3:05 p.m. - 06/20/02
blood (as in, from my veins), blood (as in, my family), calls, stories, and dreams.
so much to say, so much to say, so much to say-e-ay...
the medic. doctor called back to inform me that my blood results has arrived and were normal. my response, while not completely surprising, didn't make me feel grand about myself. I instantly returned to what I was doing, trying to detach myself from a sense of pain and anxiety, defensiveness and almost, disappointment. it's not as if I want some horrible illness, but I really don't want to have to feel like it's even a *possibility* I've made the months-worth of symptoms up, or that they've been more emotion-based than physical. for once, I don't want to feel cause to doubt my own integrity. erg.
the good news is, I have good blood. and also - the past few days, I have felt beyond my best physically (emotionally, well...) I've slept more peacefully, I've remembered dreams, and I haven't felt queasy or fought off headaches. I have a little stomach pain but for all I know that's just psychosomatic manifestation of hearing a message that makes my six-year-old conscience say, "see! you are a liar! you are faking!" damn my history. damn it.
I finished a possible personal essay for my Hampshire application, and I realized that an essay I submitted to a contest has a pretty major error in it. (It's on patriotism, and I wrote September Ninth, instead of Septemeber Eleventh. I nearly broke the computer when I saw that this morning...) I'm wondering if maybe I do need to take some Concerta; I feel bored with everything, and I have to drudge up so much energy just to apply myself to a simple task. Like this journal, for instance. but then, aren't I always bored throughout the summer? the one thing I seem to be able to do is read, so of course, reservation blues has completely disappeared from my bedroom. (I *knew* it was time to tidy up a bit...) in the meantime, I'm rereading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. It's lovely; I'm aching for the fifth book again...
My parents are driving me a little crazy. My mom seems to be really struggling, and it's so hard to do anything about that when my dad's struggling so completely. She's exhausted of course, as is he, as am I...Dr. R asked me yesterday if I felt sometimes that I was living with two siblings rather than two parents, and I didn't hesitate to tell him that I certainly didn't feel I was living with parents, intent on disciplining and taking care of me. It's just kind of every wizard for themself, here in the Lastname house. mom can't take care of dad because he's too sick, dad can't take care of himself because he's sick, mom can't take care of me because she's too busy finding new work (the retreat center she moved us here for no longer suits her), and because she's exhausted with my dad's condition. I can't take of either of them because I'm busy with myself and because I have this rightful teengage indignance that says, "I am not my parents' keeper, mwa ha ha." you don't know me, you don't know me at all...
it isn't really my mom's fault that she feels the need to move on from the place where she's working, and she is approaching the transition (which probably won't be for some time) in a very responsible fashion. the people she works with are basically dolts, and I'm relieved she's noticing that, even though I feel compelled to mention that they were basically dolts a year ago when we moved. but then, am I really sorry not to be living in Neverland with everything that's going on in me? and am I really sorry that I didn't have to return to the home with all the ED memories? besides which, I asked Mom if she was upset she'd moved knowing that she didn't want to work at the retreat center anymore, and she said no. apparently, they still love this little shack we call home. and she has made some good friends here...I'm glad she's glad, though I would kill to live in Massachusetts, which I've never seen. the seaweed is always greener, et cetera.
one of the rough points right now is that my dad also works at the retreat center a few days a week, and he doesn't seem to be exempt from the 'dolt' generalization. I apologized to him yesterday for the obvious fact that I have basically nowhere to fuel my socio-political-cultural-activist-fury, and therefore when I think he makes his fifties-small-town-ness clear, I feel the need to verbally smack him. more so because this is something we went through last year, and he's still upset at its return. basically, every year the place my mom's at hosts this retreat for lesbian religious women (gay nuns- stay with me, they actually do exist) and my dad, who is their male-massage-therapist option, always gets shafted when it comes to clientele. the retreat doesn't last very long, but dad always gets hurt and angry, talking about how "*he* wouldn't mind them" and "*they* are the ones discriminating" and blah blah blah. now let me explain something. the likelihood that there is a nun wandering around with a rainbow t-shirt cooing over an "I Love My Two Mommies" nightshirt is almost nil. the majority of nuns seem to have basically cut off their sexuality (or, like me, never discovered it) and those who arrive at this enough to face the consequence of 'coming out' to *anyone* must have really strong feelings. basically, the majority of the women who come to this retreat have brutal histories, and whatever their orientation might have been, trauma is the final straw.
it is, simplistically, not about discrimination; it's about *trauma* and my dad is basically saying, "I'm going to be your healing touch, damnit! so get your ass over here and let me show you." you don't rush someone into their own healing, for Christ's sake. it won't work if they don't come to you, and who is my father to define his presence in other's lives? if he wants to share healing energy with people fine. he has no right to demand that these women be healed by him. for God's sake, *I've* had one massage from him in my life, before all my trauma issues resurfaced, and if you think I'd go back now, you're loopy. do I know he's perfectly professional and brilliantly gifted? yes? does this matter? guess.
so basically, yesterday evening, I yelled at him about all this for the second night in the row, and I threw in a few hits for using "us" and "they" pronouns, which he defended as only meaning "staff" and "participants." only the "they" were people he feared would swim naked in the pool and scare off his non-retreat-center clients. I pushed him as to whether he would have this fear for participants in *any other* program, and he got really angry and shut up. then, a few minutes later, when I finally told my parents about how the woman from MPC seemed a bit condescending toward the residents, I used the word 'they' in reference to the patients, and he said, "they?! are you being prejudiced?!" and I nearly beat my head against the table. why on fucking earth would I show prejudice against people in a facility for mental illness? hi, my name is Mary, and I spent three months at Rogers. or didn't I mention this?
christ. the great thing is that I'm not allowed to say any of this shit without him being like, "you're gay, aren't you?" though these days, it's only in the eyes. I'm not allowed to empathize and fight (even unintentional) prejudice without him being like, "you're one of *them*..." it makes me crazy; he is small-town-illinois embodied sometimes.
