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1:07 p.m. - 10/16/03
thank you thank you thank you thank you once again
I admit it. I didn't come here last night. I had a torrid affair with a notepad instead. You know how I am, always wanting it both ways - I tried to come here, too, to come here first actually, and write what I wanted to say, but I swear to you, the story refused. It refused, until I picked up the notepad, and the good silver pen with the bright black ink... And now it's the day after and all I can say is I'm sorry. Well, that and I want to post the letter. Because even though the story seems almost silly this morning, it was oh-so-important last night. And it did make its way onto the paper, eventually.

Note the eventually. And note also, that I apparently care nothing for tense when letter-writing.

*

Dear Dave,

It's the time of night I usually spend in journaling or writing exercises, but what I have to say today really wants to come out (apparently) in a letter. To you. So here is yet another rambling letter-from-Mary, who can't seem to stop hoping for replies.

I want to tell you about today. I know there have been hundreds of days since I last talked to you, but this one seems so important. I guess it encapsulates a lot of what's true for me everyday. Anyway, I need to tell it.

I'm like a recovery-freak, you know. I love therapy, I love growing as a person, I love sticking it to my illness in every possible way. And I love Rogers. I know that isn't news to you; I did do everything I could think of to try and stay; and I've been clear about it since. I'm in an apartment in [the Mortal City] (with my mom; parents are in the process of divorcing) now, and my new room has a whole collection of Rogers-things (photos, notes, what have you) decorating part of a wall. It's the most pathetic, wonderful thing. But don't worry, I'm not living in the past, and I'm not kidding myself (much.) I know that, as much as I miss you people-of-Rogers and the incredible support of living there, I don't really want to go back. I couldn't stand to be around all that hopelessness and sickness again. I've discovered that illness, despite all its drama, is rather boring, and what isn't boring is painful. I much prefer life and people. So when I say I love Rogers, I don't mean all the illness in the air there. When I say I miss Rogers, I don't mean the hospital. The Rogers that I continue to cry for and love is the place (amid those other things) where I finally experienced consistent, positive support - home as I imagine for my future, as I hope I will have again. In the meantime, I do a lot of crying over how I miss those connections and how this place I'm in does not stack up. And I continue in my recovery, which is unfathomably difficult, even if it has gone (is going) astoundingly well. In general, I don't restrict, purge, cut, or binge. (The second of those^ is the only stat I've kept track of, and it's been over two years. Two years, Dave, without purging. Who would have believed it?)

But I've sidetracked myself now and made this confusing. I wanted to tell you about today; I suppose I felt the need for some context. My therapist (who's great; he's just the right balance of compassionate and stubborn) is out of town this week, and what had been an (emotionally, not so much behaviorally) hard time became quite a bit more intense in his absence. My anxiety's been through the roof, I've had migraines, nightmares, depression - the whole nine yards. And two nights ago (I'm just remembering how illness is boring - but I have a good point, honestly) I was so anxious I decided not to eat supper (which is completely uncharacteristic of me) - to just let slide and go to bed. So of course, you know me, the next morning I'm ready to wring myself up for giving relapse that little "in". But I stopped, decided I'd be better off not obsessing and berating myself, and returned to (my version of) normal life. By the time I get to tonight (Wednesday), things are feeling very similar to Monday. Feeling sick with migraine when my mom has dinner, I decide to wait until my system's calmed down; during that time, a miscommunication between my mom and me sets loose majors "upsettedness" - which I realize fairly quickly is mostly related to how much I don't want to still be sick, as well as a bit of a phone call between my mom and dad that I had overheard. (Background: My dad moved out, without discussing it with anyone, a few months before I graduated. He quit attending therapy - which my parents had been in both individually and as a couple - and eventually, my mom filed for divorce. My dad was willing to come back - but not to work, change, or acknowledge what he'd done, and my mom wasn't settling for that. After they ((or ra ther, Mom)) announced the divorce, my dad literally created an alternate version of what had happened, which he fed to my siblings and me. He can't handle being the bad guy, so he's living in his hometown, in the apartment opposite his mom's, telling everyone the fake story. It's complicated.) On the phone, I hear my mom say softly, "I miss us, too" and then more loudlyl, "I miss us, too. I miss us a lot." Obviously, this is hard. The fact that they love and miss each other not being enough to put them back together (because we all remember how much their "together" needed work, and my dad's not doing that) is extremely difficult. And it's one of about a million exceedingly difficult things I'm working through right now. So a rough day. My migraine calms down, but I'm emotionally exhausted, and I think, hey, just this once, let it slide. Except I know better than to fall into that pattern. I know better than to pretend that just because I'd eaten well between Monday and tonight, this could qualify as "just this once." Most importantly, I know when I'm bullshitting myself, and I knew that the fervor to get back on track after Monday was not going to be around after tonight. This one would be a conscious choice for the ED, the second in three days, after so many months of abstaining.

