6:55 p.m. - 06/26/02
:have you ever felt like your secrets give you away?:
(I'm almost done writing this entry and I just got the biggest fear that my sister reads this. So this is complete paranoia, but Sarah, if you know this address, please leave my journal to me. I'm safe now, I'm doing really well, and these words are meant to be my own. Thank you.) [/end paranoia]
in the past 72 (or so) hours I have- twice beaten my mother at Harry Potter trivia, had an actively helpful session with Dr. R, filled out a d*land survey, and found a decent order for my most recent mix tape. (this last would be quite a bit easier if I had a CD burner, as I wouldn't have to deal with the amount of tape on each *side* and no one listens to mix CDs in order *anyway,* but from my recent bit of whining it seems that my entire life would be somehow less complicated with a CD burner. so I'll be quiet now.)
I'm being insanely stingy with my parents' money these days. I hate that they have to buy meals when we're out, and it's not for the normal (oh, dear god, FOOD in a PUBLIC PLACE) reasons. I just can't handle the possibility that I am running their already tight cash-flow further into the ground. (I've never been good at this; one of the major pluses, in my eyes, of having an eating disorder was that I didn't have to ask my parents for lunch money- the only consistent bit of 'allowance' they gave me.) and then yesterday, the phone bill came for that one call I made to Silje, a month or so ago, and I lost track of far more time than I thought. I felt *really awful* and I decided that despite the fact that I'm never going to have kids, if I ever end up in a parental position, I will definitely utilize the oh-so-beautiful creation of Punishment. because my parents said basically nothing when I spent over 100 dollars of their money on a 45 minute call to Norway, and the hell I put myself through was far worse than extra chores or something would have been. I hate punishing myself with the guilt and shame, and I think I'd do it less if my parents were thoughtful enough to ground me. although, that wouldn't be too effective for an agoraphobic recluse...
they should send me to bed without therapy. now *there's* a punishment. 'course, they don't have to be CRUEL...and I can deal with guilt and shame on my own. I just see a new value to non-inevitable consequences these days.
and I really, really wanted to call Silje again sometime in the next week. and now, obviously, I want go near the phone with a ten foot pole. Sara and I played phone tag all weekend and still haven't checked in, and now I'm not sure I can call her because even though a call to Wisconsin isn't at all expensive really, and my parents didn't care about those calls at all, I just feel too guilty to pick up the phone. arg. maybe there's something else going on, though if that's true, as soon as I talk to her, everything will be fine. she's magic that way.
Silje herself is in London right now, or was a few days ago. She sent me a postcard, with all sorts of lovely landmarks on the front- and a line that nearly broke my heart. I didn't know life could be so good...if anyone deserves to discover that sort of holiday beauty, it's Silje- and as happy as I am to know she's had a nice time, it makes me weak to think of how long it's taken her to find a moment so simply beautiful as time in London with a friend.
for a non-violent girl, I could really rip the heads off some of the people in her life. I could really tear into them with my claws before a second thought had time to rear its head. damn them. if there were a hell, I'd send them there.
this is not at all what I intended to say. oh well. there's always another line to write- it's not like I can't move onto something more productive...or pacific...or...sane.
I can't believe it's only Wednesday. it's felt later all week, and my parents had to take the papa-man's car into the shop, so it feels like Saturday when they're go to see the doctor together. (such a romantic saturday evening for a pair of lovebirds, hey?) usually, my appt. with Dr. R confirms the day is a Wednesday, but I think in some ways it calmed me down so thoroughly today that I feel relaxed in a weekend fashion. thank God it's summer, and there are no non-weekend obligations with which I must deal.
the boy who sees Dr. R the hour before me looks really sweet. he's a few years younger than me, with hershey-colored skin, and shy, avoiding eyes. I wish he sat out in the room with the icky paintings and the nauseating color scheme instead of his mom. I'd never have the courage to ask him what he's in for, but it'd be nice to watch him out of the corner of my eye and maybe have him watch me. sometimes it makes me really happy to see other kids in therapy, and sometimes it makes me really sad that I can't say hi to them without appearing rude or intrusive. I wish he'd look at me just once so I could smile at him. I know what it's like to be a few years younger than me and needing a therapist. maybe he could enlighten me on what it's like to be getting one.
