10:45 p.m. - 10/20/02
.randomness.:*
Hours and hours of studying, oh my.
I have a psych test tomorrow, and I just spent the longest time learning the some sixty terms I need to be familiar with simply to understand the questions. I generally store those in my brain just by reading the text, but this chapter is all about biological psychology and the relationship between neuroscience and behavior, so I have to learn all about which parts of the brain control what. I'm exhausted to the point I'm surprised any parts of *my* brain are left. Six nervous systems and a lot of lobes; it's enough to make anyone crazy. Throw in one cortex at the front of the parietal lobe and another at the rear of the frontal lobe, and you too will be searching for the "morphine within."
The good news is, I have time to study this way. Since I create my own schedule, and I don't have to waste time in the classrooms/ I don't have a life, I have the opportunity to spend some four hours studying for one test. I figure that's about what I'll put into this one, counting the work I do tomorrow on the actual concepts along with tonight's study of terms. Hell is advanced placement. But I've been over that already. And I'm really not irritated with it all that much. I'm still just in awe of my own ability to study, to comprehend, to remember. I thought I lost that permanently (in fact, I thought I'd never had it) after these past few years. To be able to see that I really was sick, malnourished, not just stupid, is quite the affirmation. It makes having to learn the name of those almond-shaped clusters in the lymbic system that are linked to emotion such as fear and aggression a little less painful.
That would be the amygdala by the way. Whoo. Hooray for senior year. In college, all I'll study will be crap like this. Mwa ha.
Ok, no. I'll study language and writing and gender and sociology and psychology and very little physical biology, even though I like it much. I'm kind of a science and math geek, even though I have a level of insecurity in those subjects that has kept me from acknowledging it. I really do love physics, even though it terrifies me, and algebra and I are buddies at the least. If geometry would be kicked out of my linear universe, life in the math and science fields would rock. Oh, and I know squat about chemistry. Yes. But other than that I'm ever so educated. Ha.
My dad came home today, and the three of us who create this household (two days a week) went out to see the world. I found a shirt that says "Gone Crazy, Be Back Soon" and Mom offered to buy it for me, so long as I promised to wear it to the doc. I don't really care at this point how much of my fashion-dorkiness he sees, so I said what-the-hey. The main amusement (or disturbing-ness) of the shirt is that it's pink (and navy), and goodness knows I must really be ill, if I am willing to wear *pink.* I could almost guarantee he'll comment on it, and he doesn't comment on anything. Other than a shirt I have that says I'm famous. I think I could go in with a blue mohawk and he wouldn't say a word. I pretend to be frustrated, but honestly, I like this about him. I like that he rarely draws attention to what I'm wearing, what I look like, that I'm there. It isn't awful when he does, the way it used to be, but I like all the same that he couldn't care less about the aesthetic things. There's no standard to be insecure over, which I appreciate.
John's going to start seeing him soon, a couple weeks from now I think. He's seeing him on Wednesdays also, which is hard for me. It's hard for me in general, that I'll now be one of 3-4 members of my family seeing this person (depending on whether my dad picks back up any time soon), and I was convincing myself I was special based on the day that I see him, which is no longer enough. I guess I can still be the first person he saw in our family, and I can pretend that I'm his favorite, et cetera, but it's still hard. I'm immensely glad that John's giving therapy another shot (after a not-so-good try at it with Judie while I was at Rogers) and that he's seeing someone who is really capable of helping him, but it's still hard for me. I want to be special. I want to have my special relationships, and since I can't have them in the real world at this moment, I want them in the therapeutic one. I want relationships and places that are simply mine. That's hard to have in a homebound, hobbit sort of life.
I still haven't e-mailed Laura about the my-safety-my-concern issue, but I really do plan on it. I just don't want to bring up those feelings right now. I know they need to be expressed, but I can't express them *to her* yet. I would also kind of like to hear from her first. I don't expect to hear anything remotely like an apology because obviously she didn't mean to do anything wrong, and she's not even aware of the hurt I feel; I'd just like to have her write me because we didn't get to meet up. I won't wait too long; I can't, really. I was just sort of hoping to be approached, as I so often am approaching, and I guess I'd rather tack this on in a response than I would seek her out to speak on it. Maybe I'll tack it onto something anyway. "Fall here is nothing like Wisconsin; the colors have inverted and there's more brown than yellow, more yellow than red. I miss the dairy-state more than I miss singing, and by the way, you telling to stay away so I'd be safe was really irritating. You telling me to stay away in general made me want to bawl. Wait. Scratch the want to. Yeah. I love you, and I mean that even now."
