I keep looking at the numbers that didn't mean anything two years ago; today they mean so much. Tomorrow is my mother's birthday; I keep thinking, "no no, it's 11/11 that matters- the day of wishes and births." But no. Before the wishes can pull us through we have to fall, fall back. I'm taking a walk through nonsense phrases today, speaking in a language not all of you will like because right now at least, what sustains me is not something I can touch.

It's funny, I thought to myself earlier today- how they are the greatest challenge to my recovery and (simultaneously) the only reason I survive it. It's funny in that wrenching, awful sort of way, how dualties are simplifications of an ultimately infinite organism. My brother said once he thought if there was a God, he was one with Satan. I was young, and didn't like the thought, mostly because it made sense to me. I'm older now, and I still don't know how to incorporate the resonance into my belief and nix the fear...

I don't believe in Satan anyway, and G-d is a relative term.

Today, my mom drove me a little up the wall, telling me she sees signs of old behavior, i.e. she thinks I'm relapsing. I snapped at her, and later called her on it, snapping a bit again. It was too much for me, at the time, to have someone say I was lapsing even slightly. I was putting every ounce of energy into sustaining myself, my "recovery" against the pain that felt like fire and tides and rocks and rain and she said I was *going back?* I snapped at her a little, and she slipped into semantics, what she said was not what she meant, and went to take a bath. She told me I was on phones; I scoffed because when do I ever answer the phones, and then just after she closed the door the phone rang. ID: Unknown caller. Should I? Shouldn't I? Is it so hard to take down a message; just answer the fucking phone!

And there on the other end is a sweet Norwegian, whose English is slipping further from her brain, despite her grammar still being better than mine, talking to me about the happiest and darkest traits of life. There on the line is Silje, my Silje, who didn't even know today was ToDay, just picked up on the telepathic vibes we *always* seem to have. (Earlier, I went into Yahoo to e-mail her, which I so rarely do, only to discover she'd e-mailed me...) I tell her either we're connected, or I think about her all the time, and so whenever she calls that's the case. Either way, it was amazingly good to talk to her- amazingly good to talk to someone who understands my love for them, and someone who is DOING WELL (dear God, people actually recover???)...even though there was some painful talk of Tracy and the like. I wanted to tell her to stop, partly, but couldn't because after all, everything she had to say I wanted desperately to know. Just in the pain of loss, the finality of death draws images of bayonets to mind...

I discovered bayonets when I was in fourth grade. I was studying the Trail of Tears to write a historical fiction story (in love, I was, with Scott O'Dell), and thought they were the most horrid thing ever created. I did.

She told me something Dave said. I will remember it. I will remember it. I will remember it, but if I type it now, I'll break.

Then later, Mom turned into an absolute peach. I have to say she and my dad (but Mom especially, as she's the one who's really been around) have been absolutely incredible about this whole application dealie. I honestly cannot believe it. I told her today, "You balance my procrastination perfectly" and it's true. She's taken on every task that I do not have to personally handle, and she's set it all up so we will actually be done on time. I'm so grateful, as I honestly could not handle all that work right now (as if I did *any* schoolwork in the past two days...I was too busy bawling, and I'm glad for that). Even more, though, I'm grateful for what her helpfullness means. I mean, she's talking about what sort of money needs to be allotted for my healthcare during "at least the first two years of college." You mean, you think about that? You mean, you're still going to help me after I turn 18? I honestly thought I was on my own come February- definitely, come fall. No, really, I did. And even though those fears will not disappear now, it's just amazing to me that she's being so rational and kind. She's hurt me hard the past two days- twice in 48 hours- BUT...this gift sort of balances the pain. I can't be an adult yet; I just can't.

And there has been an outpouring of support from something fishy, which I so very much appreciate. It's been rather sustaining, their kindness. They also pushed me to make the phone call, if I could, the one to Rogers that had to go something like, "hi, and it�s my discharge, and I miss you like hell, but generally I�ve been really good, I�m making it, the hardest part is missing you, but I survive because of you, how weird is that?, also

I�ve been writing plays, two sets of performances so far, we�re about to cast the third, school�s ok, I�m still supposed to finish with my class, and I�m sending stuff away so if I�m ready to leave next year, I can, my therapist is really great and that helps, but I miss you like hell, love me, ok?, short-distance, keep in touch, sort of love?" They pushed me to make the call, and I dialed, and the phone was answered, and I didn't hang up. I said, "Hi, my name is Mary, and I was there last fall, and I was just wondering if there's anyone around who...knows me?" and I was shaking really hard, and being told that no, neither of them had been up there last fall, and I was like, "Are you sure? You said Sara was working with you? Can you just *ask* Sara if she remembers me?" (It has to be Sara; it has to be...) And suddenly Sara was on the phone and I'm going, "Oh, my God; how are you? I haven't talked to you since I was really *there.*"

We spoke. Sara, who came into Rogers right when I did, who hated school but not me, who read the screams with which I papered my walls, and found me in the dark to talk me down, spoke with me again. And it was so good, except that it was horrible. It was so good except that it was a Former Resident checking in with a Current Staff Member. It was so good, except where were you Sara, and where was I?

