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7:40 p.m. - 09/11/02
>>will I be saved if I am brave...]-->
For the first time in some time, I felt odd changing the digits to make them zero or five. Normally, I just wait until the time actually does end in zero or five, and I've almost forgotten that's abnormal. I've almost forgotten that most of you type away in your journals, without feeling constrained by os and down-around-and-put-on-a-hats. I started to want to type the date as is, but it feels a little poorly timed. And no, I did not mean to use that word for the third time in one paragraph, to reference time as time another time, but then, I guess synonyms are occasionally a bit overrated. The truth is I don't journal without making it zero or five. Still. The truth is I never notice in your journals what time you've written, but when I reread atomgirl, the sevens and the threes and all the other numbers never tailored jump out at me. Glaring, blaring figures. So maybe I'm not ready yet, though I do not know why. Like every other ritual, it doesn't make much sense in the beginning. And I could play cognitive/ behavioral and teach myself the new habit of not-fixing-numbers until that seemed innate, but I'd never learn a thing about myself that way. Cognitive/ behavioral work (and I mean solely, purely, on its own- obviously, I've had to do cognitive/behavioral work of some sort) seriously makes me ill. I've started mentioning that lately, and intriguingly enough, other people feel the same. Apparently, other people don't like the "here's what you're thinking that's wrong; here's the replacement thought; be better" mentality either. Apparently there are other people in this world who do not want to be fixed. Which makes me happy.

When I was doing my junior year research paper, I discovered that psychodynamic, identity-based work and cognitive behavioral work have an identical success rate, a statistic I found thoroughly depressing (in the non-clinical sense.) How is it that one can be so bad and the other so wonderful, and they both end up the same? I've decided recently that someone needs to do a study on how people *feel* about their illnesses/recoveries in the psychodynamic versus the CBT groups. I have a notion that those who've had more personalized, identity-affirming work feel like they had a transforming experience, where as CBT people feel like, "I kicked its ass; it's over. All is well." I could be wrong, and I guess there's nothing the matter with putting illness in the past, but I couldn't deal with the only point of illness being to not have one. I need more than that. Oh, yes.

On another note (oh, this entry is just destined for unintended wordplay/ puns) I was surrounded by silence long enough today to end up wondering what my life would be like as a musical. Normally, people are so busy bursting into song (no, really; you would not believe how often people respond with lyric in my family) that I don't bother daydreaming about it. But driving home from the doctor today, listening as the radio spouted a weird mix of personally important songs (a Tracy-song, followed by a Billy-song, followed by this summer's happy "I can do anything" song, etc), it occurred to me that my visit with the doc next Wednesday should really look much more like this-

(MARY enters office, smiles a little shyly, and waits- a little nervous, a little impatient, as Dr. R scans her from his chair.

DR. R.
(spoken) How have you been?

MARY
Do you have the time/ to listen to me whine/ About NOTHING and EVERYTHING/ all at once/ I am one of those/ Melodramatic fools/ Neurotic to the bone/ No doubt about it/ Sometimes I give myself the CREEPS/ Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me/ It all keeps adding up/ I think I'm CRACKING UP/ Am I just PARANOID?/ Am I just STONED?

-then it actually did. Obviously, there is far too much enthusiasm in the song, and I'm rarely that direct or loud enough for all those capitals. I just felt very connected to (not so much the end of) this verse. My head is in that place right now where part of me is really sad and shamed and wants somebody to take care of her and part of me is really angry and shaming, and doesn't even want my voice allowed in the room. It's the perfect formula for self-deprecation which makes it difficult to do healing work. I have to be careful, or we'll get caught up in that cycle of I Say Something Negative In A Joking Tone and He Refutes It Seriously, which can kill an hour more quickly than you'd think. And, I noticed today, does not work so well with Mistrandy. That's probably good for me, but *still*...people should have the decency to take their "affirm me" cues. I don't use them so often now; I'm not so manipulative and needy as I used to be, so come on! Throw me a scrap or two once in awhie.

Ok. I'm sure I don't think that rationally. Or maybe I do. I like external affirmation. Obviously, I like it better when I'm doing well on my own, and don't *need* it like a junkie needs a hit, but it's not like I can live without the stuff. Every now and again a "hey, Mary, you're doing really well" - "hey, Mary, I think you're really brilliant" - "hey Mary, I love life itself more than I love you"* would be good. Of course, I wouldn't be typing this here, if I didn't already feel the love from my dearling readership. I guess I just feel like I pick up, and often choose to act on, other people's cues. I expect other people to do the same, and they don't. Or they do, they get nervous, and their jokes transfer their nervousness to me. Yeah. I don't know. Things with Mistrandy have been really good (like, really good) but parts of today were weird again. Maybe it was just that she walked in wearing a flag t-shirt printed with the words "United We Stand" and I'd just finished reading "Self-Evident." Maybe it was more.

