7:30 p.m. - 10/27/02
((don't really care // as long as there mine))

Still hurting and sorry to have upset people with the way I've acted in it. We went to visit Joe yesterday, which left me three hours closer to RED than I normally am, not to mention on the outskirts of JennaLand. It may not be JennaLand at the moment, as I'd venture a guess the girl's at Smith finishing her first semester, but I could be off. Considering the past few days the general proximity of everything was a bit rough. In some ways I was glad to get away, not simply from D!@#$%^ but from my thoughts as well. Unfortunately the leaves are still blanketing the sidewalk where my brother lives, and craft stores scream "Rogers outing." In other words, no matter where I turn the memory- and all its emotional glory- remains.

Dr. R still hasn't called, the nerd. It's probably good as I'm inclined to say to him, "I don't feel like talking about this ever" when he does. Still, I thought he would have called by now. It's been days, and the ID is doctor-less.

I need to write the outlined version of what's actually been happening, even though I feel a little queasy thinking of it. I feel a little awkward also, partly because I love so many of the people who read this journal and to talk about the pains of missing other love seems meanly careless...and partly because I feel guilty talking about a person here without their permission. It's different to talk about my visits with Dr. R or something because I don't reveal anything about him. To talk about what's been going on I have to tell details of someone else's life, and that really doesn't sit well with me.

There's no balance when a girl quits all her paper journals.

So (1) I was feeling crazily alone on Wednesday. I had been feeling crazily alone for some time, in part because I'm so isolated, and in part because I'm separated from those that I love. I'd say that it's, on average, a very strong, very painful feeling for me, and every now and again it shoots up the scale to unbearable. Wednesday night it flew up there again, and I really couldn't take it anymore. For (what seems like) the first time, I really don't feel like I can face this issue. I don't feel like the alone-ness is something I can overcome, and that really scares me. I've literally been thinking about going back into behaviors within every *hour*; I used to go weeks without considering it. Anyway, I was feeling alone, I was feeling like relapsing, and it occurred to me that if I did relapse, I would go to the hospital, and even though that would suck I would have more people than I do now, and I just don't care anymore how I get them.

It was not a good moment, and it's been repeated several thousand times.

(2) I went upstairs, and since it was 6:00 or so, and I didn't feel like I could call anyone (Dr. R wouldn't answer of course, and I'd hate to interrupt dinners, etc), I took a piece of paper and sort of screamed stream-of-consciousness into it. Mostly it centered around my red-pain, and how much I want them back, et cetera. Not long into the process, Mom called upstairs to say she was going on a walk, which freed me to let the emotion loose; namely, I bawled. Lots of tears, lots of talking to people who weren't there, and so forth. Eventually, I had calmed down a little, and was feeling better from the release, and I realized that, I really couldn't take the Rogers-estrangement anymore. I really couldn't handle not talking to them, and as scared as I've been to call, that could not outweigh how badly I needed to do so. I went downstairs, got the phone, found their number, and went to work. My head said, "Wait. Think about this. Think about the consequences. There's a reason you haven't called them recently. Are you sure-" and I said, "Shut up. Dr. R says that my back-and-forth uncertainty is more painful than a decision, and I am making the decision right now to call."

(3) I did. I asked for their extension, and the phone started to ring, and I realized that really-and-truly in that office at that moment the phone was ringing and I was on the other end. Any moment, someone would pick up, and I would be talking, and if that was possible, they really were real. They really hadn't been a dream, and my inability to call them sometimes did not mean I would never speak to them again.

As it turned out no one answered. I called again fifteen or twenty minutes later, still to no avail. I was decidedly less upset about this than I would have suspected. As much as I wanted to talk with them, I was majorally healed just by dialing the phone. I plan to do it again soon. To talk to them soon. And then later, to talk seriously, about how we can deal with my needs.

I have needs. Voicing and meeting them is one reason that recovery blows relapse out of the proverbial water.

(4) I went back downstairs, feeling calmer, not certain if I was going to try and call again later or not, but calm in that uncertainty. I vegged for awhile, and then Sara called, and that was really wonderful. We talked, as always, for hours that weren't quite long enough.

(5a) Part of this was really really helpful. Talking to Sara is always a marvelous experience. She's a fabulous girl, she's a Rogers-kid, and she understands basically everything I say without me attempting to explain it. After we spoke, I felt a great deal more certain that I didn't want to relapse- because basically, if I did, I would not be able to *experience* any of the support that I would get. i.e. Yes, I can get sick and return to RED, but if I do I will have no ability to communicate with them and take in their love. When I regain that ability (if I survive long enough to do so- because honestly now, this is a lethal course) I would likely be discharged and have to deal with this (or not) all over again. And it's not like I would mind repeating the same course a thousand times, but it's really not the sickness I'm looking for, and maybe if I try, I can find another way to fill the needs. (Fuck. Well, maybe.)

