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11:20 a.m. - 10/10/02
#so much to say, so much to say-e-ay#
**warning, warning: grab a meal or two to sustain yourself during the novel-long trek you are about to undertake**

I just reread the last entry, and it reminded me of the most recent episode of Judging Amy, which I watch somewhat frequently. (Tyne Daly, troubled kids, and a recovering addict? um, yeah.) Rather, it reminded me of one of Tyne Daly's lines this week, which went something along the lines of, "I've decided not to give up on him. Because if I give up on him, I give him permission to give up on himself, and I'm not letting him off the hook that easily." It was another articulation of what I was saying about having hope for people who don't have it in themselves, even when the person is driving you crazy. Right now, this is something instinctive in me, but my codependency can screw with it a bit. I become frustrated when people I have hope in don't instantly start working against their pain and for their future. I become frustrated when my hope is not a cure-all. I'm still an ideal-filled realist, though. I still think giving up is less rewarding than it seems.

I haven't written here in two nights, and I'm disappointed about that because things are never quite so interesting two nights later. I don't have so many details; they've either blurred or lost their glory. I've been absolutely exhausted, what with having a schedule that pushes three of my normal weeks into one day, and finding that, despite this exhaustion, I haven't slept (much) since Friday. Up until Tuesday night, I would spend hours waiting to fall asleep, sleep a little, wake up, spend more hours, sleep a little, wake up, more hours, and so forth. Tuesday night I finally fell asleep into horrible, horrible nightmares each of which woke me after two minutes at most, so that I got out of bed more exhausted and confused than I had gone to bed. I pushed aside journaling Tuesday night because I really wanted to take advantage of as much sleep as possible. Unfortunately, I was mentally seizing and tripping through insomnia all night. Last night, I was too pissed too describe Tuesday in all its glory. Hence my lack of words. Nothing will be as interesting at this point, or maybe some of it will. I want to talk about the happy things without the Wednesday-badness distorting them. Tuesday, after all, was a very happy day.

Amusingly, I just in the past hour, read my horoscopes for the past two days: Tuesday's was something along the lines of, "Location is everything! Enjoy the trip!" and Wednesday's said, "People will injure you. It's best to blend in." Typically general horoscopes, nowhere near the specifics that get a girl to bounce in hindsight-fed recognition, but all the same fairly accurate. Tuesday good. Wednesday in need of decoration for my punching bag.

On Tuesday, I psyched myself up to go. I ate the best breakfast (in terms of exchanges) that I've had in a long, long time, and I did it happily. I listened to Ani's new live album in the car, and I wore my "Start A Revolution, Stop Hating Your Body" t-shirt. The homeland greeted me with signs and gentle prairies; I sung out at the beauty of the flatness- the flatness which went on for miles. No hills, no lines of trees, no crazy cliffs to block the sky. I was back in what my father calls "God's country" where I would never push anyone to live. All the same, I grew up in this fields, this wheat, this corn, this soy, and have a fanatic affinity toward it. I support it like I would a sports team, were I at all aware of sports. I threaten anyone who takes down the state, even as I degrade those bordering and talk about how Wisconsin is truly where a girl should be... The drive took a mere 45 minutes with my father (a great deal longer with my Mom the next day) a surprising fact, but all the same exhilerating. We curled around the campus, causing my father to exclaim, "These buildings weren't here! They're popping up like weeds!" and me to have odd memories of visiting Sarah during her college days. In the parking lot outside the Communications building, we met Sarah, Chiara, and Rachel walking to the door. Chiara gave me a hug hello, and everyone thought I must be freezing, which I wasn't really, but I was aware that I was missing out on the opportunity to be in actual Fall Clothes. (Yeah for crisp and chilly weather; whoo!) We waved goodbye to the father-man and walked into the building, sending Sarah, Rachel, and me into crazy deja vu. They of course were positive they had entered a time warp and were now trapped back in college; I was positive I was once again ten years old and mute. Shadowing my sister, unable to eat, speak, make eye contact. Unable to exist with any sort of freedom.