I like her muchly; I really do. There's just a lot of stress around school for me, and though she's very kind, she's not the pseudo-guidance-counselor type. Which, thinking back to certain guidance counselors, is probably a good thing.

Which reminds me - Sara asked me if I'd be her guidance counselor the other day, and I accepted. I'd just finished telling her all the things I needed to be told an hour later, when I was bawling about them, too. About how school will always be there and you need to take care of yourself, to make yourself the first priority, and you really are ok with or without a decent GPA. I told her my metaphor about the kid who can't walk being asked to run laps. And she asked me if I'd be her guidance counselor, and it made me happy because it was a way to say, "you're helping" which is one of my favorite messages. When it's true, it's one of the best things in the world to hear.

Scott told me during the whole gay-notgay fiasco that it was too bad religion was so screwed up, because I'd make a fantastic minister. This also made me happy. It's the power of words, the chance to articulate my ideas, and know they mean something. Which (prepare for Captain Cross-Reference; ooh, yet another one!) reminds me of something Anna said once about how this journal wasn't necessarily my gift to the world (i.e. "you are not Anne Frank") but it was one way that I could learn what I think, what I feel, and how to say those things in a way that is powerful. Like right now, I'm rambling; I'm in my speaking dialect, and I'm typing faster than I can edit my mistakes. But I feel free in that. I feel like I don't care so much what you think, even though I love you, and when *I think*, I care a lot.

Right now, my world is full of shoulds and supposes. So if this is one place where my hands fly freely, let it be. I can live without becoming the next god(dess) of diaryland. I can survive.

More than anything, the supposes make therapy hard. To talk at the same time the voices are saying, "You are so stupid and worthless and whiny, and why do they even pay attention to you" is not an easy task. But I got through it to some extent, and the quiet with him (other than in the beginning, which I always hate) was really kind of nice. I would sit quietly rubbing my hands together, tracing my fingernail with my thumb, and he would intone a message now and again. I guess sometimes safety is being able to talk freely, and sometimes it's the opportunity to stop talking. To let the quiet and whatever words come with it flow. To know that even if stopping means horrible pain, I will be safe in there, with him. (Even if he is a doctor who uses big words and occassionally reminds me he's older than I am.)

"How about no longer equating death with stopping..." Sometimes I get so caught up in the spinning that when I go to speak, I stop speaking instead. He said to me, "Sometimes I think when you get overwhelmed, you forget to breathe." It's true. Things go shallow; moreso when people comment. In choir, you learn to breathe from your diaphragm and directors give you hell if they see your shoulders move. I'm forever making doctors crazy with my inability to breathe from my lungs. My inability to take a deep breath. Occasionally, I splurge, and suck air into my chest like it's candy, and it feels wonderful. But not when they're saying, "Breathe, Mary, breathe!" That's too hard. He tried to coax a few deep breaths today, and I told him no. I've never told anyone no before, but he accepted it before I could retract. And I appreciated that. Later, I would bring up how fear is a source of energy, how I won't be able to meet the expectations as well if I calm down, and I think that helped him understand. I didn't tell him that Harriet's big thing was my inability to breathe. In the beginning, she'd remind me kindly; by the end it was just another point for her to pick on.

Which was odd- mostly because he mentioned her today, which he does rarely. He said he was starting to understand what she had seen toward the end of my work with her. He repeated a few times that I Do Not Have An Attachment Disorder, but rather, that attachment has proved so painful for me in the past that I've been known to withdraw from it completely. Which is, unfortunately, also hell. It put one of my mom's speeches in my head- her discourse on extroverts and introverts. How your label is all about where you get your energy, not what you do with it. How there is such a thing as a shy extrovert and it must be hell.

