Get your own
 diary at DiaryLand.com! contact me older entries newest entry

10:05 p.m. - 06/16/02
...and you're my medicine...
holy cricket; refractory has it so nailed. if there are two things in my life that I cannot possibly integrate, it's the desperate need to be around my parents at all times and the reality that although they are loving, they cannot provide for me the environment I need- not to mention the environment I want. wanting to run as far away as possible (I was six when I told them I was moving to Jamaica) and wanting to curl up between them in their room. adoring my time independent of them and having panic attacks because I'm not with them, and I might never see them again, and what if someone tries to talk to me without them here to run interference? I heard a quote once: "the youngest child isn't the least likely to succeed. he's just the least likely to risk failure. which basically amounts to the same thing." I would love to succeed. I'm just so very terrified of trying...

until about seven-o'clock this evening I had the day from hell. I read the two notes about my poems (thanks, kids) and I replied to one that was very emotionally involved (from my aunt)- and I sounded, not to mention felt, extremely positive, and self-aware, strong and in *myself.* not many hours later I was locked in my bathroom, sobbing myself sick, and kicking at the shower door as if in breaking it, I might manage my own freedom. not my brightest moment.

if I had followed my intensity at that moment I would be in this one- actively bulimic, anorexic and self-injurious or I might not be anything at all. (as it is, I managed to escape with only a few scratches on my right foot.) there are a few things about this day that I want to remember when (yes, when) I'm working with people who are struggling in recovery. 1.) the fact that I did not purge or restrict or continue cutting when I started is not the reason tonight is a triumph. I didn't purge/ restrict/ or further hurt myself because I felt so hopeless I didn't believe there was an action in the world that could save me from my pain. if I had believed that purging would make me feel better, or send me back to Rogers-last-summer, I swear to God I would have done it. this was not testament to my will power, or my strong recovery, or my coping skills. I maintained my abstinence tonight purely by the 'grace' of my depression.

sometimes, it feels really really shitty not to purge. or to eat. to fight the pain of wanting to do so and not is bad enough- this idea that I want to but won't because there's no chance it-or-anything-else can ever save me is downright dehabilitating. I'm terrified of how quickly my mind swung into such dark depths. lately, I'm beginning to really understand Tracy's impulsiveness and the quickness with which she could go from a happy conversation to a dangerous disappearance. in some ways, the better I am doing, the more my head fights me. I wrote this letter to my aunt proclaiming with great positivity how I view my life and my struggle, and within a few hours, I had strong thoughts of ending it. And in all honesty, I *didn't* end it because I didn't see the point in ending it. There was nothing in life that could give me what I wanted; why would I assume that death could?

there was no joy, it's just a line I crossed...yikes. it's terrifying. I took my meds this morning, and I slept a good amount. it's terrifying.

what happened isn't so important as the fact that I survived. thinking of the night my freshman year when I almost lost my life before knowing it, I realize how rarely the circumstances seem to define the need. it's something faulty in the perception, like you're trying to solve a problem and the ink is smudged. I didn't have all the information; I couldn't have all the information. it's very easy in depression to say, "I have no one in my life" and to wake up the next morning and go, "What about Laura and Katie and Scott and Marybeth and Sara and Rogers and my parents and my siblings and so forth and so on..." it's very easy to feel with complete certainty that life truly is as dark as the endless moment you are in.

anyway. what did happen. I called RED. completely forgetting that I had called them several times awhile back without ever getting through and probably had some latent feelings of displacement and general emotional neediness. completely forgetting that I've felt extra lonely these past few days and am likely looking for a strong connection such as that I felt while *at* Rogers. completely forgetting that I should probably identify what I need and why I'm calling before I throw caution to the wind and dial a phone. completely forgetting that if I don't know what I need, it's a hell of a lot harder to get it.

so I talked to Stephanie, just as I'd wanted to, and we had a lovely chat, and I got off and cried a little, and felt like shit, and did the tiny bit of (not quite) cutting on my foot, before realizing that it didn't help, and that nothing helped, and that my life was generally on a long, un-rectifiable track to nowhere. basically the thought in my head was this: I have gotten through the past seven months based largely on the reality that I had a place as beautiful and safe and supportive as RED was and therefore I could have that again. I could bring such people into my life, I could work at RED, I could recreate a parallel sanctuary outside of the hospital. when it was impossible for me to believe that I could find anything so great as RED in the outside world, I would comfort myself with plans to return. I was sure that, so long as I set foot in that building as a staff member, I could manage my life outside of it.