I realized, attempting to translate that memory, that feeling, to the English we use daily (instead of the weird sensory language I talk with in my skin) that I felt "ten years old and fat" again. I have almost never in the past few years told people I feel fat because the word is sick with stigma and does nothing to describe how I really felt about how I was. But I did notice the way my body felt so different, how I carried myself so differently, how I had to pull myself out of it, back into the present, and realize how okay I was, again. I was, I'm told- though I have trouble believing this, never overweight. Ever. So the idea that going into that time made me feel, despite even what I am now, so physically *different* impressed upon me fairly hard. I started to realize that those feeling, however deeply buried, had existed for years. I started to realize how long my eating disorder has been developing, and how impossible it was to separate from truth something I could barely articulate (even to myself).

It was in a moment still pulling myself out of this that we ran into a finished dance class on their way through the hall, and Sarah stopped to talk with one of the many "Oh, my God! it's not every day you turn the corner and see Sarah Lastname!" people. It was, surprisingly, the most triggering moment of my day (moreso than at lunch when the girl across from me explained that she didn't eat because "the less you eat, the less you gain" which was oddly not triggering, though it did draw emotion, definitely). This wasn't an emaciated dancer, but there was something about the way her sweater billowed over her dance clothes, and how perfect her posture is. I started to wonder how much my sitting in on Sarah's dance classes affected me. It isn't even about the weight so much, as it is the preciseness, the posture, the perfection. I was pulling myself out of my memory, and the interaction was ill-timed (or fated, depending on perspective.)

I did, however, manage to pull myself out. I looked at 2012, the classroom where our first workshop would be, and realized that I was coming here with status, coming here to teach, coming here with genuine purpose, and no need to be afraid. Dismissing shyness is something I still must consciously *choose* to do, and I'm not always successful in doing so, but yesterday I simply said, "You aren't a lemming hiding in your sister's shadow," and it clicked. It clicked so well, I cringed when introduced as "Sarah's sister" time and time again. Still, the fact that this introduction was far rarer than during my visits, replaced with my own identity, accomplishments (or an abridged version of this), did register. I cringed because I know now that I am my own person, and I want everyone else to know it, too. Even when Sarah and I talked about working well together because we have the same brain, we altered it to say we have "about half the same brain." I laughed and said, "all that crazy stuff she has going on is purely her. I don't have any of that." I think, perhaps, she wants to be independent of caring for me as much as I want to no longer be cared for. We're both scared of this; it breaks habit, but I think she wants it, too.

The workshop went well. I re-met Griv, the amazing professor that Sarah (and the rest of the campus) loves fully and for good reason, along with so many of the participants. I had little to say, as we mostly talked about living as a performer in New York, but I still participated, and when they invited the class to stand up and do an interactive portion, I struck up conversation with some nearby people, who treated me like an absolute equal. Amazingly, I was still treated as an equal when I confessed to be "a high school senior living in Missouri" instead of a New York playwright. The approachability of the students, at the same time they had a more certain sense of self than my high school friends, surprised me. They were as open as insecure kids, but generally strong within themselves, which I enjoyed. I found it easy to talk with and relate to them. Throughout the first workshop and the entire afternoon, I felt no anxiety. For the first time in *years* of memory, I came home hyper but without one symptom of anxious feelings. It shocked me.

But I can't talk about coming home *just yet*...I have to tell how we ate lunch with Griv and this girl Whitney, both of whom were absolutely fabulous. On the way to the cafeteria, Griv asked me about my writing, and upon hearing that I do a great deal of poetry along with the plays, asked where my main focus, or main joy, filtered. I explained how I love work that redefines genre, poetry that looks like theater, theater formed in poetry. I explained how doing each feeds the other, and he seemed to really understand that. He generally understood me, actually. We talked about how theater is fabulous as a writer because it's a great deal more relational than other forms, and it impacts the audience directly instead of with a "middleman" of paper. I told him how I like the ability to have time to myself, alone-time, moments for introspection, but to be in the world, to relate with others, is wonderful as well, and he explained how the really wonderful thing is being able to balance the two. He's a displaced San Francisco hippy (to a great extent) and he pulled on his yin-yang necklace and explained that it wasn't a break of halves, but two interacting sides which feed each other. Like a wave, he said. I wanted to be a wave.

We also talked about college, and he thrilled to hear me mention Hampshire. He'd visited the colleges in Amherst he said, and loved them. I talked about the program, wanting to study psych and writing, and he was grinning for my joy. "So, yeah," I said, looking pained at the riskiness of it, "that's the hope. Now I just have to get in." He told me, a college professor cool as hell, that he couldn't see why I would have any trouble getting in. I wanted to ask him to sit and tell me that while I fill out applications, but he just drilled it into my head. It'll be interesting to see what he says after the play. After-the-play should be interesting in general.

The second workshop, which we did for the student-theater organization, went well also. It introduced one of the first in-house problems of our theater company which became slightly bigger the second day when I was more generally frustrated, but all the same those in attendance seemed to really be taking it in, and I made a comment I heard people quoting later, which thrilled me to no end. Again, the focus was NYC, so I had little to say, but I listened to the three of them getting caught in the details of problems, and was able to give a more general solution. Basically, I offered some of my own life-skill, therapy-based advice, tailored to the problems they were mentioning, and it went over well. Yeay for things going over well.

The time flew by so quickly Tuesday, that I wanted to send my dad away and go to dinner with them. Chiara and Sarah were going to dinner with this guy Scott, who is absolutely wonderful. He's an amazing actor, (like the next Al Pacino or something) and amusing as hell. He was on someone earlier that day for going to Australia and not bringing him back the kangaroo they had discussed. The second guy told him, he'd brought him back a grain of sand that was somewhere around campus, and three of us were like, "that is so not the same!" While Chiara and I (I think it was Chiara) said something liike, "It's not the same!" Scott said, "It doesn't hop!" He wanted to ride it to class, he said, so I suggested a pogo stick, but I still don't think he felt the same vibe. A very cool kid, in general; I hope he hits the city soon, so we can cast him in something.

The other really cool person I forgot to elaborate on was Whitney, who reminded me a little of Hampshire, in that she was so psyched about her own interests. She's in the theater department, but she's somehow gotten into stage combat, and it's taken over her world. It's so rare to seem someone's eyes light up talking about stage combat, that it was really fabulous, and we had a nice talk about college and theater and writing after I stopped talking to Griv. I dug her muchly, though some of the others were a bit patronizing about her interest. I figure, it's what she's into, and she's going for it fully. Few things are cooler than that.

There was someone else, named Tim, who I put in my mental notebook I needed to write about, but I can't even place him now. I'll search for him tonight and see if I can reclaim what interaction we had. I also ran into Roxanne, one of the five or ten coolest people from N*land, who apparently goes to school there. It was really great to see her, and I think she's coming to the opening, which will be cool mostly because I forgot to ask her what she's up studying. This is a girl one should keep tabs on. She's sort of a combination Carol Burnett/ Tootie from Meet Me In St. Louis. She rocks the freaking world.

Dad dropped me off at home and fled back across the border, the fifth time he'd trek the river that day. He and Mom aren't doing well at all; she's crazy aggressive with him and he's taking no responsibility for any of it. I don't blame him for her aggression, but I also don't blame her for all their conflict. They both need to be in therapy, and only my mom is right now. So that's rough. About thirty minutes after I got home, Mom was back from teaching her class, and I felt sort of bad that I was winding down and not in the mood to rehash my happy little day. I'd told Dad all the details, and it sucked that he couldn't bring up stories for Mom. He said something Tuesday about how he wants them to be "together again" which kind of sealed for me the *feeling* that they're separated, even though it's not technical. They're fighting about where to host holidays, for instance. I feel a little like I'm involved in a divorce.

It won't happen, for the record. My parents aren't in a place where they would or could do that. It just feels that way.

So Tuesday night- journaling ultimately replaced with nightmares; Wednesday I woke up unsure I wasn't still asleep, and trying to convince myself my clock was wrong. I showered, put on clothes I used to wear in seventh grade, took them off within ten minutes, and switched to "the chill semi-grungy dorkish look" I'm cultivating. Ultimately I want to be a dorky punk, I think- presenting myself as extremely hard core about things like Spongebob and therapy. Kind of the way JK Rowling described Hagrid to his actor-equivalent: the motorcycle gang member who gets off his Harley and starts talking all sentimentally about his kids. Or the way Dr. R has a dark-green-walled, leather-furnished office, with a Pooh and Piglet sculpture and kids-drawings on the wall by his desk. I want to have all the seriousness about something totally dorky that I feel such seriousness for. Basically. Anyway, I went out in a more preppy version of that yesterday.

I felt odd to be seeing Dr. R as I haven't ever been around my theater world and *my* world at the same time, and therapy is a part of *my* world. Still, I'm really glad I went. I explained about the workshops, how they were going really well and bringing up memories of visiting Sarah at school. How I love that world, but wish- like Griv said- it could be in balance with my own life, instead of something that suspends my life. It was hard for me to come home Tuesday and see my projects strewn about, unfinished- to choose not to journal because I needed sleep. I don't like the worlds being separate. I don't like that I couldn't go back to "my apartment" and crash for fifteen minutes at any point. I don't like that, as he put it, when I'm on, I'm on- and I can't have any of my own space to be off for a moment. Similar to visiting Sarah and loving New York, but not so much loving being in an apartment the size of a shoebox, without a door I can close.

So we talked about what changes might take place for the sole purpose of making me happy, and I talked about integrating those two worlds, and how that would help. I mentioned at some point that not having time to work on school was frustrating me, that it was indeed "making me crazy" that I wasn't able to do it. I was surprised at my own words because I hadn't really being thinking about whether I cared, but within a few seconds of that conversation I was crying the hardest I have with him in awhile. Apparently, my Evil Neverland voices (which he reminds me are also from modeling outside the school- i.e. home) are raring a bit this week. He asked if I could give myself permission to take the week off based on the fact that life was really busy at the moment, and people in sports and plays in high school generally went to teachers and expressed that at the moment things were really busy, but after rehearsals or play-offs ended, they would be back on track. I told him extremely bluntly, that such a thing would not happen in Neverland, and he reminded me we aren't there anymore, which left me a little pissed. I still think these are the real rules, the rules I went by growing up, and I don't want anyone to tell me I can act differently, when I'm just going to get screwed over by it. Don't tell me to ask a teacher to understand that I'm human; I can't. I understand that life has to be flexible when the world becomes busier, but that doesn't mean school flexes. *I'm* supposed to compromise. *I'm* supposed to give. My needs, my goals, my own emotional state, matters less. Not school.

That's what I know; that's what I'm scared to give up. Not because it feels at all good to believe that but because if I don't believe that, I feel like I'm bound to be in my geometry class again. If I'm not perfect, I will be "abused" that way again. And I can't handle it.

I would like - honestly - to be brave enough to try putting faith in my own needs, beliving I don't have to settle for norms, believing I'm allowed to be unique, but it terrifies me because I feel like that's what led to my being attacked so thoroughly by faculty in high school. In my illness I had different needs and abilities, and they didn't matter to my teachers. They reflectd on *me*- and poorly- and I'm terrified to do that again. Even though I *know* that being myself in myself is more fulfilling and generally leads to much better situations than the one I'm placing so much stock in here. But I'm terrified. I know I'm not perfect, but that's no excuse (in my head) not to act perfectly. I know I'm not anywhere near what I should be (as they said) but that doesn't give me the right to stop being what they want. Saying I'm perfect would be egotistical, would overlook my oh-so-many mistakes, but I still have to *act* perfectly to counter that imperfection.

I said some of this yesterday, but mostly just cried. Within a minute of him suggesting I not do school, I was shutting down and a few light years away. He called me on it in a way he rarely does, a way that's like, "I see what's happening to you. What's up?" and I did manage to say I couldn't give up school. Tone it down, ok, but give it up? I told him how I've screwed up so much already, and the idea of doing that again, taking more time off, just made me sick inside. I told him that while he believed my general responsibility regarding the rules and the work allowed me to deviate this week, I didn't feel I'd been responsible. I hadn't been working, I hadn't been studying, I hadn't been doing anything to the degree that I am "supposed" to do it; therefore, I had no right to be lenient with myself. I don't think he liked any of this much.

He wrote me a prescription that said I'm not supposed to do schoolwork this week- using my word "supposed." I picked it up gingerly, and involuntarily threw it when I finished reading it. "Oh, Jesus," I said, and we laughed a half-a-syllable, before realizing I was serious. It's so fucked up, and it's so annoying, but I still believe them. Ok? I still believe everything they told me, and I don't want to have it happen anymore. I know I'm not enrolled there; I know that my teachers here generally think I'm swell, but you know, for every affirmation I hear, I have 10 voices in my head disarming it. My geometry teacher perches in my brain, along with many of her colleagues, and I don't know how to disarm that technology. I don't know how to gag them or force their relocation. I'm scared to do so and I'm scared I can't.

He told me that, even though he thinks I can do it, that's one of the things about my life that really worries him. My inability to look after myself instead of protecting myself from people in my past. I try to look after myself by *doing this*- I try to look after myself by keeping this up, but I know it doesn't work that way. I *don't* know what he says, about how N*land is the exception to the rule- the people there are not reflective of the larger population. I just don't know any of that.

I wanted to ask for another appointment...because this week is crazy hard and I can't imagine waiting until Wednesday. But I'll be at college until Saturday and I know he's out of town this weekend because he moved my mom's appointment. I'll call if I freak out, but I'm just feeling crazy. That's mostly why Wednesday was so frustrating; I was already in this place of emotional confusion and anger and hurt, and I couldn't deal with the still impending storms.

Mom and I walked the only really wonderful part of the city (culturally speaking) over lunch and went to one of the two remaining independent booksellers in the entire area. It's the absolute best place in some ways; you could pull a Francie Nolan, start with A and just read. I found a copy of Savage Beauty for 9 dollars, and was very much excited. I can finally read up on the girl who taught me how to write poetry the first time 'round.

We had a 3:00 interview with Ben, who is another cool college kid, generally attached to a video camera, and a 3:30 tech which sucked only because our tech boy is currently dancing on the east coast, and the head of tech department here is a controlling witch. She yelled at me and this guy for talking, pointed out that we could leave the theater, and someone came over and said, "I don't think that was her way of *asking.*" It was one of those moments when I was very *not* 10 because I just shrugged and said, "So what? She's not the boss of me. I don't have any reason to care what she thinks of me, and I have a complete right to be here." Alex, who I was talking with, said she wasn't his mommy, so we were left alone. We kept it quiet of course, or tried to, but we weren't about to bail on tech just because the queen of poor social interaction decided to pull rank she doesn't have. I'm mostly glad we didn't because talking with Alex was not ultimately a good thing.

You know my insane magnetic ability that pulls guys with intense and disturbed interest out of the woodwork? Anyone remember Charlie or Anthony or Michael or Zach? Charlie and Michael are the main two- the real-life two, that are most similar to this. This guy is into journalism, and told me (after about a 30-minute intro) that he wanted to interview me for this blog he keeps, and I was cool with that; I could use interview experience, and he has a non-traditional take on journalism, which is cool. However, he wasn't into making it work with the busyness of the week, or postponing it until later. He was into, that night, right then, taking me to a candlelit Italian restaurant, some 30-minute drive away, so we could talk in a more "relaxed" environment. I was into, you know, walking outside, sitting on a bench, and being done under 40 minutes. The more I talked to him, the more uncomfortable it was, on top of which he really reminded me of Jason- who I used to call the "good Jason" but I think I might have been mistaken in that. Generally speaking, I have a major vulnerability to controlling, intense guys who start out sweet, which I am working on, and this guy totally brought out again. I need to learn that me being someone other than myself in a conversation is a sign that something is wrong. I'm always the same sort of fake person with these guys, and I'm generally very *real* with people, so that was odd. I kept laughing at things that weren't funny and smiling in ways I don't smile. I think it goes back to me being in middle school, unsure if I wanted to be interested in boys, and trying to reciprocate people's interest so as not to lose it. I didn't really realize then that I deserved good people if I decided I wanted them, and that my not feeling at ease with them was a sign that we weren't right. I met several people during this that I could have gotten together with, even gone to dinner with, despite the minor age difference. None of those encounters would have been weird this way because it would have been, "you want to run to the UC with me? I want to hear more about this whole YPI thing" et cetera. It wouldn't have been awkward.

Basically, he left me completely disarmed and ready to kick someone. I had trapped myself in the conversation, and my idiotic "I can't leave; it'll hurt his feelings" kept me there. (For the record, the same thought that got me in a car with Charlie in the first place.) I'm really glad I stayed in the conversation long enough to fully realize how uncomfortable it was, and that during the conversation, I didn't give him any way of contacting me, any personal knowledge of me, or any agreement to the plan. I won't end up in a car with him (in keeping with the promise I made post-Charlie) and I won't hear from him. I also resisted the urge to pull him aside and say, "let's not do dinner; I have an eating disorder"- oddly enough because I felt that would be a violation of me. I'm generally semi-quick to tell people about my illness, and even more quick to tell them about Wisconsin, but I didn't like the idea of using it as an excuse. I did that, in a way, with Charlie, and even though I wanted to get out of this, I didn't feel right about using my eating disorder. Not because of what it would mean to him, but because I didn't want to minimize it that way. I felt a sort of loyalty to my illness, that surprised me. Like it was a part of myself, and I didn't want to distort it in order to escape this boy. It surprised me, but I liked it. I scared Charlie off, in large part by telling him I had a depressive anxiety disorder, and I don't like that I knew to do that. I don't want telling people to be a way of getting rid of them because this is a part of me I don't dislike. This is a part of my history I'm not ashamed of, and I don't need to be taken care of *for...*

I don't know if that makes any sense, but hey, anyone who is this far into the entry has probably already fallen asleep, so in the case, I hope you're having sweet dreams.

I came home really hoping that if my sexuality ever decides to wake up, I'm gay. Which is mean to a fairly sweet boy, but all the same is true. I believe that what scares me in these guys is a mannerism, a feeling, a theme, that goes beyond their gender, but I generally *only* see it in men, so I feel a great deal safer with girls. At this point, I still can't call it a sexual orientation because it *isn't* physical, and I don't think it's fair to define myself as gay when I could theoretically become involved with someone whose expected me to feel this sexually. I don't think it's fair to the girl, basically, the same way it wouldn't be fair to a guy- which is separate from the fact that I'm not ready for a relationship. But I guess it is kind of my relational orientation at this point. I'm less afraid of girls. I'm generally myself around them, and I can only remember one girl I've ever been afraid to be alone with- which was for entirely different reasons. So. Yeah. I listened to Gina Young on the way home and thought about how much it sucks that Chiara and Rachel responded (when Sarah told them) with, "Oh, but that's so cute!" as if it wasn't completely screwed-up. The fact that I'm 17 seems to have especially Chiara believing that any relationship with me would just be adorable. She doesn't seem aware that I'm not a __ painting.

I don't really want a sexuality. But I would have liked a girl here last night to hug me close and say, "Kid, people suck. I'm sorry you had to deal with that again." Again. A big part of it is "again." Alex is probably a nice guy with issues, and I understand issues, but largely the only people interested (with, *maybe* two exceptions) have had issues which caused me to run for the hills. Issues, in other words, that conflicted with- triggered- mine. I'd kind of like to believe that other people don't get interested because they know me and understand that it wouldn't be good at this point, that I'm not dateable, that I'm not physical, and so forth...instead of thinking the only people I intrigue are controlling, oddly sly manipulators. I know girls can be controlling, dishonest, manipulative, but I'm generally *in* relationships with ones who aren't, and I'm generally caught in relationships with guys who are. This is me, and I know it, but at the same time, it makes me want to blacklist the male gender. I was doing so much better with this until it happened again. I was all ready to work on my prejudice and my generalizations, and now I want to go into a session with my (male) therapist and say, "Men are evil. Make them go away." Somehow, he has remained androgynous in terms of this; he doesn't bring it up in me. But, I still can't associate him with all *those* guys. "What? You're a man, too? Nah. You're my doc..."

I have a little girl ask that in one of my plays. "You're not a boy, are you?" I suck at this and I'm sorry about it, but it really is real. Girls hug me and make me feel safe. Boys, especially straight boys, chop me into pieces. I maintain my control and myself when I interact with girls (most of them), and I haven't learned how to do that with men. Boys. Men. Guys. None of those words type easily for me. Them- unfortunatley- comes out much more quickly.

I'm trying to remember if I have *any* remaining male readers. It kind of sucks if I don't, but I'm not cruel in my fear. I don't consider myself a man-hater; it's just this definition of "man." Gender is fucked. I love people; unfortunatley I call this certain type of person (who logically, could be of any gender) "man." And that gets me into trouble, I think.

No more controlling boys! Make them go away!

The last workshop went well, except that Sarah and Chiara (who are amusing in there, "No, I'll do it!" "No, let me do it!" ness) forgot to clue in Rachel and me on the second exercise, leaving us completely clueless. I had to go up to her and ask what we were doing in the middle of the workshop. Which, in my emotional state, was not a cool thing, but she knew that, and I don't think she'll do it again. The nice thing about Sarah and Chiara both being so controlling is that neither of them can take over; they just have to learn to communicate with those of us (namely, Rachel and I) who aren't battling to be in charge of things. It was a major screw-up on their part, I feel, but I don't think it'll be ongoing. The last part of the second workshop was my first glimpse of Scott acting, so that was cool. Finally got to see what Sarah was talking about. And Alex's scene was basically about forcing sex, which made me feel much better with my intuitive decision. The nail in the coffin, so to speak. Or as I said to Sarah, "Check and mate" to which she responded, "No- check and PLEASE..."

Tonight the play will open, and thankfully, Sarah called to say the lights are fixed. Tech was the only part that worried me, so I'm feeling fairly lucid now, though it will still be quite a rush to see what people I grew up with think of it. Brooke and Chas are coming tonight, I know- maybe Roxanne, maybe my grandma...definitely a bunch of people who didn't tell me which night or I didn't know were coming. But I'm excited to see those I do know, and I'm excited to hear responses from those I've met this week. College theater people are very expressive (obviously) and I think I'll actually get more feedback than I did in NYC. I'm nervous about that, of course, but still excited.

And I did tell Dr. R he could come, but he's coming Friday (which is better actually.) I thought about saying no while I was there, just because Wednesday was such a mess, and I wanted to plow through this and not have him there, but I'd wanted it fairly consistently up until Wednesday, so I thought I might regret changing my decision. I didn't say much about that decision, probably will next week. I also didn't say anything about the social craziness lately (the upsettedness toward society I've been discussing here) but there simply wasn't time to go through anything and I started *crying* about school, so...it happened. I did tell him, when he asked if he should think on anything else, that Tammy and I had clashed a little- our tempermental and perceptual differences clashed. We didn't go into details, but he said that in therapy it's called an "empathic failure" and I'm not allowed to take responsibility for it, when it happens with a parent, a therapist, or a doctor. He said it's their job to work through those, and it's not about keeping them from happening, but fixing it, understanding me and what I need, is their job. I asked him if I ever didn't take responsibility for things, and he said "Probably very rarely." It helped that he found it so black-and-white, like this is just the way it is without exception. It also helped that he included parents, as I can't imagine not feeling responsible when my parents and I clash that way. It's forever interesting to me, that they're supposed to lead and suffer my blows. That it's not supposed to be as 50/50 as a friendship. I'm not at all used to that.

Other things he mentioned that I forgot to: I told him I have no defenses against anything, no ability to filter what of the world affects me, and he said, "How much practice have you had?" I told him that this whirlwind is what I know of college, what *everyone* has told me is college, and he looked absolutely shocked. "Who are you talking to?!" he said. "College- college was when I caught up on all the sleep I missed in high school! I mean, it was hard but...that's just not true." I laughed, a little shocked myself, as literally, everyone I know who has talked to me about it, says college is when you don't sleep and you just *do* continuously, an idea which of course terrifies me. (Can we say "been there"?) When I was leaving, Sarah, Rachel, and Chiara were kind of bashing this tech major for talking about how much she was doing and how she wanted so badly to be in bed by one. They kept saying how crazy that was, how no one's like that, how you can't be like that, and you shouldn't even want to be, and I really wished Dr. R was there to see it. This is the type of conversation I've witnessed, and it was funny to watch it right after his response. I wonder if its a solely theater-student thing or what. He told me that I would always have the choice of throwing myself into everything, but I didn't have to. I don't really believe that, but it was quite a bit easier to just stand outside the conversation and not nod my head to everything they said about college, after his remark. Anyone else who's had a different experience can feel free to let me know. Does college involve sleep? Do you have time to breathe and think and feel? Do tell.

I, my friends, have been telling now for over two hours, and must grab lunch and a shower before I head back out of the hills. So, take care, do something brainless for awhile, and please, please, give yourself a hug if you've made it through all this. Or actually, just give yourself a hug anyway.

(My I *heart* therapy t-shirt is halfway finished. Whoo...)

chord

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