12:50 p.m. - 11/21/01
ramblings.are.red, maryisblue.
So tired.
They're downstairs eating lunch (I already finished mine), and Mom just came up here to complain about how she's "the only one in my life who knows what this disease is really about for you." Meaning, Dad and Nana didn't realize that going out to get food wasn't a good idea. Actually, I think Dad planned to bring food in, but Mom's upset because she wanted to leave by one, and no one's listening to each other, and she's apologizing to me for his behavior, not realizing that her anger is equally nerve-breaking.
I really don't want to go to Dale's at all. I'd so much rather stay here with my poster signed by all the red-loves, and my Spongebob cartoons. Never underesetimate the power of a meowing snail...
I got a letter from Katia today. I'm excited because I just thought about writing her. I'm upset though, because it turns out Chelsea did get the tube. I wish I could be there because I know I could find a way to get through to Chels. We're so much alike - the abandonment issues, the inability to say we need attention, the belief that negative is more consistent than (and therefore a superior alternative to) positive attention. I just think I could find a way into her, a way to help her look after herself. Maybe by looking at the rituals. I know now that my food rituals reflect the way that I process my painful memories, and I wonder if perhaps by looking closely at what she does (or doesn't do) with food, I could suggest a way to talk to her that she might trust...and then they could go further as the trust builds.
I've been thinking a lot about the fear that my obsessive love for Red would inhibit my recovery. Despite what the day-treatment doctor thinks, I was the first one to realize that. I remember sitting in the office saying that I was going to get sick again and having them tell me it seemed really doubtful, that I was doing really well. "What I mean is," I rephrased, "I'm afraid I'll *choose* to get sick again...because it's so much better here." They understood the reality of that fear, I think, and that's the same fear I thought the day-doctor was talking about when he mentioned that sometimes these "post-discharge blues" (Tammy-term) prevent a patient from continuing on the path of recovery. Now, though, I don't think that's so much the relevant fear. I think I've pretty much decided that I have two alternatives (never seeing Red again not being an option). I can either a) get sick again and go back feeling lower than slug residue or b) keep getting healthier and return as staff with only the slight embarrassment of never having gotten over the one place in the world that felt safe to me. (Which I don't think is *such* a bad thing.) I'd rather have eyes rolled at me then see disappointment in them...
I will not let down those I love. I will make something of the life they helped to save. (Even if it isn't exactly what they wanted to be...but that can be elaborated on later.)
I think the real danger is a lot more complex than me simply wanting to return NOW and fulfilling that prophecy the only way I know how. I think, in actuality, the problem is that I'm fucking SAD about this...overwhelmingly broken...and I don't know who will understand that. Most of my treatment team thus far has brushed it away. I don't know how to explain that this is real grief, and that I don't want to move on through it, I want to either go back and not feel it anymore, or continue letting it be painful. I'd rather be connected to them through pain than not at all.
If all goes well with the insurance company, I meet my new therapist on Tuesday. She comes Tammy recommended, and though that has been an unsteady word, it is the voice that gave me RED and my psychiatrist (who I see Saturday)...so I'm hopeful. I'm seeing signs everywhere as always: The flat fee for her sessions is the year I was born; her name is one I'd read in an *extremely* old journal entry just that morning...I don't know. I'll believe it when I see the water lilies. Nothing calls out "godsend" faster than Monet.
I guess I'll go now. I don't want to fall asleep across the keys. That's what the four hour drive to Dale's is for...
Good thing I'm armed with my crochet hook.
love
chord
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