it would just be really nice if the protocol of waiting rooms wasn't never to say a word. I've broken it a few times, and always with nice results. it just feels so much better, especially in a mental health setting, to know you're not alone. to realize emotionally that the other person does not think you're crazy for being there. how could they when they're so obviously not crazy themselves?
random. but he has hershey-colored skin and shy, mysterious eyes.
jenna always said I clung to mystery. the beautiful thing was that on her tongue, it didn't sound like a gibe. it sounded like a truth with soft-touch edges.
I guess it'll be a long time before I stop missing Jenna. I guess in the end that's a good thing. I wouldn't want it to be easy to lose someone that magnificent. but I wouldn't mind loss being a bit easier occasionally, in general. I wouldn't mind occasionally being able to go a whole four minutes without feeling like I'll explode with the possibility that someone is about to abandon me.
I need to work on this. Dr. R said something about it today, about how we needed to think about my constant fear that if I blink everyone will disappear and leave me without support. I told him what Tammy said, about how I was nearing adulthood, and how much those words terrified me. He said that adulthood wouldn't sneak up on me, and before I had the chance to ask him to promise, he said that I should postpone it as long as possible, which confused and kind of intrigued me. I asked him why, and he said that - based on my definition - (which is something like- adulthood (n.) an arduous existence in which one is expected to do everything perfectly without the slightest bit of support or guidance) it was something to avoid, and besides that, who wanted to stop growing? he doesn't know my zine is called darwin, so this reference to evolution brought a smile to my lips. we talked some more.
I told him about when my oldest brother turned 18, how my parents told him that he would either start paying rent and car insurance and all other expenses, or he would move out (and pay them there.) I reminded him that I was 10 at this time, standing in the living room watching my brother storm out the door, thinking about how overnight you became this person that wasn't worth the slightest bit of (even financial) help. I think that's part of why I wanted so badly to go to college; I knew that if I was in school, I would remain a legal dependent of my parents, and autonomy horrified me even when it seemed so distant as eight years.
I didn't tell him about being in primary school, wondering if people left the world in the same order they entered it and knowing that I was the youngest of my little nuclear clan. I didn't tell him how I used to stand on the playground listening to my friend-of-a-friend tell stories about how her dad had walked out on them, and thinking that even if I were 99, if my family died, I would completely combust. I decided that Sarah was the healthiest one in the family and she would probably live the longest, which was good because Sarah was stronger than anyone I knew, and certainly she could handle losing me better than I could handle losing her. I didn't tell him how suicide started to draw me in during middle school with the very real, very simple promise that if I ended my life at 13, I wouldn't have to bear watching others end as I neared a century.
Somehow, I think he's got the gist of all that just from knowing me. I think it shows up in the shy way I smile, and how grateful I am for continued kindnesses. He quoted almost exactly to me what Brea said about "no matter what you say or do or feel, I will not leave" (not as a personal thing, just in terms of general relationships working this way) and I asked him what world he was from. I told him that no one said that to me until I was sixteen, and we laughed a little. Then he brought up the way I use humor subtly to say big things, and I listed pros and cons. I told him the largest con was that sometimes people just think what I'm saying is funny. "Oh, yes, it's hilarious that no one told me that until I was sixteen. It's *so* amusing."
He wasn't laughing anymore.
Mostly, we talked about Sarah, and how my entire childhood was spent idolizing and shadowing her. I realized for the first time the oddness of my anger in high school when, after achieving all sorts of honors, half the faculty still mistakenly referred to me as Sarah. The anger is odd because all of the 'honors' I achieved were ones that Sarah had also done in high school. Of course they confused me with her- *I'd* confused me with her.
