7:45 a.m. - 03/28/02
promises of someday make [[her]] dreams.
I realized this morning that I look at my non-updated favorite journals and think, "What are they *doing?* What is so exciting and important that I have to *wait* to hear about it?" and yet when I go days without updating it is an internal battle, unaffected by the thought that others might have this same response to my not updating. Because, honestly, it doesn't occur to me that people miss chord when she's quiet.
So, in case anyone *is* wondering what was so captivating it kept me from writing, prepare yourself for disappointment. Monday's appointment with Harriet was beyond taxing, Tuesday was suicidal depression (ooh la la), and yesterday (Wednesday! good!) was major migraine day. I have not had a productive week.
This morning I am drinking cocoa and listening to Joni Mitchell, and my head is only slightly achy, which is a happy turn of events.
The Harriet appointment was interesting. All that planning had thrown me into my somewhat-angry false-bravado stage, in which I am able to talk, so long as I am being disagreeable and adolescent-ish, and in which I earn the "contrary" description pegged to me in nursery rhymes. It isn't a good stage, I don't enjoy it, but it's nice to be able to *speak* for once, and it's one of very few ways I know to make myself heard, which also means it's a good thing. I managed to convey to Harriet that I do not feel good about how things are going, that I have worked very hard to get to this point, and I feel I am still working hard. However, things do not seem to be getting better (and in some cases, do seem to be getting worse) and I don't see this as an effect of my lacking effort, so I want to know what's going on. I want to have some reason to believe that things are on the right track, and I want to know what I'm working toward, and that I'm *getting* toward it.
She said the fact that I haven't purged in seven months (and seven days), I haven't cut, I'm not restricting, so on and so forth, is a sign that I'm on the right track, but I, of course, disagree. I told her that I don't mean to minimize that accomplishment, that I know (sometimes, at least) that having Ed significantly restrained is an impressive accomplishment, but I've had him restrained for awhile now, and I'm starting to struggle with the idea that if I never leave the house, never develop relationships, never chase any of my dreams, the fact that I eat three meals a day and keep them down isn't going to mean much. The point of recovering from an eating disorder is to get one's life back, and I still haven't been able to do that. She said it's good that I want more. She wants more for me too, she said.
I wasn't very nice to her. It was the only way I knew how to talk, but I feel sorry.
Somewhere in the next part is where the suicidal depression comes in. She thinks I have an attachment disorder or significant attachment issues. I was somewhat defensive about that because I don't want my inability to connect to her to be misconstrued as an inability to connect to anyone and because when she began talking about more focused treatment on this issue, I became really, really scared. I definitely want to get through whatever it is that keeps me so frightened of people and so overly-attached to them if I do connect, but when she started describing a program that centered around the treatment of attachment issues/disorders, one where I would be surrounded by people who were struggling with the same thing I was, not only did I freak a little (ahhh! people?! don't you understand people are the *problem?*) but I recognized the rather familiar monologue. I knew the program was not here. I would be surprised if there was a similar program in the state...I was surprised that the one she ended up mentioning was actually in the region.
I asked her if it was residential. She said she didn't know. She was hoping that it was closer to me, I think, not understanding that we are south of her office, and she's describing a facility northwest. I looked up the program online and positively gagged. It's all Christian-oriented (which I doubt she knows, but if she does that's bizarre- maybe I have to explain again that my *dad* is Catholic, I'm not) and looks like one of those overrated facilities that takes delinquent kids and turns them into missionaries. It's in the town where my father studied to be a priest. It's not exactly this girl's dream vacation.
Which, honestly, could be put aside if it made sense to me. I mean Wisconsin wasn't my dream vacation either, six months ago. But I knew I needed to go, and I knew the facility looked like exactly what I needed, and I admitted that. I *didn't fight* them on being admitted to RED, even though I was completely destroyed at the thought. I bawled, yes, and upon getting there, positively begged them to take me back home, but I didn't stomp and scream and threaten. I was scared but not militant. I feel slightly militant now.
Mostly because there is a big difference between attachment issues and "reactive attachment disorder" which is mostly seen in foster kids and adoptees. While some of the symptoms (separation anxiety, discomfort with affection from parents, self-destructive behaviors, feelings of worthlessness, etc) sound familiar, the majority of symptoms *do not.* For instance:
-superficially charming*
-hyperactive, overactive, or attention defecit
-significant learning problems or lags
-fire setting, fire play, fascination with fire
-incessant chatter, nonsense questions*
-cruelty to animals, siblings, etc
-poor, undeveloped, or complete lack of conscience
-fascination with weapons, blood, or gore
-lack of cause and effect thinking
-lack of remorse and empathy
-destruction of property
-self-importance, grandiose fantasies*
-sexually inappropriate behavior (seductive, provocative, etc)
-arrogance
The ones with asterisks are ones I can *potentially* see in myself, but do not at first glance feel accurate. For instance, I don't consider myself superficial or charming, but I do try to put on fronts that will potentially help a person to like me more. I occasionally ask questions other people don't consider important, or relevant, like wondering what the significance of a person's specific rituals is. And I do have fantasies in which I do fabulous things - though I don't really consider daydreaming or feeling special a diagnosable offense. I find that slightly screwy.
