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10:00 p.m. - 11/06/02
-sometimes it's all that we can do just to hang on-
no matter what's going on with me, or what I say when I come here, lately when I come here, I feel good. relatively. when I come here, I feel like it can all spill out, and it doesn't matter if there are other people in the house because typing is not tears, and people pretend not to notice when my fingers fly across the keys at a speed only emotion can create.

still, the tension stays. I didn't sleep last night, and the tightness in my back, my neck, my knees, it doesn't go away. I never choose a different chair at the doc's waiting room; I've sat in the same one for nearly a year now (dear god, nearly a year) and today I moved because it was too much to have my back to the door when people kept brushing against it. any moment someone could just burst in behind me, and it was too much. I chose to face the receptionist head-on rather than deal with that. and I know that I haven't moved to avoid back-to-the-unknown since I was at red and started dreaming about stew-hert, and I haven't felt this stressed without anxiety or depression hopping in ...ever? I feel like I'm going to either break down completely or spin circles in the living room and amaze everyone by my very velocity.

velocity. oh, fuck, I have a physics test tomorrow. and I didn't forget it; I'm just kind of hoping the whole world will go away.

conversely, my mom just got home from her second trip to dr. r's today- this time to take John for his first appointment. he'll take himself eventually, of course, but like all good kids, he wants help with beginnings. one of her first acts upon arriving home was to ask me how I would feel about having my appointment back-to-back with his next Wednesday as she told me earlier she needs to move my appointment to the evening that week, and John's is already at night, and blah blah blah. I hate staying there. I come out of appointments in emotionally drained or crazy places, and I can't wait around. I can't wait around before them, either. I feel crazy enough based on his lack of punctuality. and yes, it just gets to me because *how dare this* invade my space...I haven't had to wait there in *so long* because everyone agrees it pushes me toward madness and that isn't acceptable. it gets me because even though it's just my mom asking me to do her a favor, the way she phrased it was, "or I guess I can just tell John he needs to take himself" which we both know is a really awful option...the translation of what she said to me was, "so yes Mary, even though you wanted him in therapy; it's going to be just like your childhood. your pain is no longer prominent. what matters is taking care of John."

not that John was ever cared for either...but it still hurts so so badly. how dare she choose him again? and I'm terribly ungrateful for all the attention I've gotten in the past year or two, but I just can't take this right now. I'm still not ok, ok?! I still need help. my needs don't have a statute of limitations. they still matter.

don't they?

I want to go home. I wanted so badly to call tonight. wednesday might still mean Brea...in a few days my discharge will be occurring last year. that sentence makes sense somewhere.

my own appointment with him is kind of paling in comparison to all the pain surfacing...but still, I'll probably talk about it later, so I might as well preface now. we talked largely about school. well, he talked; I cried. I always cry. I'm a dork like that. I cried because it isn't fair that someone abuses me, and I'm the one who has to carry it around. I cried because I still can't remove those fucking messages from my head, even though I know they're wrong. I cried because he's the only person here I can cry around.

one thing I remember him saying that made sense to me: I'm motivated by harm-avoidance, so a helpful strategy for me in dealing with something I don't want to do is to make it *less* horrible than something else. if by doing it, I'm avoiding something worse, then I have this need to do it. the anxiety that fuels my life, or did for a long time. with school, for instance, having to do loads of fashion strategies is not as bad as the guilt of not being perfect and the terror that n*land will reappear and destroy me. do something horrible, something I don't want, by making it the lesser of two evils. I hadn't thought of that. it's true; I really think it is.

and now, I am going to bed, having written the doc an incoherent e-mail about how I can't handle being alone in this even though I know John's pain is bigger and more valid and has been ignored longer. how I still have needs even if that's completely awful of me.

which probably will only result in 1) no response (almost or actually) and 2) a comment wednesday like "I got your e-mail" that makes me want to suffocate myself with one of the throw pillows.

I don't even remember if he has throw pillows. I spend too much time looking at the carpet.

chord

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