We talked about what I need/ want to do about the problems with my relationship with Sarah, and he pointed out that my ambivalence on the subject is consistent with my general ambivalence regarding autonomy-independence versus dependence-support. He said that in some ways it looked like a lose/lose situation: either I spoke with her directly about the problems that I felt in the relationship and risked losing her or I didn't speak to her and watched things disintegrate (which would also mean losing her - in the sense of who she's always been to me.)
He asked me if it would make more sense to give her specific ways of helping me than to point out that some of her tactics aren't exactly helpful, and I wondered why on earth I hadn't thought of that before- after all, it's one of many tactics I use with my parents. (reprogramming of sorts.) But then later, he wondered aloud if this would be enough, as the specific issues coming up between us seem to be representative of more fundamental structural issues in the relationship. He said something about how setting boundaries and revising relationships is hardest within the family realm, and I agreed, voicing my belief that it's *so much easier* to do this sort of ground work when a relationship is new, and no one expects the work to be finished, than when you've been humming along nicely for seventeen years. I just wish there was a way to show her that I want to work on things because I *don't* want them to change horrible (as in, I don't want them to go rotten, I don't want to lose her) - not because I'm upset with how we've been the past seventeen years.
Just, on and off the past one or so? Just a little here and there?
I *was* my sister's shadow for a whole bunch of years, and I want to be able to show myself and my Sarah that I can successfully be someone other than an alternate her, and that everyone will be rewarded by that. But at the same time, I'm terrified of her response, and perhaps moreso, I'm terrifying of the damage this move means to my childhood Olympus. Sarah has articulated to me that she can't stand people doing things differently than she does because it makes her feel like she must be doing them wrong. (Her best friend in college dropped out to go perform standard musicals while she continued to graduation and pursued experimental theater. This was not exactly smooth sailing, even from my observer point of view.) I feel like if I choose to make my own footsteps, to take alternate paths, and God forbid, accept the possibility that I might already be more aware or capable of some things than Sarah is, I'm denouncing the path that she's taken and the person I love. basically, I understood talking to the doc today, that emotionally, I'm convinced if I attempt being my own person, I suggest there's a course out there better than that Sarah's taken, which collapses the "heroine" status she's had since childhood. this is very, very hard.
and it doesn't matter that it's just "a better course for me" or "a *different* course"- termanology aside, it has the same effect. which leaves me completely confused. do I hightail it out of the country, become myself, and call her from Barbados? do I swallow my fear and ask her to admit she's seeing the faults I *know* I'm not the only one to witness in our relationship? a bit of both?
sometimes, this enmeshment is really confusing. it was so much easier with Billy, when it had gone to a level where all I felt safe doing was severing the tie, when it wasn't the girl with my blood and my eyes. I feel like I'm always getting into these relationships (though I do think I've gotten a lot better at not starting them in the past 10 months) where I'm the first one trying to heal the codependence. there's such a difference between calling someone every five minutes and being unable to live without them and sitting on the other side of the phone refusing to answer it. I've done both certainly, but it seems I have a tendency to end up on the side of answer-ee.
I need to figure out why this is, and more so, I need to figure out how to deal with it. do any of those books on dependency discuss it from the other side? do any of those books about crying too much on someone's shoulder discuss it from the shoulder's point of view?
or do I really have to wait until same bat-time, same bat-channel to discuss it with the doctor man? argh. what I wouldn't give to have the understanding and only the action to do...
...oh. and. Dave won't stay out of my dreams. he's everywhere. he's in nearly every scene. and he's kind and he's funny and I feel like if I can't talk to him I'll bust in half, and I feel really cheated that I can't hate-him-jokingly in person anymore. the parents are worse-than-ignoring my time at RED now; they are mentioning it. and if one more person says the word "Milwaukee" to me, these little fists will fly...
because I seriously can't survive this if I have to think about it simultaneously. red is a word used cautiously; it is not their tale to turn.
a sleepy
chord
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