7:55 a.m. - 03/31/02
thank you clarity...
First: my father (who went to spend a week with my grandmother, during which my mother made it sound like he might never return) has returned, has always wanted to return, and is not, as feared would be the case at this point, my mother's ex-husband. He is the sleepy man snoring in the next room, who needs med shifts and is getting them, and he is still my daddy and my mommy's husband, and all that's left of the situation is the occasional comment about the miscommunication between them and a couple of punches waiting in my shoulders to be thrown.
I think kids who survive this are underrated, even though it's basically the norm. I think about all of the things, supposedly (and truly) hard things I've gone through, and yet, faced with this sort of blow-off issue of "divorce" for a week I nearly went out of my mind. Granted, the stress of wondering if they were going to make like a banana and split was not balanced well by the stress of wondering if I am crazy, if Harriet is crazy, and if I was going to end up back in residential for a disorder I didn't fully believe I had.
(Almost) all of which is resolved now, so my head is only being ravaged by the aftermath. The occasional duststorm, the pressure draining from the atmosphere. No more full-force attacks, which is a lovely Easter gift. Though I don't, for some reason want to talk about it being Easter. I'd rather wish everyone a happy my-brother's-birthday, which also happens to be today, and which I hope is a nice one because about 19 of his now 21 birthdays have left something to desire...
Once he was given salt and pepper shakers and a Jerry Springer video. *This* is a boy with trauma.
Last night wasn't exactly an emotional rollercoaster so much as an emotional hurricane. I felt like an infant being spun around at high speed, by the demonic will of some amused adult. And let me explain, even in my metaphoric baby-cuteness, I was *pissed.* Nothing much happened: there was just the anger over my parents acting like children (and not very well-developed children at that), the confusion over what's been going on with Harriet, the rather infuriating reality that (although my appointment with Tammy went really well and she said, "Visits like this are the reason I keep doing this job") Harriet had already gotten to her, and I got to hear about how great it was that now I could move past the nutrition aspect onto the "core issue" of my "attachment disorder"...I was too confused to fully voice that if I don't attack Harriet with water balloons sometime in the next week, she should consider herself fortunate. Then, my brother, who was supposed to do a drive-by-money-exchange (please, God, don't let us get arrested) with my mom, because she had lent him her credit card number and he was paying her the cash, gave the money to my dad instead, and left my mother and me on the sidewalk, searching for black trucks and silly boys...I did not want to be standing there, I did not want to be dealing with my parents' first meeting in a week, and I certainly did not want to wait through their first session in two weeks...all of which were on the agenda last night.
So then I went to dinner with my parents and got to hear my dad ask why the fuck I was so upset (not in so many words) and hear my mom explain all of her reasons for why I was upset, which just made me more upset, on top of which my French onion soup tasted like it was meat-based and very-salty, and even though I really doubt there was any beef bouillon in it, I was significantly upset by the fact that it wasn't good and French onion soup is supposed to be *good.*
In other words, everyone should be very glad that I did not have access to this journal from about three in the afternoon until about eight o'clock last night...because recalling being annoyed isn't half as irritating to read as Mary when she is actually annoyed.
Yes.
So, we left the restauarant with the icky soup and headed over to the office of Dr. R. (I just got a very odd image of Mr. R from the letter people in my head, who looks nothing like the doctor, but is, all the same, amusing when juxtaposed into a thought with him. In reality, Dr. R doesn't look much like himself either- he's grown a bit of a goattee which forms a lean triangle with his high cheekbones; his face looks pointy and adult. I realized, sometime in the past year- because he really wasn't when I started seeing him, and I comforted myself "maybe while I was at RED?"- the doctor has grown up.) We waited for about 30 minutes into our appointment time before he finished the last client, which isn't something to complain about since he always goes over with us, but it's hard to think that you want to be home already and you haven't even started the appointment that is keeping you from going there.
I just wanted to crash, and I couldn't. But I did take Mom up on an offer she made me to speak with him before they did. I had made some comment about how Tammy believed Harriet, and Mom had reminded me that Dr. R would set it all straight (isn't it nice to have a doctorate so people think you walk on water?), to which I stubbornly replied that he wouldn't because I wouldn't even get to talk to him about it. (I usually get five or ten minutes to talk at him at the end of their eon-long sessions. With my feelings so all over the place, and my "logic" so scattered, I could never be that concise.)
So he appeared and invited us in, and Mom explained what we'd decided, and we walked in together. I sat down on the silly leather boy-couch, and he sat down in the silly leather boy-chair (the whole office is leather and dark wood, the occasional black carving; it's very adolescent-cave-ish)...he asked how I was, I said ok. Silence, meaning, "Alright, Mary, out with it. What's going on? (Not that I don't know already, but I need to hear what you think's going on so we can talk about it.)" Sigh/smile, meaning, "Ok, ok, you're right. I'll talk."
And then, um, actual words. Which are much harder to transcribe. I asked him if Harriet had gotten in touch with him. (She had.) I asked if she'd talked with him about the attachment stuff. (She had.) I asked what he thought about that.
"First - I want to know what you think about it," he said.
"I knew you were going to do that," I replied, laughing and trying to look peeved. I didn't want to have to go first, but it's the manner of doctors to scope out your side of the conversation before offering their own input.
"I'm too predictable for you," he smiled. (I didn't like that; predictable implies boring and he's not boring just...predictable. Steady. Set.)
He asked me to explain what I'd heard her saying and then what my take on what she'd said was. So I did. Or tried to. I said, "I heard her say that she thinks I have attachment issues, maybe even an attachment disorder. That that's my 'core issue' and she doesn't know how to treat it, so she's looking into other options. That I need to work on this if I'm going to progress at all. And that most of the effective treatment, in her opinion, is group or team stuff, meaning residential."
So we talked about that for awhile, and he asked how it felt to me, and I explained that I was too confused to know what I was thinking, but I *felt* like it wasn't right. I talked about how I'd read some information on attachment disorder (which is apparently some major crime, but what the hell was I *supposed* to do when I was so confused and scared and ignorant?) and the profile didn't sound like me, and even though I understood that profiles are in general kind of screwy, (how can you put a person in a box?), I didn't see myself in it.
He asked which parts of the profile. I told him "aggression, disciplinary problems, cruelty to animals, lack of conscience, no cause and effect thinking, no sense of empathy, superficially charming"...eventually I ran out of words. I told him that Harriet agreed with me about that, that she said the aggressive part of the profile didn't fit me, that I tend to turn my feelings more inward, and I knew that was true, and it wasn't that I won't work on this if it is right, but I don't understand what's left if you take away those parts of the profile. I told him- I *know* I have attachment issues and relationship issues. I go crazy in relationships thinking the person is going to leave, but I don't have the kind of issues talked about for this diagnosis, and I certainly don't want to go into residential for it (or anything else)- and now will you please tell me what you think, you silly reticent doctor-man?
(Actually, it was very calm, and I didn't feel stressed like that much at all. I just wanted to know what his thoughts were.)
He started saying how he was kind of thrown by the fact that Harriet had already brought this up with me as a recommendation before talking with him or bringing my parents into it (screw parental involvement, it might have helped at the moment, but in general *tell me!* still, she should have talked to him.) I pointed out that he'd done the same thing when he told me to go to school, and he said, "except I talked with your parents also" and I was like "oh. yeah. I forgot...well, they don't count." But then he admitted it was similar in some ways. I explained that I just remembered Harriet being upset that he hadn't talked with her; I'd "managed to catch that while I was in hysterics..." It was nice, a gentle back and forth, a gentle humor.
So then, after I'd put all my cards on the table, he started to turn a few of his over. The nice thing about Dr. R is that his sort of slow-moving, think-before-you-act style, seems *genuine* where as Harriet's seems practiced. It's as if he's trying to say what he really means and what he thinks you need to hear in the clearest way possible, and she's just picking words so she won't have anything to defend later on. (I know. I'm biased. This isn't a fair reading.)
Eventually, I gathered the one thing that really mattered to me at that point (being understood): he didn't think Harriet was right. He didn't think I had an attachment disorder. He didn't think I should be going into residential. He didn't think I was confused (ok, maybe confused, but not wrong in my perception). I just sort of dissolved and took deep breaths for a few moments. "I am. so relieved right now," I said. "You seriously have no idea. Thank you."