However...none of the aggressive behaviors describe me and there a large part of every diagnosis. Disciplinary problems, somewhat delinquent behavior, these are *large portions* of the profile the suggested centers treat and not only do they not describe me...but the idea of being housed with a bunch of (perhaps justified) delinquents scares me. I feel like I'd be eaten alive.
Which feels really elitist and makes me want to beat myself up, but it's there all the same. I feel like I'd be the teacher's pet among troubled students. Which would be a bad dynamic. I want to work through whatever issues I have, and I want to feel equipped to meet people and develop friendships with them, but I honestly do not think uprooting myself, settling down in a facility that has very well never seen the likes of me (unless these diagnostic profiles are fairly bogus), and then uprooting myself *back here* is a good idea. Though if I do have trouble attaching, putting me back in residential would be the best way to make me work on that...simply because it's the place I'm least likely to attach ever again.
And this may come as a surprise, but I do not want to return to residential. I'm adamantly opposed. I miss RED, I want RED; that doesn't mean I'm just dying to put myself back under 24 hour watch, back into an environment where my whole life is therapy, back into being a patient and only a patient. I miss the people of RED, and whatever else is in that longing (for instance, missing the attention perhaps, or the ability to talk to a counselor at any hour of the night) I don't consider healthy and I don't want to fulfill.
If I do have to go to one of these places (which is a major assumption at this point), I'm not going to the one where my dad attended college. Simply because I found two other facilities that are less religious (and which were founded in like the 70s instead of, say, the 1770s) and more enticing. Though it's kind of a "well, would you rather eat the dead rat or the live one?" sense of 'better.'
Okay, maybe not rats. But...bad.
I told Harriet that I felt like the cartoon character who climbs the mountain, the whole fucking mountain, and finally after an incredibly arduous journey, finds himself on the other side, only to look up and see another mountain...
And she said she understood. But she didn't think there was an endless range of mountains. I nodded. I'm not so sure.
What if I'm permanently damaged? What if I'm going to be in therapy when I need a walker and get a senior citizen's discount? I wouldn't mind *that* so much, but what if I'm still feeling worthless and depressed and anxious, still getting new diagnoses- when I'm 90?
(Me, to my head just now: "Back, you vile migraine; back!")
The feeling of endlessness was what discouraged me, fueled by the research I did that said, "this profile isn't you! no one is ever going to understand!"...and the fact that I thought maybe it *was* me, and then I wondered if I really was superficial and aggressive and all of those other vile things.
I would never burn an animal to death. That is not my idea of pleasure. And even though I understand if there are kids who that calms down (I mean, Jesus, with the things I've done I'm not about to judge) I really don't think this is me. I understand that this is a main attachment disorder and there are other versions ("insecure attachment") but...the characteristics that don't seem like me are basically universal.
What if this isn't it, and we never know what's wrong? What if I never had an eating disorder and it was all just a journey for no purpose?
(I need to tell RED what's going on so they can beat me over the head with the reality that I did/do have bulimarexia and I *have* made progress...and...I need to be reminded that they love me partly because I'm better- meaning, they would love me anyway, but I got this weird vibe the other day -paranoia- that Brea would like me better if I didn't do so well. I think that's a bit Ed-ish, but it sounded real at the time, and still a tiny bit at the moment.)
So the next day, I weighed whether calling Harriet and telling her I was going to kill myself would help coax the feeling away or escalate me to a point of "real" danger. (I wish the line between thought and action were a bit more *clear.*) I didn't call, and I didn't cut (my second choice) - mostly because I didn't want to have to tell her I'd cut, and I didn't want to have to keep it from her, and one of those would happen if I did decide to play with razors...so...I restrained.
Sarah called, we solved a bunch of problems with my play, (which is officially cast! ahhh! and has a girl who I was majorally obsessed with in ms performing in it) and I felt a little better. A lot better. I was sort of like, "Why was I making such a big deal about all of this and being so dramatically depressed?"...and then I began to wonder if I'd taken my meds, which I hadn't, and which I'm sure did not help. So...I survived. I watched Judging Amy and Tyne Daly temporarily took all my problems away because she's so fucking brilliant. *sigh*
Yesterday. Migraine. Bad. Mary must cancel school...but wait! school cancels itself (no work)...so Mary is on break with only her research paper to do. This is good because algebra is not conducive to the healing process.
A headache, though not a migraine, is surfacing, so I need to shut up the keys. You get the idea, anyway, of where I've been and why I saved you from having to hear about it for a few days. Things are so-so ok now...last night I dreamed that Steph was a sub at my school, and she tried to read us a book about a mouse whose red coat had buttons, but she kept wanting to talk to me instead.
Which made me nervous, but was really...nice.
chord
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