I saw an interview with Rosie O'Donnel where she talked about Ellen DeGeneres asking her to march after Matthew Sheppard was killed, and she refused. She reminded Ellen that neither of them had marched after the death of another person (Rodney King?) and if you marched against hate, you *always* marched. I go along with this to the point that you could *start* with Matthew Sheppard and march from that point on instead of just not marching because you hadn't in the past, but I believe this rule is general. As she put it, "My world view is not that myopic." You don't only speak up when you relate to the cause. For Christ's sake, it's the same friggin cause...
I'm a bit peeved about the whole thing.
Luckily, I've had good moments lately, too. Britt (!!!) called me on Tuesday and completely boggled my mind. When my mom handed me the phone, I actually thought it was a different "Brittany" and was *still* excited, but the Brittany it turned out to be was several times less dangerous that the Brittany I *thought* my mom meant, and we had this lovely, fast-paced talk about the millions of things we've read about each other and experienced about each other, and it was basically wonderful because I was able to say things like "I love therapy!" and hear her laugh. I'm getting better at that. I make therapy jokes with Heather now, and she seems to enjoy it. It helps me feel better about being in touch with her. And it helps me feel better about my menial days.
But anyway Britt (eee!!!!) called me and we talked and it wasn't at all awkward, which I tried to articulate by saying it was 'comfortable.' sometimes, first phone conversations with people are so awkward, even if you know them in real life, but this was really sunny. even if I did bounce around like a rabbit on speed for a few hours afterward. :) sometimes the anxious energy isn't so awful. rarely. but sometimes.
I remembered another part of the dream I described at length yesterday. I ran into my freshman study hall/ sophomore health teacher while I was wandering the halls, and I smiled at her, she smiled kind of darkly back (not malicious-dark, just serious-dark) and said, "I thought you were dead." I, of course, stopped and came back. "When you didn't come back," she said, "I heard the rumors. I thought you were dead." Dumbfounded, but internally Very Glad to have heard about this rumor from her (I ended up really liking her sophomore year) I explained about the hospital, and how I'd gotten better, and so forth. Basically, I explained to her that I was not dead. and she started saying how she wished she known this because I could have talked to her class or the school or something about the experience, and I mentioned that I'd considered doing that, but was worried by the fact that statistically prevention speeches do more damage than good, and she surprised me by also knowing this statistic, and told me we could talk about some things and try to create a program that would be helpful but have low possibility for destruction. which sounded really really great, and I was a little depressed when this kids came up and started hounding her for attention- because the reality of talking with her and the possibility of working with her seemed really grand. I think in retrospect what I liked about her was that she was real and treated me like a person without all the mushy concern. She knew that I didn't eat lunch, and she didn't hound me about it. She just kept treating me like a person. When I started missing her class, she was a bit annoyed, but she didn't attack me for it, and she didn't press me for details. all in all, I wanted a better relationship with her, but liked her all the same.
not that I didn't long for the mushy concern in general. last night I had a dream I went to Boston Public (am I the only one who feels like a major dork when I have dreams with television characters?) and the one teacher, Lauren Davis, who was kind of like a cross between Lauren from the first season and Chas, was talking to Marla, the character Loretta Devine plays. anyway, I came into Lauren's classroom as they were finishing talking, and stood waiting for her attention. Marla finally called out to Lauren who quickly looked at me, and I started talking or not talking or something. Marla left. I was really upset about something, and I sat down by this gray counter like the ones in the rooms at Neverland. it was semi-unclear whether we were taping a show or actually student and teacher. she was supposed to come over to talk with and semi-comfort me and she kept kissing my head once than moving away, saying the line again, and coming back, like she wasn't happy with the take. the third time she did it, I was so amused by her repetitive, fluid nature, that I smiled, and just as I smiled, she moved her head and kissed my right eyebrow (which was totally different than before) and her mouth felt cool and soft (i.e. wonderful), and she stood up and looked pleased with the scened. Either her voice or her eyes said something like, "There. You looked happy about it that time." and I just sort of sat there in awe of her, until the guidance counselor dude came in and pulled me out of her class.
it wasn't supposed to be a weird teacher-student thing (even my subconscious won't let them repeat that plot)- it was just really nice. I woke up wishing it was real. I mean- she's really an actress, and she could be a real weirdo, but...it was nice all the same. I want to be kissed gently on the eyebrow with someone completely devoid of romantic intentions.
on that note, it's nearly four o'clock and I have yet to shower. so I'm off. I said about half of the so-many-things, after all...
love to you and yours and me and mine-
chord
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