1:05 p.m. - 02/25/03
birfday..*
I am currently trying to figure out lunch. For the second time in two days, which are the first time in forever, I feel awfully sick and migraine-ish. My mom said yesterday that a person should at least be able to command that they will not have a migraine on their birthday, but I think said person should be allowed to command that in general. On second thought, maybe this is a flu. My headache isn't too bad, so maybe I mistake the queasiness. I feel that nervous, broken, sickly way I always did before throwing up as a kid. If only I could explain to the universe how much I don't want that. Do I not want it enough to go lie down right now? To claim this sickness and take care of myself? To not beat myself up and eat later, when I feel capable of keeping it down?
It simply isn't eating-disordered when you feel shaky and sweaty and flu-filled. Okay, I give into what I need. I'll be back in a little while after lying down. In the meantime, read Kissing the Witch. I've only read the first story, and it's still the best book ever. (All good books, in my language, are.)
**
A little less than two hours later, she returns. Somewhat de-queasified and nourished with a normal lunch. I'm so grateful lying down did so much. Although, I also got really anxious at first. (The idea that I might have the flu and throw up terrifies me, of course. You'd think having it happen once already- in recovery- would lessen the fear, but I don't think I even know what it's about, so how could I be past it yet? Oh, my complicated ignorance...)
The birthday was. And I'm grateful for that, I suppose. I think I anticipated it a little too much. I gave myself a spectacular standard to live up to, a mood to feel, listed items to achieve, et cetera. I mean, I (who was still me, even if she was having a birthday) spent 8 or 9 hours in a glaring, public world. In stores and malls and restaurants. I think I generally spend 2 hours in those worlds at most- so definitely a bit beyond my capacity. Add to that, my determination to be having a good time, despite the fact that (early in the day) I felt physically unwell and (later in the day) I felt emotionally unsteady, and drama had to ensue. Of course.
Mostly, my nerves said, "Oh, you can't recognize stress and tension- you need full-blown anxiety in order to realize what's going on? Ok. Here you go." I took my meds in the morning, and by 5:00, I was such a mess, I was grateful to have more in my pocket to take. (Understand, I rarely take these meds twice a week- let alone twice a day.) By the time we drove home, I wanted to take them again. I was freaking a bit over the schoolwork I hadn't done, and how I was going to meet with Mistrandy today, and things would be awful. I finally decided to switch my doc appointment to Tuesday (today- which makes no sense because we just spoke Sunday) and move school back to Wednesday. I didn't know how else to keep from losing my mind. But when we did arrive back home, the machine said Mistrandy couldn't meet Tuesday, but missing Wednesday was fine, and we could always meet Thursday and Friday if I wanted- or even just Friday...and she sounded so relaxed and un-bothered about it all, that I turned to my mom and said, "I think she and I need to switch perspectives."
By 9:00 or so when we reached home, I still hadn't eaten dinner, and my stomach could not communicate to my head through all the anxiety to make that urgent. I did finally have dinner, and I ate my figgin birthday cake. Only a few bites, as I was exhausted, but more this morning. And I ate it. I ate it without feeling like I was going to die. I ate it without people cheering and taking photos as if I had just swum the Pacific. I also blew out the candle and made a wish that I want very much to come true, and then I collapsed on the couch and waited to have the energy to climb upstairs and sleep. A hard end to a hard day, but nonetheless a birthday. With sweet notes, e-cards, messages on the machine, and pressies. Regarding the last: I did have to sit myself down in a store and talk her out of feeling scared and undeserving. She was running around in circles thinking how she wanted way more than she could ever have and how she didn't deserve even a very little. That poor girl. She needs to re-learn so much more than food.
I still haven't decided how to celebrate eighteen months, though. I think I want to learn to do something other than give myself a present, not that there's anything wrong with presents. (I've still barely started my security blanket, for the record.) At this point, I'm thinking I'll buy myself a one-angry-girl shirt, but it seems like there "should" be something better than that to do. I like my one-necklace. It's small, it's inexpensive, it's everyday. It fades into my image, but people do occasionally ask about it. Maybe that's what I need. To make myself something meaningful. For some reason, this anniversary is a big deal for me. Eighteen months and eighteen years within three days of each other is a big deal...
A man in a department store played Happy Birthday, and Stand Up and Tell Us How Old You Are, for me, and the second time he said my name in the song, he called me Pretty Mary. He shook my hand twice, and then he played the song my parents danced to at their wedding, and I had to order them not to dance in the store. (I did many sweet things for them, so therefore, I am allowed to not allow them to dance in a department store *again.*) I didn't get to wear my (pretty silver and purple) crown all day because it gave me a headache, but I acted like a princess all the same. Today's nourish entry actually occurred to me in the middle of that queendom. I kept reminding myself of Dr. R's definition of adulthood- at its very basic- being yourself without the apologies. So I tried to stand a little taller, smile a little more confidently, say "Excuse me" at an actually audible tone. It felt wonderful and provided a nice distraction from my nervousness. I still acted like a child for much of the day (as "God" intended)- talking occasionally in the little kid voice my sister hates, visiting the children's section of the bookstores, holding my own hand. But I think the fact that I couldn't stop this birthday from happening is a good thing. I'm feeling better about it, about letting myself define eighteen on my own terms. I can choose to adopt the parts of adulthood that excite me, that I'm ready for, that I need, to learn those I would like to acquire, and to- in many cases- tell the parts I don't want inside me to go to hell and die. Growing doesn't have to me conforming, doesn't have to mean dying, doesn't have to mean losing everything again. The Breakfast Club basketcase was wrong.
It seems like there's more to be said, but I have no grasp on what it is. Probably about the non-birthday elements of my life. I have a doc appointment tomorrow, uniquely timed in the afternoon. So. There are probably things coming up in anticipation of that, things that want to be told to him, and want to be written here. I'd rather tell you that I blew one candle out eighteen times or that my grandmother is sending me the next Ani concert. As usual this past week, I'd rather sleep.
It won't be this way forever. It might not even stay this way for long.
chord
�
�
