10:55 p.m. - 12/26/02
imperfect symmetry has underlying poetry and rhyme.
More and more I find myself able to assess a painful or difficult situation, know what power I *do* have in the scheme of it, and apply myself to work from that power. I still somewhat abhorr the serenity prayer (for reasons unknown), but I think I'm learning to live my own version. I've seen lately that my power doesn't make me invincible against other's actions, but it does mean their power to alter my experience (without my approval) is more limited. For instance: I can set a boundary. I can't keep it from being broken. If it isn't broken, I can take the action I think is necessary. I can also take care of myself in the aftermath, keeping myself safe despite what the other person has done. So despite people who don't understand my needs, triggers that pop up like advertisements, and general newness to this sort of life, I think I'm starting to develop footing. I'm starting to feel grounded in my life. Like perhaps, my second nature is no longer self-destructive. Perhaps, you use a tool long enough, it starts to be a limb.
Sarah, Dad, Mom and I went to see my (maternal) grandma and my Aunt Ann today. Other visitors included my uncles John, Jerry, Jim, and Damian and my Aunt Joan. I was glad we made it there, as it's been ages since I saw any of my extended family on that side (other than my Aunt Jean- who as Sarah said earlier in the holiday, doesn't really count as "extended" family), and I hate that routine. The visit was a little odd, based largely on odd vibes from the weird vibes of other family members and the fact that my grandma doesn't seem well. Her mind is so sharp, so quick, so brilliant and funny, and it's in such stark contrast to her physical self now. She told us she's old and decrepit, but she's not; she's just gotten so terribly frail, and she's not a frail person. She's obviously very, very thin, even though it's disguised by sweaters and housecoats and things, and she shakes consistently. She really needed to be sleeping, but she was excited to have us visiting and kept talking past when we probably should have let her sleep. She raised my eyebrows a bit talking about how she didn't want to eat lunch and how mad she was that my aunt Janet (her main caretaker) had caught on that she was purposefully losing weight. I said something about that not being the best idea in the world, and when she asked why I went with my reflex-answer of "you end up in the hospital" rather than something more accurate like, "you lose your life." She said that she ends up in the hospital anyway, and we chided her a bit, and the topic shifted. It was odd because for the first time I felt weirdly separate from her, even though there's such a strong connection. I guess I felt connected to her, but felt strongly that this was a part of her I didn't want to emulate. In the past, the only characteristic like that was her religion (Roman Catholicism), and her devoutness is something I admire, even if our faiths do differ some. Anyway, it was weird to see her talking about how she'd get fat from eating a sandwich. I hear all the time that eds run in families (not to imply she has one; I'm a tad hyper-aware and it is possible to have unhealthy thoughts/ behaviors regarding food without having an eating disorder), but I never experienced it like this before. The disordered eating in my family is largely toward the c-oe end, and though I have witnessed phases of unhealthy food behavior in a portion of my family members, I don't think any of them have an eating disorder. (And this time I mean my nuclear family; I have forty cousins and goodness knows how many aunts and uncles: I don't know them well enough to say.)
General weirdness. But goodness, too. Like being able to hug her, and have her hug me, and tell her to take care, and have her say she loves me. Like listening to her talk about death and realizing that, instead of feeling like my world is imploding because I can't be left, I feel like I want more time with her before we transition into that stage of relationship. (i.e. I'm starting to believe the relationship continues...? Yeay?) Like getting to see my Aunt Ann, and laugh at her amusingness. Like when my uncle Jim threw a card at my uncle John, and my grandma said, "Did you throw that at him?" and when Jim said no, it had slipped out of his hand and been caught by a wind current she replied, "May God forgive you...I can't" in that lovely Brooklyn accent that makes everyone burst into laughter. I hope a million years from now I still have a clear picture of the way her eyes light up when her banter is successful, the small way she smiles when she knows she threw a good line. (Afterward, in separate cars traveling toward separate destinations, Sarah and I both claimed that as the favorite line of our visit.)
Speaking of, she's back in NYC. And tomorrow Mom will be there with her. And I will be in D!@#$%^. Such justice. (I am looking forward to me-and-just-me time, though.)
As much as it seems like there should be more, that's all I can find to say. Perhaps it's the carpal tunnel developing from my sad obsession* with my Spongebob racing game. Perhaps it's simply that even when life seems so significantly different and new, it's really come from gradual and conscious change. Still, all things considered I'm glad that I'm here. how do I describe my life/ in less than a minute?/ what do I say/ except I'm glad that I'm in it?
I'm glad you're in it, too.
chord
*I said something to Dr. R about my obsession with Tori (I was speaking almost exclusively in quotes) and he revised the word as "attachment" which made me laugh and grin and feel fuzzy...because that's it! it's attachment! significant, so-not-disordered, attachment. *sticks tongue out at Harriet before falling back into a comfy grin*
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