I tried to tell her. I really did try. I said, I have no support here, and it's so very hard to miss you all, and she said, "We miss you, too, but we're glad you're *there*" and I was thinking, "HERE? In D!@#$%^ with my parents? Why?" even though I knew she meant, if you were here, you'd be sick- and we're glad you're not. We talked, she promised to tell everyone I'm doing well, she was thrilled about the plays and that I'm stable and so forth...and we hung up. And I started heaving even before the water could reach my eyes, crying like I was crazy, crying like that night I tried to call Jenna and I thought there was no hope I'd ever speak to her again. I lost it. I took the phone, I went upstairs (thank God, my parents were not home for any of this) and I paiged Dr. R. I spent another twenty, thirty minutes bawling and begging the phone to ring, and when it did, it wasn't him. When he got through, finally finally finally, I was an absolute mess, but I hadn't been anything else for the past twenty-four hours, so I didn't feel particularly odd about it. I forced the words out. Discharge. Called. Not OK. We started talking, and I was thinking, "You don't have a magic wand, do you? You're not going to fix this, are you? I'm just going to talk, and nothing's going to get better, and I hate this; you're supposed to be my magic, damnit- do something!"

Except...he did. He started out just saying all those things I know in my head to say, reiterating my own words, validating what I was feeling, and I was like, no you don't understand, understanding isn't good enough! You have to *fix* this...But he was. Well, he wasn't; he can't fix it, no one can, but somewhere in there, and I'm not even sure how it came to be- he helped. I told him that it hurt so badly, and I didn't know how to tell them that. I didn't know how to tell them that I didn't want the hospital, I wanted the *people*...I didn't want staff to help me through crises; I wanted *them.* I didn't know how to say to them, what I really need right now is for you to say, "it's your discharge? that's great! now we can keep in touch." not when there was the possibility they wouldn't take the prompt. over and over again I face the question: which is worse, to not know if you want me in your life and feel the pain of wondering, or to know you don't and risk such hopelessness? I don't know how to risk the possibility of losing the hope even though the reward could be so fabulous. I just don't know.

He asked if I was at all afraid of what would happen if they said they were interested, and I told him no. Why would I be? Why would I possibly be upset by the idea of having these people, who I already feel as if I've lost, back in my life? He said it might affect my perception of how it was in the past. We wouldn't have the same relationship, and that might mangle my memory of them. I said, yes, memory manglement was something I feared, but in my experience (erm...Billy) the memory was mangled by the loss. My perception of the past is changed when I no longer have it, and if it's going to be changed, I'd rather it change through new relationships than none at all. And that he understood. He said it showed grounding, that I knew what I was risking and wanted it anyway.

Though reminding me of the risk made me a little less gung-ho to go for it. Note to self: there *is* such a thing as too much caution.

He told me that they might really want to be with me, but consciously or unconsciously still be pushing me away. Either as their own defense (some people preserve a memory by memorializing it; some by pushing to keep it as reality...me: "I wish there was a way to know which people are which") or in a failed attempt to protect me- similar to when Laura cancelled for what she thought was my benefit. They don't want to mar my experience, so they mar my experience. I listened, but I couldn't fully accept it. Since he has ESP, he said, "And you're wondering, how does he know this? Well because of this: In order to breathe life back into someone, to connect as deeply as they did with you, it has to be genuine. It simply has to. And they are just as incapable of not grieving that as you are." I like him and his smart smart words.

He said that I go through life maintaining connections, and as much a gift as that can be, it's also bringing me this pain. He said he wished it were like bellybuttons- some people innies, some outties, and you could just know. Are you the type who will completely box me out, or who will hold on like crazy?

Yes, I think I brought all this up when I thought I lost Jenna. That's probably good, as if I mention it, I can keep us fresh on Jenna-topics. I really want to be able to talk to him about the unspeakable topics: Billy and Jenna and sec-shoe-al-ihh-T. I really want to be able to take that risk. And mostly, I just want to giggle like a little kid and tell him Jenna is my hero. I just hope I can make eye contact when I tell him my biggest fear (in this subsector) is that I'll wake up straight. I think he's dating a boy/man I see around occasionally, so it might be fun to see his response to Mary's fear of heterosexuality. he knows I try so hard to fight the norm, but this may stretch it a bit even for me. s'true, though. of course, sex scares me no matter what?

are you sure there are no other relationally girl-biased asexual women out there? maybe I should put up an ad just to see what sort of response I get. then again, enough scary people seem to find me on-line without me inviting them into my life. (and lots of good people, too. *huggle*)

I'm stalling because I know he said something else to me that was ever so important, but I can't access it now. Please hold, while I scan my brain. Your readership is important to me; please stay by the screen.

All I seem able to access at this point is that he said again that what I experienced with them was real. And that even though we refer to it as "residential" and "the real world"- the truth is what I went there is the starting point of my reality, and how nice would it have been if I could have built on that. If I could have left not to abandon their reality or to seek a true one, but to expand the one I felt was secure inside me. It's real, he said. It has to be real because he saw me before I went to Rogers, and he saw me when I first came back, "looking like a child taken from their mother" and nothing but the most genuine connection could have been so transforming. he's right, you know. it has to be real, even though sometimes I think I'm silly to be so in love with something even those I love can't see is worth it. I got through one year of hell (and counting) because of what went on at RED. so even if they don't understand, they can't take it away. they loved me, or I wouldn't be alive.

hey, Dave you hear that? you loved me, and I'm not giving up on this yet.

chord

(who ate her dinner despite minor emotional/ circumstancial complications, and thus, rocks ever so)

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