He told me that early attachment issues (of course) come up in everything; that doesn't mean they're the problem. He said, "If you were in a stressful situation, and you became depressed, we wouldn't diagnose you as having Stressful Situation Disorder."
I was like, "Exactly. That's what I'm saying. It's not like I don't have these problems, maybe I do - and I'm not trying to run away from working on them, but I don't think that it's reason to get all intense and put me in residential."
He agreed. I melted. Thank you GOD.
I told him that I was afraid my inability to connect with Harriet was being misinterpreted/ exaggerated as an inability to connect in general, and I honestly didn't think that was true. "I even asked my friends!" I said. "Everyone pretty much said the same thing- that sometimes I get scared and distance myself, but in general I love people. I even get clingy."
He talked about how the 'clingy' part could be a problem on its own, but not in the way that I experienced it. Mine was a response more than a disorder; I had an "injury" he said, and that's why I acted the way I did.
"That's what one of my friends said," I went on. "Something like that. That when I did distance myself or have trouble attaching it was because I'd been hurt in the past, and I get scared. It's something I learned to do before. A behavior."
"A survival skill," he said.
"Yeah," I nodded, smiling again. "I've got a few of those."
"Yes, you do," he grinned.
A moment of smiling.
"So what do I do???" I begged, and he leaned back in his chair and just took a moment because I think honestly, he's as taken aback by this whole thing as I was. Finally he asked me if I meant what do I do about Harriet or what do I do as a next step. "I guess both," I said. "I don't know. How to I sort of make things neat with Harriet, and what do I do next?" In my head: "you'd think I'd be used to this drill. How many new therapists have I seen?"
He talked about options...three, he said, that he could think of -maybe more. First of all, I could go in, talk with Harriet about the impasse we were at, tie that up, and leave. Secondly- I could go in, talk with Harriet, make a decision with her to work through the impasse, and use the experience as a learning opportunity. Or third, I could call her up, or write her an e-mail, and say adios.
I stared down my options a moment, explained that I would probably feel better if I talked with her about it, just so I felt I'd said what I needed to say, but that I'd come to these "impasses" four months, and each time I'd gone back to use it, to work through it, and even though none of them had been significantly bad events, I just didn't feel up to continue returning there. I told him I felt there was a difference between touching on pain and causing it, that I didn't want it to seem like I was running away from the challenge of real therapy, but that there was actual pain in the relationship with Harriet, rather than just the work that we did being painful.
He asked about how she was different from Judie, and I explained that one of the reasons I stayed with Harriet so long was because she was so strong, she challenged me, she didn't coddle me the way that (after having Dave) I was afraid Judie might. I said that I really believe Judie was good for me when I saw her, because I really wasn't ready to fight yet, and I needed someone like her, but now I need someone who will push me, and I don't think that's Judie.
He seemed glad. I think he was checking to make sure I wasn't going to run to a babysitter-therapist, a mama instead of a doc.
He asked me how it worked with Judie, because I'd left her, too, and I explained that with Judie it was easier because it was just time to move on; it wasn't in response to anything that had happened. I said I'd written her (smile: "of course- you don't think I would have *spoken* these words, do you?"), told her that I didn't feel right going back to Neverland so often when I was trying to transplant my life this side of the state line, and that I wanted to develop a relationship with my own mom instead of a pseudo-mom...and she had agreed, been fine with it; so long as I was seeing someone, she was happy.
In hindsight, the whole thing looked so simple. In comparison.
(This conversation is out of order, and I have no clue what parts of it are left, so bear with me if the rest of this entry seems scrambled because my memory is out of fashion...)
So we talked about the alternatives, and he said that he didn't want me to commit to anything and feel that I had to do it (I interrupted, saying that was another thing that felt wrong; she'd made it seem like I either went into residential or rotted in my life the way it was - and that kind of dichotomous thinking was what I always got in trouble for!) because I would probably go back and forth in what felt right for the next few days. That made sense to me; I'd probably feel like staying really wouldn't be so bad when I was sitting in her waiting room Monday night, not that I'd let that change my mind necessarily.
