4:50 p.m. - 11/26/03
shaking in my sketchers.
So I managed to do something downright impressive. Are you ready? I turned this atrocious day of feasting tomorrow, as hosted by my dad and grandma, with all brothers but no mom and no sister, which is also the first official holiday get-together since my parents separated, into a relatively minor hurdle. How did I do this? I created an even more stressful, even more crazy, even more anxiety-provoking, nutso day, and named it Saturday. Oh, yes. I took this crazy day and put it right smack next to a couple of already-crazy days, with only one small Wednesday separating it from some anxious *gems*... Yesterday and the day before were prime examples of anxiety and obsession. Someone really should have been recording it. I was like a squirrel on uppers, and if it didn't feel so entirely horrendous, it would really have been amusing.
Let's see if I can make sense of this. Saturday, I had a really awful migraine, which started out as a pretty awful migraine earlier in the day. During the "pretty awful" period, my friend Shandi - whom I haven't talked to in a long while, and haven't seen since sophomore year, but whom I did call during my four-call spree last week - called and we chatted for awhile, and I learned some of what's going on with her. As has been the case since I left N*land, the conversation wasn't entirely fluid, and we weren't in sync the way we were in junior high/ high school, but nevertheless, we care about each other, and so we make the effort to connect, even now, when it's a bit more difficult, when our experiences are no longer common. We talked, and it was good; I reminded myself that I wanted to talk with her again, and we made vague mentions of visiting soon. Then Sunday, much to my surprise, she called again. And she asked what I was up to on Tuesday, which you may or may not realize was yesterday. I told her the truth: absolutely nothing, and she asked how I would feel if she and her boyfriend drove up to visit me; she wants me to meet the Boy (who's name, despite about a zillion phone calls back and forth, I do not know) and she wants to see me, as I want to see her. I was a little flustered, and I started to scramble for a way out of it, but then I thought about it really simply, about how it would be just a couple of hours with a girl that I really care about, and a guy who I do want to meet, and who will make any awkwardness less awkward, simply because awkwardness between strangers is less awkward than that between out-of-practice friends. I remembered what the doctor said about taking it easy this week, and then I remembered what the doctor said about doing things simply because I want to in the moment, not because of what I will or will not be able to do, in my estimation, two years from now, based on these decisions. And in the moment, I really just wanted to see Shandi, and I realized I didn't have to freak out and worry about it; I could just say yes, and let her come over. I mean, she was even asking to come here, which was tremendous luck on my part, considering what a difficult time I have going out. So, she asked, and I said yes, and we had this "plan."
"Plan" receives quotation marks based on its lack of detail. I do not like vague plans. I like flexible plans, plans that can at any moment be stretched enough apart that I can walk right out of them and run somewhere safer, but I do not like vague plans. I do not like that she couldn't really guess when her morning/ early afternoon obligations would end, and so she'd just "give me a call when [she] got into the city" - even though it seemed perfectly ok when she suggested it. I do not like open-ended gatherings, with no sense of "now, we'll have to leave by blah to make it back to blah, where we're staying." Details comfort me. It's hugely healing in my anxiety just to remind myself, "This will end. This will come to an end. Tomorrow will come, and this will be over." A horrible perspective on the visit of a long-missed friend? Perhaps - but unintentionally. After all, if the idea of having guests over didn't make me anxious, I wouldn't tell myself those things. It's not her presence, but my illness' response to her presence, that makes me focus on when it will be over. And that's only so I can feel safe in anticipation.
So, I learned something about myself. I like to know when people are coming, specifically. I like to be told that they are planning to leave - that they have this plan for later in the evening, or they plan to sleep at this place tonight - and if I can know a time, all the better. It's not that I can't stand to be with people for more than a few hours, or that I'll run them out of my apartment when the clock tolls the hour of their estimated departure. I can actually be hugely flexible within a plan, if I am feeling safe and enjoying myself, but in order to do that, I need a plan, minus the quotation marks. Shandi is much more spontaneous, and her life is busier - and in such a way that she can't really make detailed plans. This complicates things.