then I have this conversation. with Stephanie, who is a really great girl, but not the most into deep conversations about emotional complications and the suchlike. and since I didn't know I needed to talk about emotions, we just talked. about what I'd been up to. about what I hadn't been up to. about what my parents were up to. about the fact that she's getting married. (crazy!) and so forth. I didn't realize that I needed to feel connected to her (to someone, to RED, to that ideal) *in the moment* and this talk of what we were doing away from each other was just reiterating the distance between us. when I got off the phone I was convinced that a.) I had no home in red, b.) I had no home period, c.) they would not under any circumstances want to see me back there, d.) I had been out too long and needed to stop calling, and e.) seeing as I couldn't have this world in the place where I had once known in, and seeing as I was doing "absolutely nothing" to get out and acquire people of the maroon persuasion, I would never have anything like that again.

urgle. this being the cornerstone of my recovery (and recovery, for those of you without addictions, is basically "continued life") I crumbled completely and it was a few hours before my mom convinced me to let her call the doctor and have him speak with me. to my credit, I did *try* to reach out. I called RED once before (probably also triggering; yet another new staff member picked up the phone), I called Sara who was at yoga class, and I paged through my telephone book looking at a bunch of your names. I almost called Chas, except that I need to call Chas a few times when things are going *well* before I feel capable of calling her again when they aren't. having established that need a long time ago, I remembered it in the midst of my dep res sion.

it did help a little that I called Sara. her mom is *so kind* to me; it's unbelievable, and the cool thing is that when I mention this to Sara, it makes her happy. she just says, "She's the Rogers Mom!" (our term for her at RED; we used to all use her as our stand-in when we didn't get to see our parents) and expresses gladness. she has this really gentle voice, and she coos "ohh" when I say my name, and then she talks about how glad Sara will be to hear from me, and asks how I'm doing like a mom/aunt/therapist would do, and when I tell her I'm ok but having a hard day, she tells me to hang in there. she's like a very good juice pop in human form.

anyway. the doctor called, and he was at a pay phone and couldn't hear a word I said, which didn't really matter because I wasn't saying much, and so he told me he'd call back in a couple hours when he was at a better phone. during the time he was gone I remained locked in the bathroom; sara called back and we talked for ages. I came off the phone almost entirely revived, but with new information about points in my life that need attention. she helped me specify my needs, she helped me laugh about random things, she helped me have *good* daydreams about the future, (sara and me, roommates at hampshire! eee!), she helped me remember that i do have "a little rogers in my pocket" (i.e. I have her), and she helped me feel less alone. it's so nice to just say "Stephanie" and have someone know exactly what face and voice and personality you mean. shared experiences are so highly underrated.

we talked. we stopped talking. I ate the dinner I had sworn I wouldn't eat. dr. r called back. I told him about calling, and about how no one understood/ no one wanted to hear about rogers so I had no one to tell...and about how Sara helped me through...and about how I needed good people in my life but could not (could not could not) go back to school. and how I got caught up in the future and the lack of clarity about why exactly it'd be different. and so on and so forth, and we'll talk more on Wednesday.

the truth is, I still don't feel like I survived this day- even after a brownie and a shower. I think I'm so detached from where I was a few hours ago, that it hasn't occurred to me that I got through it. maybe, I'm not safe in knowing that yet. but the truth is, when I got off the phone with Sara, I was glad I hadn't thrown it all away. I wouldn't be happy if I'd purged, or cut myself up, or fallen into a pattern of restriction. but talking to her, talking to this incredible girl who gets happy when I talk about a plan b of running away to live with her- that brought back a small portion of my joy.

and joy is like medicine. it tastes a little funny in the beginning, but after a few hours, I'm glad I drank it down.

though I did give myself a headache with all that crying. oog. must go to bed now so I can get up to be driven across the universe to have some practicioner stick a needle in my uncooperative veins only to be driven *back* home where I will finally be allowed to eat breakfast...or brunch. or...dinner? fasting in an ED is *so* not ok...

chord

previous - next

about me - read my profile! read other Diar
yLand diaries! recommend my diary to a friend! Get
 your own fun + free diary at DiaryLand.com!