Also, I felt lighter, like maybe I don't know everything in the world, and isn't that a blessing? I was really grateful that I don't have all the information because if I did have all the information, I would control the world, and since I don't, why on earth would I try to? I mean, who makes a decision without all the facts? I felt much safer knowing that I didn't have to fix everything. It didn't last long, but I haven't quite forgotten, yet.

(5b) Other parts, through no fault of either of ours, were really very hard. Sara was in the hospital for a couple of days, and may very well go back into residential. I'm glad that she's being taken care of- I couldn't bear to lose her; I absolutely COULD NOT- but it's still so difficult to know she's struggling. A lot of what's going on for her seems really good; there's a lot changing, and change can bring new hope, but it still makes me sad to know she's struggling. And I'm still terrified that even without the aid of paranoia, it's very realistic that any minute, one of my dearest ones could be gone (again)...I lose breath over that.

Of course, there is also the issue of if-Sara-goes-back-to-Rogers to deal with. The idea that she could, that she *might*, is just enough to crack me open a bit. I'm glad for her; I want her there if it's what she needs, I really do (why wouldn't I want a great girl in the world's best place)...but it's awful. She may be going *back* and I'm light years away. It's not even jealousy; it's pain. I don't want to take it away from her, I don't want to be her, I just want to be there *too.* It's not jealousy; it's need.

The other difficult part, which is what most of my non-can't-live-without-red crying was about, has to do with information she received the last time she called. (I told her about my attempt, and she offered to share her phone call with me.) This is the part where my throat closes up and everything in me goes numb and weak. This is the part where my stomach shoots upward and my head caves in. The part I can't imagine telling the doctor when he calls.

Jenna...

Jesus. Ok. Jenna, the girl who reinvented life for me, who I thought I had to give up because I couldn't take the pain of not hearing back when I called...was back in Rogers this summer. She was very sick, and according to staff, looked so bad, they weren't sure she'd survive. She was dead.

I can't explain my response to this image. I wanted to scream, "Stop! Wait! No!" but I had no voice. I was literally feeling like I might pass out or throw up, a response I only remember having a handful of times in my life- such as when I watched the rape scene in Boys Don't Cry. The idea of Jenna at that point was graphic to me, was soul-wrenching, and I wanted to die rather than watch her near that in my mind. I can't even begin to explain how much this hurts. Without even going into how it has affected me, a part of myself is suspended there, staying with the idea of her during that time. I can't leave it, and I can't determine why. I know she needed more than what she got the first time (I thought as much, actually, though I hoped I was wrong) and I know that she's supposedly better-than-ever now, but the idea of my-Jenna at that point just leaves me weak. I lose my footing, and there is no ground to fall to.

It's hard, too, because she isn't my Jenna, and in many ways she never was. Jenna and I had this amazingly marvelous connection, this spark that made me want to never be more than a centimeter from her, but it was a connection between vulnerabilities. As much as I adored her toughness and the way she could "take care of me" what I really loved was that bit of her behind it, the bit just out of reach. Unfortunately, it *was* out of reach, and I could never count on being able to access it. It killed me; I wanted to be the one who could get beyond her exterior to the Jenna visible behind it, and in many ways, I got closer than anyone else, but I never really reached it. It's part of that truth that makes writing here so hard. I still feel like exposing her will be a sin she can't forgive. They say she's a new person; I don't believe it. I bet she took down that toughness and was herself again. I bet she's more herself than I ever knew. And the scary thing is *I never knew that girl.* What will happen if I find her now? Will she still hate me? Will we love? Will we be strangers?

Not to mention the fact that Jenna-my-Jenna, who I spent months trying not to love and months learning I would never succeed, nearly died this summer and I had no idea. I was sitting around thinking she couldn't deal with me, completely unaware that she was dying. Is the world so fucking fragile? This is *Jenna*- how could I not know? My skin cells should have screamed out at her pain. My wiring is crossed with hers; somewhere there should have been a systematic shock that told me this. Where the fuck was intuition, and where the fuck was I?

If I find her now, will she let me in? We could be so amazing, I think, or would if I had any idea what we could be. And God, the possibility of Jenna-again, after having given up on it so many times; despite the lingering needs and wants and hopes, I no longer believed. This is in large part what sparked the "I have no idea about anything" relief. Not only did I have no idea that I would regain the possibility of knowing Jenna at this time, but I still (in the middle of it) have no idea why it's taken until now. I still don't know why the timing is the way it is.