Anyway. Sunday, I told her yes; Monday, I broke down three times. Monday, I did not see the doctor, who took his vacation at the beginning of the week, rather than the end. (I guess he's on call or something; I don't know.) And since I didn't have the opportunity to cry for an hour or two straight, I divided it up into three separate (shorter) crying sessions. First, I flipped out because I wanted to go home, and I wanted to be with people I love, and I wanted Rogers to be a viable option, and in tact exactly as it was two years ago, et cetera. Then, there was a nice, "I absolutely do not want to go to 'my dad's' and have Thanksgiving and act like I'm accepting the fact that my parents are divorcing because I'm not" freak out.. (Who knew? I'm actually not accepting it at all...) And finally, I freaked out about Shandi. Not so much the visit, as the memory of our relationship, or shall I say - my relationship with her. I have no idea how she felt around me. And this is hard to explain because she's been a really good friend, and a really close friend, and I don't want to undermine that with this other part of it that had so little to do with her: I was in constant competition with her. Now how ridiculous is that? I've heard so much about the way girls compete, and it's always struck me as ridiculous; competitive relationships were not my cup of tea, ever, but with Shandi it was really hard. This is back in the era where I considered myself poisoned, so I was achieving everything I could to lift myself up a little and be almost even with all the non-poisoned people who didn't achieve anything. Shandi and I ended up doing a lot of the same things, and I had a really hard time with that - despite the fact that her presence was a total blessing. For instance, my seventh grade year, I won the music department award. My eighth grade year, I won it again (bizarre? a bit...but totally affirming) and that second year, Shandi was the other recipient. I did a huge amount of writing, and Shandi decided she wanted to go into journalism. I was instantly threatened. I was instantly threatened when she started acting, too. My freshman year, I made a really good part in the really bad play, and my sophomore year, Shandi auditioned also, and we both got leads. I made madrigals; she made madrigals, singing the same part. We both played clarinet, and she grew more passionate about it as my own ability crumbled into illness. I went from first part to third; she went from third to first. She blossomed socially; I wilted. When I managed to make the female ensemble in our freshman year musical (it was a huge deal to me; I was the only freshling who did) I felt worth something for a moment. Then a senior dropped out, and Shandi was promoted. I felt like such a shitty friend when she came to me, beaming with the news. I just had all this insecurity inside and felt so inferior. I needed to do better to make up for the fact that I could never be as good. As anyone.
So, Monday I broke down a few times, while cleaning my room in preparation for the visit (and because it was in such desperate need of cleaning.) I created these impossible expectations (which obviously helped matters tremendously) about how I would have the whole room clean, and then I would finish decorating my walls (which, you know, aren't started - except for the Rogers memorial and the Tori poster...) so that they would walk into this amazing space and be impressed. They'd read the walls and be intrigued by all the quotes; Shandi would see how much I'd grown as a person, how much deeper and stronger I am, and her boyfriend would be instantly won over... I fell into major obsessing during this planning phase. (Talk about detailed planning.) I even went so crazy as to pick out what I'd wear, then worry over whether or not it made me seem overly two-dimensional. (I'd decided on my newest anti-media t-shirt, with a gray long-sleeve under it, and my green cords. The shirt slogan worried me. It would give a clear idea of one part of me, but what if I looked like my whole life revolved around eating disorders and the hospital I'd been in? I'd seem like a total freak.) Finally, I realized that - whoever I am - I'm not a person who obsesses over what she's going to wear (at least, not for an extended period of time) and I had to calm down. I forgot about the walls, and I realized the room wasn't such a mess that I couldn't finish it Tuesday morning, and I started to give myself a break. Meanwhile, I freaked out over Tori.^ My Tori poster. I kept looking at my Tori poster, and my Tori albums, piled at the top of my collection. I looked at the case for the new CD right next to my stereo, and the actual disc, which was inside. Shandi had said she wanted to go and work for a non-profit organization "like RAINN." If she knew RAINN, she had to know Tori. What if she loved Tori? What if she came in and started talking about how great Tori is, and how she felt the first time she heard Little Earthquakes, and how she didn't even realize I loved Tori, too? I felt like I'd die on the spot. Immediately. Granted, there are about a trillion Tori Amos fans, and nearly all of them truly deserve the term that label is derived from: fanatic. Most Tori fans absolutely love her, can't believe how incredible she is, and are just so grateful for her music and the affect it's had in their lives. I know this. I'm not sitting here thinking that any manifestation of my Tori-adoration makes me unique; I'm really not. But thinking of Shandi having Tori also, was, I guess, the straw that broke me. It punched a hole through my body and all of my fears about not having a real identity, all my fear that she could take away everything I am, came pouring out in a goopy, steamy mess. I thought about my earlier obsession over the shirt and realized that our oh-so-similar paths diverged when I became sick, when I left school, when I went to Rogers. Maybe, Shandi illustrates - in my arrogant head - who I could have been if I'd not gotten sick. And that worried me all the more because if our only difference (so far as I could see) was my sickness, I was not in a good place. I'd be inclined to play up my own identity, and if that was the identity that would separate me... Oy. I didn't want to see where that track would lead.
Tuesday. I did finish cleaning, and I didn't bother to work on the walls, and I did continue to obsess about what sort of conversation could come from every visible part of my life. I did hide things and make others more prominent; I grew thoroughly anxious over the whole thing. But I kept telling myself the safe-thought: it will be over. I won't be trapped in what scares me forever. It will end, and I'll have seen a friend, and I will be ok. This will not kill me.
