9:39 p.m. - 03/23/03
so if you find me, could you kindly - show me the way (home).
I thought about writing earlier today and felt really compelled to make the entry (which I didn't write) private. I wonder about that because up until now, I've only done two private entries- one as a raving depressive talking in riddles and the other on a topic I don't even remember. I can't tell whether it's a good thing to write private entries (i.e. allowing myself some sense of privacy, of what is personal, affirming the idea that I don't have to tell everyone everything in order to be not-mute; I don't have to go to the other extreme) or another way of shutting people out. I think it's probably more of the former, and it's something (more generally, as in balancing reticence and sharing) I need to learn to do eventually. I'm just confused. And ill enough to feel delirious...
The meds have not let up on me, and I don't think it helped that I took my morning meds at 1 pm. I was running a pretty high fever a little while ago, I've been lightheaded, queasy, tired. I was really scared for awhile that I would throw up, which I'm sure didn't help matters. My emotional state in general probably hasn't helped matters. Mom called the doctor to see if I should continue taking the raised dose of the med, and I was so scared that I'd "have to" talk to him and end up making it worse by adding feelings to the mix. Not really like me. Studying like one gone mad in spite of this is, unfortunately, like me. I wasted my entire weekend on homework. Stupid compulsivity...Remind me to be a deadbeat starting Tuesday.
I'm going to talk about things that might seem stupid now. Please refrain from anything other than gentle opinions.
It's so so so so so so so so good to have heard from Brea. It's like amazingly, fantastically, beautifully wondersome. It's life looking a little more like the way life's supposed to look. I feel like the gods and I understand each other again. And it's going to be so so so so so so wonderful to keep being in touch with her, and I can't believe I've managed to hang onto Dixie, and Sara, and Silje, and Katia, and Stacy, and Brea. That's really, really incredible. But there are other things...
I can't go back to Rogers. Ever. It's not simply that I can't allow myself to get sick again; it's that I can never go back. I know this. I hardly entertain the idea of a rap speak anymore, even. I don't know if I could visit; I know I couldn't visit now. But it's more than that. I can never go to Rogers because Rogers doesn't exist where it did as it did anymore. People have moved on and new people have come in, and left and right positions have been filled with unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar arms. In the rooms where I slept and chatted and lived, girls I don't know are learning to do the same. That part I expected. Did I expect that half the staff I worked with would move on in less than two years? Not so much. And now that I'm in touch with Brea, I find myself saying, "But I wish I could hear from this person..." and I have to wonder if that's an endless list. If I heard from Steph, would I want Sara; if I had Sara, would I want Dave? I have no idea what to do with all of this. I'm blessed to have as much of it as I do have in my life. I have home in me, and I have all these people who have hung on...But what about Rogers, my Rogers, where do I put it and keep it safe? The reason I can't hear that people completely understand me is because I'm used to being told that right before someone takes my reality away (or tries to)...I just want to hang onto Rogers in a way no one can mess with. Living with it, because of it, from it should be enough. But I don't know if it is...for me. I know that my life is the best gift I can give them. (Yet another reason I hate that "I'd die for you" cliche. I still prefer people who will live...) I don't know what to give myself. What assurance will make it certain for me. When I will trust this. How I'll manage to keep track of it.
If I could go back, the things I'd do differently are so tiny. I'd take pictures. I'd hug people more readily. I'd memorize everyone so completely that I can't fathom forgetting...
I know I won't forget, even if details occasionally blur. And I have friends to remind me, friends who call me with the same desperate tone, asking what the name of this ropes challenge was, or where from came this girl...I won't forget.
Brea doesn't work at RED anymore. That's where a lot of this is coming from, or rather, that's how a lot of this is so easily surfacing. Maybe, in a way it's good for me that it's not still there. If it were an option, I don't know that I could stand against the pull. But the irreparable change of Tracy's death has only amplified with each of the changes since. I think at some point I could be grateful that it's not the way it was, that it's not the way I knew it- because that means I can hold onto what it was and not be so distracted by what it is...because it could make moving on (with it) that much easier. If it still stood, I wouldn't feel like I could take it with me, but if I'm one of a handful of people who can preserve it, then what's in my heart becomes more important than the wood and plaster and plastic of the place.
This also means I'll need to be grieving again. I'm scared of that. I'm scared of how hard I'll have to cry, and what truths I'll have to face. But this week I have Brea in my life. So maybe learning what my life is now won't mean entirely losing (the good of) what it was. I have no experience here; excuse my naivete. I want to know how to pack it up with bubblewrap and styrofoam peanuts and keep it forever safe. Except- I don't think that putting it away is at all what I need to do. Confusion...
I just love it. I just so much to that place. It's just...home. And it's going to take some time to figure out what that means for me, never having known. Maybe that's not as stupid-sounding as I thought.
chord
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