He keeps telling me I'm a "people person." I don't think I've ever been called that in my life. It makes me think of when I was very young and ever so rambunctions. I had this relentless energy (anxiety...but maybe more?) that would leave me running around, constantly seeking someone to play with, someone to perform for, someone to touch. And even though I like who I am now, and I'd be really quick to defend myself as an introvert (no! don't take away my "quiet!" it's been my epithet since I was six!) I wonder if there isn't more of that person in me than I'm aware. Maybe there's more of that desire to run toward the crowd than I'm aware of. I think it's probably so. He mentioned how things were when Julie and Cami (or rather "those two friends of yours") came to visit, how much I thrived having emotional and physical contact. The second part really struck me. I knew we'd talked about how nice it was to have friends, but the physical part? I didn't know I'd let on about that; I guess I did. I guess I needed someone to know that hugs, backrubs, people on my lap- sustain me. I spent two years not being touched, and I think I'll spend the rest of my life making up for that. I spent two years afraid of needing touch, and I think I'll spend the rest of my life relishing the peace.

There is much for which I feel that way. To say it now means something, to say it even in the shame. I cherish my needs. I cherish my feelings. I cherish my body, even- though I don't always like these things. I want to take care of them, protect them, not let anyone (including myself) try to take them away again. My whole childhood I wanted to be able to dance, but my sister was a ballerina, and I felt oh-so-klutzy and impatient, so I never learned. Lately, I've realized that I don't have to "learn"- that, in the privacy of my room, once a month or so, when I feel the urge...I can go upstairs, put on something beautiful (Tori often; Ani's "Reckoning" today) and let the music flow. I know it isn't performance-, or even rehearsal-worthy; no connosieur would call it dance...but then...it gives me a chance to feel what it's like in my body. It gives me the opportunity to catch my movement in the window and equate the way I feel right at that moment (stretching, expressing, freeing self from self-imposed restraint) is connected to the body in the glass. Learning to reconnect the frayed yarns between how I look, where I live, and who I am. Between body and spirit.

...We didn't do a lot of in-depth talking today, but I still didn't feel like the time was a waste, or that I hadn't done my job, the way I sometimes feel. Somehow, being there, I reconnected with the fact that it's ok if it takes me a little while to figure out school, and so I just soaked in what felt good about the quiet, and didn't push for ways to fix it. He did give me a couple tactics to test and try (another written prescription completely devoid of meds), the best of which was that I try to redefine the goal of physics. To make it a class I'm taking for therapeutic purposes, in order to face the ("legitimate") fear of it, and not to make the grade. I fought him pretty hard (for a girl who can't speak) on this, at the same time I loved the idea. My head is tied in knots: it's something I've done before and preferred, but it's completely against all N*land messages and rules. Those rules bring me pain, but I'm still not convinced they're untrue. I'm still not convinced (though the disabled lap-boy is a good start) that the structure is more the problem than I am. They were so thorough in their brainwashing; oh, wouldn't they be proud.

And people always say they don't remember a thing they learned in school.

I'm going to try. I think maybe, if I isolate the issue enough, if I make it so I'm really just dealing with what happened at N*land and how it's affecting me now (and try to keep other aspects, like the eating disorder, from coming in also, and overwhelming me) I might be able to make it. I can't wait to tell Sara I'm trying this. It makes having taken time off more sensible to me. I see now that all of the problems at once were too many, and even though I still dealt with my feelings about school (those messages aren't confined to the work itself), I could focus on the one piece of the pain. I had a strong urge today to just drop physics and with it, quite a bit of my stress, but maybe if I do this, I'll be able to drop something quite a bit greater. Like all the *insert profanity here* teachers who are tenants in my head.

I'm still scared, and I'm still convinced that I won't ever want to go to college (I told him I don't want to go, but I don't think he's convinced; I didn't ask him what he suggests I do with applications) but I want to get through this even if I have to claw my way through it on hands and knees. I may not have a lot of people close-at-hand to lean on, but I'm better the past couple of days at shutting out the not-good people. I'm better at saying, "I don't agree with that" and then when they reword it to say what I said, "I said that ten minutes ago." I'm better at standing up for myself- against my mom, mostly- and that will help. If I can create myself-at-Rogers here in D!@#$%^, I have a much greater chance of getting RED results. ...I just wish I could call them. Soon, baby, soon.

I want to do the hard thing, aware it will be hard. "That is your bravery," he said. My bravery. Sometimes, when you know the words you like, they mean more when you hear them. It's a brave new world**, dear ones, and I know because *I've* seen it.

chord

*yes, I mean that; I much prefer "I love you" to "I'd die for you; I love you more than life"...can some people *live* with me please? ;)

**more on this, later, I hope- it's fast becoming one of my favorite "I can't believe I didn't read this sooner!" classics

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