all right now, I am so going to cry. but that doesn't tell you much, does it...
this week is insane. at least, I prefer to think it's the week that's insane and not me. OY. my mom starts her new job Monday after finishing her old job Saturday. (see, she's smart that way and took a week of vacation.) I thought going into it that I'd probably end up pretty frustrated a few times with having her around so much, but actually that hasn't been a big problem. having her here again has hugely opened up my going-out opportunities, since she can drive and generally, I can do things with her that I can't yet do alone. so I guess that's been nice. even if tomorrow is Friday, and I have not yet had one day in which I didn't go out... I'm not positive, but I'm *almost* certain that's unprecedented. it has its pros, of course, but I won't pretend there's not some extra strain. Monday I met her friend Stephen - the one whose dying my hair tomorrow - at his workplace, in the mall, before going to my session. Tuesday, we went on errands all over the fucking world. (In stores that barrel into you the moment you step inside. LIGHT! COLOR! PRODUCTS! PEOPLE! AHHHH!) And yesterday? We went clothes shopping. Another mall, which left me in tears at one point - in tears in this children's play-section - which was deserted at first. But then some really darling kids came up, and I told my mom we had to move. All I could think of was being with Sara at Dwight's Magic Kingdom playground, crying with her, and the little girl on the swing who asked us what was wrong. Telling that little girl about our friend whom we missed so much, who died of a really bad disease... Kids notice, and I know this. I couldn't just sit there and cry with them playing and wondering. I wanted them to be ok; I wanted *them* to be happy... And anyway, I wanted to get moving.
It's a different kind of hard to be consistently beaten over the head by my anxiety disorder because I *am* out... It's one thing to be trapped in this apartment and shrieking about how I'm never going to get out of here. But to *be* out, surrounded by people who can effortlessly do things I can barely manage, to be beaten up so badly for reasons that aren't reasons, because I have an anxiety disorder... it's just a different brand of torture. Not worse. Not better. Torture.
Anyway, I was trying to buy clothes seeing as I've grown out of nearly everything I own. I've gotten really tired of trying to determine whether the clothes are too small or I am too big, etc. So, we walked around for a long while, and it got to be really bad (my mom chose the mall after I told her I didn't care; in the future, I will care - the mall is far harder than other options) ... and then we left, found another store, and I bought a few things. I have to say it's nice wearing them. I knew that the clothes were the problem, but it's still a huge relief to find they fit. If I don't have to struggle to get dressed, it's easier not to obsess about it... but anyway, I'm boring myself. Well, more than that, I feel a little stupid for having been so upset by all of this. Shame. I felt like I was out on pass (from Rogers) - everything was so hard and I just wanted to go back - but then eventually, I pulled through and that was new. I'm used to going home when the anxiety's still really high; I'm not used to staying out and having things get better. Normally, staying out and things getting better don't coincide.
My mom just came in here to explain to me where she was for the past twenty minutes, during which I hadn't even opened my bedroom door or noticed she was 'missing.' On top of which - she was just outside, on our little back-decky-thing, which is, y'know, a place I'd look for her. Why does she think I was searching for her? And why does she think I wouldn't be able to find her in an apartment the size of ...well, an apartment - or, if she really had gone somewhere, to call her cel and figure out where? It's just annoying to me. Because she knocked and came in before I answered, and I know she caught herself, but that's the sort of thing I hate. Because twenty minutes ago, she wanted to talk to me, and we walked into my room, and she talked, and I talked, and when we were finished I said (rather placidly, as I would a joke - except I meant it), "Get out." And she did. And *twenty minutes* passed before she felt the need to check in? What the fuck?
I feel weird. I am so overcome with emotion; I am so ready to cry and scream, and I know it's right under the surface, but I guess I'm too busy going over the what-actually-happened's of everything to just feel it. So much has gone on that detailing it takes forever, and until I detail it, I feel like my head is spinning, and I can't get to any feeling beyond that.