All I knew of their arrival was that it would be later in the day - afternoon or eveningish. By 2:00, I was buzzing, waiting for the phone. I told myself that if I hadn't heard from her by 4, I'd call. By 3:00, I was starting to defy laws of physics purely through my anxious energy. By 4, I heard from her, heard that she and Boy were just leaving where they were coming from, and thought they might stop in his hometown so they only had to drive one car to the city. I said this was all fine; I'd see her at 5:30 or 6. At 5, she called again to say they were at the Boy's parents' house, and the Boy's parents were fixing dinner, and they could skip it and come now or they could come later. I asked what time "later" would be; she estimated six-thirty or seven. (I felt like I'd been running a 48-hour marathon, and if I had to continue much longer I would probably explode.) So of course, the first thing I said was, "It's fine." Then, I realized that was silly, and asked her for the estimated arrival time. And then, I suggested she call me when they were finished with supper, and we could figure it out from there. She seemed a little upset by the confusion, and I told her not to stress about it, that we'd make this happen, "even if we had to do it another day." I wouldn't let another year go by, I promised. That calmed her down a little, and the fact that she was capable of stressing calmed me down (hey, remember, she's not perfect) - at least until I realized I was hoping to meet "another day." I felt like a total heel, but I remembered what the doctor said about not doing things for the sake of the future, (for the moment), and I realized that having them come over later than I'd expected, after far more stress than I'd expected (partly because I had more time in which to stress), didn't feel enticing to me. It didn't feel like a good visit to which I was looking forward. It felt like a test of my stamina against completely out-of-control anxiety. I backed up. I took a breath. I decided this had changed from fun-in-the-moment to do-it-or-you'll-never-do-anything, and as that was the case, I wouldn't be out of order in changing my mind. I decided, when she called to say she was finished, I'd suggest we make it another day, we'd make plans, or we'd plan to make plans, and I'd finally get to calm down...
Except, when she called, she was already on her way. She asked if it was still ok, and I said yeah, sure, and asked her if it was still ok. Much to my despair, she seemed totally good with it. I told her I'd see her later and hung up. I then went into the kitchen, found my mom, and freaked out about how things had happened and how I had to do this now because of how things played out... I realized how stupid that was as I was saying it and retreated back to the phone. I called Shandi intending to tell her I was crashing and ask for a rain check, but as I dialed I started to change my mind, and then she didn't answer her phone. A sign, I decided. Oh, well, I thought. Not long after, she called and asked if I'd tried to call her; I said yes and told her what was up, that I was crashing. She seemed totally cool with it, much to my surprise. (I feel bad about this; why isn't the other person making me feel worse?) I told her I really didn't want to cancel and asked if there was another day we could try it; her options were Wednesday (today) or Saturday. I told her I could do Saturday, apologized, hung up, and fell flat on the floor waiting for the slightest return of breath and energy to help me finish the night. They didn't really come, though I did pick myself off the floor. Apparently, I was in enough pain over everything else that the moment of relief wasn't giving me the usual peace. I'd gone through the anxiety as if they'd been over several times, when they hadn't come at all. And now they were coming Saturday, which meant my stress would not be over until Sunday, which meant that I wasn't on the home stretch so soon as I thought I was. And my Godd, what if Saturday's as rough as yesterday was?
Mom keeps reminding me I have a doctor's appointment in between (Friday) and assuring me this will help things. I'm not as certain. I'm really glad that Friday's drawing nearer, of course, but I know sometimes I start expecting the hour with him to magically cure me of whatever I'm feeling, and it never can. Still. This is a concrete engagement for which we can strategize. I can go into it with tools and ways of getting out and plans for taking care of myself. It does not have to be yesterday, topped with an actual visit. And it's ok that yesterday went so poorly; it's ok...because the circumstances changed. I made a decision based on a whim while talking with a friend; I wasn't aware then of all the as-good-as-her shit still being present, and I wasn't aware how drawn out it would be. I thought I'd go through my anxiety, dive into a visit, and come up on the other side, grateful. I thought I wouldn't have time to freak out too much because by the time I really started to get anxious, they'd be here, and then they would be gone. I figured I could handle it, and I'm really trying not to beat myself up for the fact that I didn't. I mean, I guess I did handle it in some fashion. But I didn't manage a visit. Although I have another one I'll supposedly manage on Saturday. I don't even want to think about that, though. I'm hoping that I'm using being anxious about Saturday to keep me from being anxious about tomorrow, and will - therefore - be less anxious about Saturday after tomorrow's over. And it's not like I need to do or prepare anything this time. I've already cleaned and obsessed, and hey, I could let the last two days of obsessing be enough. But, oy. I mean seriously, oy. For the day when someone visiting just means good time with friends! For the day the extent to which my life is a mess does not shrug off every bit of medication with which I attempt to keep it subdued. For the day when I trust my identity enough to not believe anyone can take it away, to not believe it's an illness, and for the day when I can really be that person. Go places and do things the way I want to do, anxiety aside. Anxiety aside is sort of like "gravity aside" at the moment, but maybe someday it won't be. In the meantime, I'm sleeping a lot and listening to music that's soft and comforting. I think I'm in hell right now, but I believe the trend I'm riding's going up...
Something is wrong with my room, though. It's foreign and weird. Somebody stole my mess.
chord
^this is not the Tori freakout discussed in Monday's entry...unbelievable as it is, there were actually *two different* Tori-related freakouts in one day...
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