6:10 p.m. - 11/24/01
scattered thoughts.
It's been such a long day...and I don't know where to start because I keep planning what to say, knowing it will become garbled somewhere between my tired head and my jumpy hands.
I almost fired my psych today. It scares me that I'm still so quick to run when someone pushes me into a hard place, but then - I did get a grip back on things and manage to get my needs met enough by the end of the session to forgive him for his terrible wrongdoing (making me tell my parents the reason I don't want to be home is them. again.)
He said something about how living in a house where you weren't aloud to talk was like walking around with a piece of wood in your body. And that coming to a doctor to, essentially, relieve the pain of that wood didn't take away the fact that the wood was still there. So then he talked a little about removing the wood. I blanked on him after that because as I continued the metaphor I ended up being beaten with the wood by my mom, and as much sense as that made in my poetic head, I was worried that mentioning it might result with social services whisking me away to a foster home before I could explain...
We did talk about relocating, though - how I need to start talking to my treatment team about what happens when I tell my mom important things (the guilt trips, etc) so that they can help me determine what needs to happen while we work on the relationship...meaning, whether or not I need to leave.
An old wound hurt fresh, though, after that appointment. I started thinking about how stubborn I'd gotten with him when I didn't want to talk to my parents, and I remembered Brea telling me that I was often like that with them, indeed I treated them the way my mom treated me...I was bawling at the time, and I told her that if I'd ever treated anyone the way that my mom had (just) treated me, then I was sorry because I never meant to hurt anyone that way. Brea looked at me with this straightforward eyes and said "But if that's what you were taught, why would you act any other way?"
It was never about blame with Brea. It was just about truth. That's why I loved her so much. That, and she was the first person who promised to stay with me - and gave me permission to grieve that my inner child had no mother...but that sounds like therapeutic garbage, and I don't mean to demean the experience that way.
I just realized that I'd been stubborn with my doc the way I'd been stubborn with them, the way my mom was so rigid with me. It upset me; I don't want to be that way, and I'll have to work to change it. At the same time it was a definite insight into my mom: it was a fear response. I grew stubborn with him because I was so afraid what would happen if I didn't stand my ground, if I let him lead the conversation where he wanted it.
I bought a karen-sweater today. It's soft and only slightly itchy. And I bought the K's Choice CD I wanted. So I feel sickly spoiled...
I need to get some caffeine in my system and try to call Brea. Two weeks not talking to her is like two weeks in a world that's rationing air.
Two weeks. Where have I come in two weeks? I guess I've gone from seriously considering taking 2x the recommended dose of Benedryl in order to sleep 24 hours a day, crying everytime someone mentioned RED and pretty much any time they didn't to just feeling numb little pricking feelings, shame, homesickness, and knowing I'm alone in that feeling. I almost cried today when I called Red home to the doc (I guess I'll continue that each time my parents leave the room) but I catch it in my throat. I'm not sure I'll be able to catch it after I talk to Brea. And I might do some emotional eating. And that will have to be okay.
My body image is shit today.
chord
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