It's largely my own fault, not that we aren't meeting, but that it upset me so much. I need to learn two things from this situation. Number one: I need to learn to move on and not expect the people in my past or the people in my future to say, "hey, I'll be your perfect surrogate family member" (except for redlings, I'm not ready for that yet) and two: phones are a definite plus when making plans to meet with someone. I could have spoken with her on the phone; I could have been talking to her as decisions were made, instead of finding them already completed in my inbox. Maybe I could have kept this from happening, had I dared to use a phone. I also could have replied and told her that it wasn't like that, it wasn't so unsafe, but terms she used like "firm decision" made me think it would be worthless. Plus, something about having to convince someone we need to meet takes the joy out of hugging them. I know she wanted to see me. I know she e-mailed me to say that she was coming. I can get by on that for now.
That and venting about it. That and journal entries, message boards, whatever notes and e-mail drop across my path. That and words and therapy. I see the doc a day early this week, Tuesday, and I'm glad except that next week, it will be one day more. Wednesday to Tuesday is a nice surprise. Tuesday to Wednesday is a careful stretch. He's going out of town again, though, so it can't be helped, and honestly, I'm just relieved he moved me around so we're still meeting. The way these weeks have been, time without appts would be bad. And I've never spoken with the colleague who takes his emergencies when the doc skips town, so I could never call him in a crisis. I could very well end up calling Sara's mommy first. Calling Norway and waking my dearling up.
Maybe I just won't have a crisis if I have to miss a week with him. Maybe I'll just be relatively, impressively sane. That'd work.
I'm really glad he and I talked about the Laura-visit when it was still about to happen because I know he felt my disappointment and upsettedness when it fell through, and it'd be hard to convey what I was anticipating with my disappointment at such a level as this. Though actually, I'm ok with the disappointment; I'm ok with the loneliness. It was the frustration that gripped harder yesterday, eventually. It was the agitation that took time to disipate.
I'm still on a relational kick, mentally. Still thinking about all the disturbed relationships I've had and how unfair it is of my memory to minimize them. I remember making myself a promise when Billy and I broke that I would not forget how much I'd loved him or let my current situation darken my memory of him, but I think it's happened all the same. I loved him, right? I loved him, didn't I? It was so real while it was happening, and now it's gone. I think I loved what I was feeling, what he was doing for me; I don't think I knew him well enough to love. Or maybe I did, but not the way I've loved others in my life. It was still like energy sending prisms through my skin every time he wrote me. It was still very very wonderful, until...
I don't like to think about how much I have in common with people in my past with whom I've broken off contact. I don't like listening to songs I've heard them quote and realizing I like them, too. I don't like thinking about how similar we really were, that there was real basis in our relationship, and I don't like how similar I am to who I was when I fell into this one or that one or the other. It scares me. With autumn, it's gotten so dark here, and I remember how, even last fall, I was still so scared to be in a car at night- because black country roads always made me think of Charlie, and I couldn't deal. I have rules, yes; I have regulations and radar that are more fine-tuned with each encounter, but how do I know that I won't end up in this once again? How do I know I won't end up getting hurt more deeply than I have?
And worse, what if I never enter into anything far enough to be hurt by it? What if I meet people I love, but can't love, because I can't propose we have anything exclusive as I'm an asexual little bug. What's worse is that I don't want to change that. I would love to love you. I would love to hold you and kiss you and play with your hair. I would love to make you laugh and gigle wildly, to talk deeply with you about simple topics and extensive ones. I'd like to read you books and hold the dandelions you make your wishes on. But that's all I want. And if that's all I want forever, I'm not sure I can ask anyone for it. I couldn't ask anyone to give up a need, even if it's one that terrifies me, hurts me, makes me weak. Even if it's one I can nod at but not fully understand.
I wish I was a girl. A little. I wish I was normal, but I'm also convinced that if I woke up bloomed, I'd still have all the fear of it. I don't want to go there while I'm still afraid, and how could I not be afraid?
Maybe there's another asexual bug who'd like to make wishes and be held. Last night, I dreamed I had a girlfriend, and when I play-fought-wrestled with her, she laughed a sweet laugh. I wonder how long I can survive on dreams. I wonder how long I'll have to.
So thanks Laura. For reminding me that distance from my relationships does not change what they were. For reminding me that even though I can imagine, being away from you, that you feel a different way, you don't. Thanks for being absolutely wonderful and still reminding me, however unconsciously, that you will never be my one-and-only-home.
I want that home. I want it so badly. I can see it in colors that would set this world on fire, and I will have it. I'm scared I'll go crazy trying, but I've gone crazy without it, too, so that's something to keep in mind. It has to be here somewhere. Start another week, go through the motions, page through the possibilities- did you check that door? Look one more time; check for hidden passageways. It has to be here somewhere; I can find it if you give me time and a little bit of seratonin to survive on.
Grace has got me safely thus far. And Grace will lead me home. She will.
chord
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