And before I can fall into arguing with myself (why bother? - the decision was made) I have a meal in front of me, and I'm eating it. I'm crying between bites, I'm crying as I chew, I'm pretty much crying the whole time. But it has nothing to do with being beaten up by ED-thoughts or worrying about the meal. I'm CRYING because this is who I am. I'm this girl, the Mary from Rogers (and afterward), and it's so engrained in me to LIVE now, disease doesn't doesn't have a prayer.

I realized that as much as I need all my Rogers-things, the best reminder, the best testimony, the best thing I have is me. This real, recovering me. That's why when all hell broke loose after discharge (and continued on in steady stream) I held on. That's why, despite how desperately I miss the home/ people of Rogers, I didn't live out my relapse nightmare. Instead, I've held onto my recovery even more vigorously because so long as the change in me is this obvious, no one can question the miracle I describe Rogers as. As much as I have struggled over the years to believe my own perception when others discounted it, this is the first time I fought to keep my family (and whomever else) from dismantling it. Rogers was the first thing to matter that much to me, and the ways I changed then are still affecting change in me now. What happened two years ago is strong enough to push me back on track now, no matter how many tragedies pile up. There's just no expression of gratitude to cover that. I'm alive, and even if it hurts like hell, it's worth it. I finally get to be myself. I finally know how to take care of her. I find the sickness that my life used to center on boring! I consider myself the greatest gift from the greatest group of people I was ever blessed with. Do you understand now why one silly dinner had me crying? It's like it managed to summarize every unbelievable change that's taken place in me (and I still have quite a ways to go.)

I also submitted a play to a festival today. It's something I wrote for possible production during EDAW, and in keeping with my new perspective, it never mentions EDs, food, restricting, purging - none of that. It's about people who discover despite the fact that what they have of life now is at times seriously painful, it's still worth staying, living that way. It's a tiny one-act, and I love it.

I know that you all expect great things from me and my writing, and you needn't worry; I'm continuing to have plays produced, cycling toward the proposed fame and fortune. But in the meantime, I'm finding I'm after far simpler things. I write for myself, because I enjoy it, ideally every day. I periodically update a site that stores what I've learned in recovery, and I created, participate in, and oversee a forum for people to discuss why they're against the glorification of eds (i.e. pro-ana bullshit.) In general, I'm finding that my need to connect is a lot more fundamental than my need to, say, publish a book - and I'm woring to have more and more of that connection in my life. Otherwise, how will I ever get that home I'm after? :)

Anyway, I didn't intend for this to be so epic, but I did want to share it. I may be the one doing the work, but I can't forget the people who taught me how (and why.) I remain a walking advertisement for you guys, not to mention a grateful foundling. And I wanted to share. That's the thing about me and connection: I attach rather firmly when I do. (Or hadn't you noticed?)

Speaking of which, though I know better than to expect a response, I do have some pretty relentless hope these days. So if you want to drop a line (or some random photo, silly drawing, something for the Wall) - feel, er, more than encouraged. Those little things mean a lot.

Thanks again - for the biggest things - and for the simple ones (like reading all this) as well. I hope you're hanging in there and life is being kind. Take care.

Love,

Mary

*

I think that's the first time I've ever signed a Dave-letter "love." I guess these days, it's pretty much my version of "peace" or "blessings" - it's the spirit in which I'm sending it, the spirit of what I'm feeling as I write, and, yes, a hint at the connection I feel, whether or not he does.

I'm going to save today for later and go post this. (And yes, yesterday, I *did* post an entry to an international women's playwriting festival, and damn did it feel good. Submitting to anything that can mean possible connection, possible *production* of the work, where real people can interact with it, makes me salivate. Just the sight of a printed script, looking so legitimate with its black ink and its white page makes me a little giddy. Whee.)

-chord

^it's actually the second and fourth; it's 2+ yrs without a b/p, but the concept of binges was always sort of a "concept" to me; I thought of all eating as bingeing, which in some sense, it was...

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