Why does she have to be so nice? She's going to walk into the waiting room, and she's going to smile, and say hi, and how it's good to see me, and her voice is going to be soft and inviting, and I'm going to have to say, "Yes, that voice is nice now, but how nice is it when the same toneless voice is saying dissonant things?" before I crumble.
I must be a revolutionary in the kingdom of myself.
So we talked, and I said how I understood that good things had come from my seeing Harriet (in my head: "but you can *learn* from being *brutalized*, that isn't saying much")- it was just difficult now because there was one road of events that was what actually *was* and what was supposed to be, and this other road of how you think things are supposed to go, and although if someone had said to me in December, "you will only be with Harriet for months" I would probably be ok right now, I was struggling because I had to reconcile how I believed things would turn out with how they actually had.
He said that maybe I could look at is as it really was just time for a change, the way it had been with Judie, and I said I'd thought of that, and it wasn't so much "no dice" as that it didn't take away all of the confusion I'd been feeling. But talking with him settled it a bit, so I felt better. He said that I needed to remember that there were people in my life who saw things the way I did, that my perception was accurate and could be trusted, and that the adults in my life would do whatever I needed, whatever they could, for me.
"Like those people in the waiting room?" I joked. (No way they expected me to go on this long.)
"Yes," he said. "And the person in this chair."
Oh, that's right. You're an adult, too.
So basically, he led me into the room that is not the waiting room (because it's smaller and nicer and more private) so that I could read on his (non-leather) couch, with the understanding that I would do what I needed to in order to "terminate" my relationship with Harriet (me: "that's such an awful word." him: pause. "it is, isn't it? it is an awful word.") and he would do whatever he could to help me with it. He said he was going to talk with her in the next few days as well, and I found out later from Mom that he's going to try and coax a woman he knows to see me (her practice is full) ... turn on the old charm and see if he can make it work. I hope so. I hope she's young and nice and Dr. R-ish. I did think about whether I wanted to see *him* - sitting in his office, with night fallen outside, and everything gentle and quiet and understanding, it was very inviting. But I resisted. Because I still need distance from the work being done with my parents and even though I wouldn't say I *need* a woman (after all, Harriet was a woman, so obviously I need more than that) - because I can connect to a man like Dr. R given a little coaxing, it would be easier to get started with a woman therap. For me. Because I'm silly and don't remember that both sexes abuse.
He gave me credit for wanting to tie things up with Harriet instead of just leaving, and I told him I'd done both, and this struck me as easier. "Really?" he said. "When?"
I stumbled, trying to remember. "When have I talked things through first or when have I just left?"
"When have you just left."
"Oh." Billy. "Um." Billy. "Just..." BILLY! "-with friends." Isn't there ever going to be someone with whom I can say that name, and all it implies, aloud?
"Like friends from school?"
"Yeah. Sort of." (A sheepish half-smile that translates to, "I can let you know there's more than I'm telling, but I really wouldn't push it for what." And since it wasn't really necessary for him to delve into the murk of my billy-world, he didn't.)
So I went into the other room, and my parents went into the office, and I read a few million pages of We Were the Mulvaneys, but I couldn't really blame them for taking time the way I had, and I had a better understanding of how the time in there was so different from the time outside of there, and maybe so did they. Eventually, I started to fall asleep, and I scorned myself for my recent early bed-times, thinking it couldn't be that late. Contrary to that hope, it was 10:30 when we got done (that's a three hour appointment, boys and girls) and were able to head home.
Dr. R stood with me in the doorway for a minute and talked about how he would work on this, and I had his voice mail and his e-mail to keep in touch with him up to and beyond the Monday appointment, and then we all laughed that we really must be crazy to be here so late, and he put his hand on my shoulder blades in that friendly-platonic, "take care of yourself, and call me damnit!" sort of way, and in my head I was going, "You are the first 'professional' to touch me in soooo loooong..."
Outside, Dad produced a stuffed bunny from a shopping bag, and since I am a good American child conditioned to *need* fuzzy rabbits around Easter time, I was pleased and clutched the dearling (whose name is Sam) all the way home.
I didn't get much sleep...but I feel quite a bit less likely to spin off my own axis, and I think I can honestly settle for that. For today. For now.
with love and bleary eyes
chord
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