I want it so much. I don't care what we are; I just want her. I just want her there, and God, can I even dare to dream?...a relationship with Jenna like was once impossible. Where I can make a move to hold her, and she'll nod and let it come...

Anyone who even graced my path at Rogers could call me forty years from now at two in the morning, and I would be there for them in ways I can't explain. This doesn't overshadow the fact that Jenna, like Sara, like others in the group, are something apart from that, something else. I am eternally connected to my Rogers-blood, but there are those that I was closer to. I care about them all desperately, but there are those I knew more deeply. I want Jenna back for more reasons than I miss Red. I want her back because I want to know the next time she has a hangnail; I want this to never happen again.

And is it crazy or am I also feeling like a fuckup for not needing to go back? Maybe it's just me, but I want so desperately to be there, and one of my illness' favorite mantras is, "You weren't really sick." I keep thinking, if I had really been sick, I wouldn't be doing what I am now; I would need them again, the way that Sara and Jenna need(ed) them. My illness must be less severe because I was saved so quickly. If I was really sick, I'd relapse. (Then again, people die before their first hospitalization, mere months into the disease, and I know this. I know that Tracy died after her first hospitalization, and the amount of treatment you've gotten is no gauge of how sick you are. I know that my ed is only part of my illness, and just because the parts I need help with now aren't the ones that insurance companies send a girl to Rogers for- as if insurance companies do *anything* for anyone- but I still wonder.) I want to prove I'm in pain. I want to prove I'm still sick, so I'll be taken care of. And I want to be sick in the way that gets me out of this hell and back in my home.

It has to mean something, other than I'm completely horrible, that I would go back into a deadly illness just to be with them. It has to mean something that even though I don't want the eating disorder back, I consider taking it on just to have them again. It must be worth something that I love them as desperately as that. At the same time, what they taught me keeps me from acting on it. I need a new way to fill the need, but I'm scared. If I try to develop relationships with these people outside of Rogers and it's never as good as what I had, how will I deal with having given it up? If I ask them to be in my life, and more than most say no, what will I do? And how the hell do I find everyone who is so scattered and so gone?

I can't create a life here (or anywhere) until I have what I need of that place. I can't create something "like Rogers" until I have a substantial amount of contact with Rogers itself. I can't replace it until I know I'm not doing so. I won't find somewhere new until I have my old again.

I want to go home. I know I can work to be at home here, or in Mass., or wherever I end up, but I need them first. I need my family again.

I'm going to ask Sara for the addresses she has, and I'm going to do everything I can to reach for people. I need to ask the doctor how I do this without being cruel to them. How do I be honest, ("I need you in my life; please please please please respond") without pressuring them into something? I don't want anyone to feel obligated but if they don't feel obligated, I may never hear from them again.

Imagine you and a handful of very close relatives that you cared deeply for were put through a traumatic experience, revived, and then scattered about the world, perhaps never to see each other again. Imagine that 90-some percent of the people you care for were always in peril, and you had no way of knowing when/how/where or how you could respond. Imagine that no one you loved and felt safe with lived near enough to hug you on a whim.

I make no non-long-distance calls.

Summary: I have been feeling alone- because I am isolated, because I am separated from those I love, and because I am not peaceful in myself to feel companionship there. I want to create home, but to do that, I must feel that my family is safe and secure- that I am not making something new to replace them. I miss Rogers desperately, and if I don't keep in touch with those people, I will not be ok. I need to ask Sara for numbers, I need to call again, and I need to eventually talk with them about the needs. Mainly, I need to have them in my life. I also need (and this is not so much on them) to somehow not relapse in the next few days (I think) and to create a home.

Also, the pain of the world is too much. The pain of those I love is too much. The idea that Sara's struggling, that I almost lost Jenna (the whole Jenna idea in general), is overwhelming. Explain to me why when I'm crying over all the hell this illness causes (and yes *it* does cause some- because even though the disorders come about for a reason, it's the disorder that kills a girl before she can deal with those reasons; it's the disorder that leaves us trapped or grieving or whatever else) I'm longing to return to it. I don't want to be sick again; I just want the pain to stop.

Translation: I need help surviving this week. Do you think it would be crazy/ riskful to ask Dr. R for 2x/week appointments for awhile? If he can't do them, will he hate me for asking? Will I hate me?

There are too many people in too big a world. I don't know how to do all this. And still, I love you.

chord

�

previous - next