My dad's birthday was yesterday. I got to call him, which was pretty horrendous. I love my dad, and I miss my dad, and of all the horrible things to say - I *pity* my dad. But I cannot stand to talk to him when he's not ok, and he wasn't ok yesterday. For the very seem reasons I wasn't ok going to his birthday party Sunday: because it's shoving the reality of things, of what's changed, under our noses, and we don't like to look at it. He wasn't really psyched about 'the party.' From what I've gathered, it wasn't so much a party as the same get-together they have every weekend, with my brother, a cake, and the song Happy Birthday added to the mix. I felt for him... and then I started talking about the party this weekend, and he had no idea what I was saying. He knows Joe's coming in, and that was all he told me. Not knowing if Dale's visit was a surprise, I didn't say much else, but I told him I'd been planning to get a ride out if something did happen. At this point, plans are being made and avoided so ridiculously (by which I mean, I'm hearing "this is the plan set in stone without consulting you" and "I haven't decided if I'm even going to do anything with them this weekend" simultaneously) I really no longer care. I care in terms of the whole thing *hurts* - but not in terms of I'm still willing to make an effort to go. Screw that. I'm feeling a bit left-out, even though I heard from my mom that Joe was excited to hear I might be there... I guess because different combinations of my bros and dad have done things recently, and I haven't been a part of it. (By their choice or mine.) I suppose it makes it even harder that, even if I were to go, I'd still be hanging out with the guys. Just by default. My mom's never going to be at one of these get-togethers, and my sister's so far away. That's who I want right now, my sister. She spent six years with only brothers, needing a sister, asking for a sister, and I know why. As much as I enjoy genderfucking, that sort of thing can matter. And what's more I just want Sarah, my Sarah. I miss her. And it's not in New York I miss her; how's that for weird? I miss her here in my room, on my bed, talking to me. I miss her on college breaks and visits back and when she still lived where I lived. I've meant to call her all week, but I guess it's pretty obvious how things got away from me. ...I wonder if she ever misses me like this.
And I guess maybe I also miss her because Chas is married. which probably doesn't make any sense, having only said that much. but I was thinking the other night when I got this e-mail from Chas with her new last name, and I was going back and forth between "it's not so bad - same amount of syllables and some of the same sounds as her name before, and the name I call her by hasn't changed - hell, that's easier than when I graduated eighth grade and had to learn to call her Chas!" and "HE MADE her change her name. She had to do it becauseof HIM." lovely, yes? so I reminded myself that it's not like that, she makes her own choices, she loves him, they're married, (that last one doesn't help so much, but you know, it's important; they are going to make decisions together, and I need to know that) and then I remembered how hard it was to 'lose' Sarah when she met Steve. and I didn't really lose her, obviously. They aren't even engaged, but that's really more a sign of where they're at right now in terms of what works for them and what they need than the importance of the relationship. I don't see Steve going anywhere, and I'm glad - I like him, I've gotten to know him and like him, something I don't have with Chas's husband... and I understand that. But I just got to remembering what it was like the first time Sarah left halfway through Thanksgiving. I cried. Do you believe that? Oh, why wouldn't you... The first time she split her Christmas time between our celebrations and his family's. Now, she lives in NY; she doesn't get home for every holiday, and they both do less of the formal going-to-visit-the-other's-family when they *are* in... but back then... it was hard enough for me that I didn't see her on her birthday. Sometimes I wish I hadn't adjusted to all this. But that's good, right? I mean, there is good in that. Because I've needed space from Sarah for years now and if I'm feeling this really strong desire to have her back again, then I can probably do that, and have a better relationship with her, soon...
In the meantime, if she or Sara or Steph or Stacy or Karen or Brea or Shan or Beth or you could teleport onto my bed, I'd really appreciate it. I need a hug that's not from my mommy.
My mom... starts her new job on Monday. I mentioned that. There's a catch. My mom's new job is not flexible the way her previous ones were, and she can't take me to my appointments. So, all of a sudden, I'm learning how to ride the shuttle buses. (Major plus of living five seconds away from the college: free shuttle buses to freaking everywhere.) But of course, the major plus of it is not what I'm focused on... I'm focused on the fact that I have to do this, myself, on Monday. Twice. And again on Friday. We were going to go to the library today, and while we were talking about the shuttle right to the library (opposite direction of the doctor) I started looking at the map, and I told her I wanted to actually go the route I'll need to go Monday before Monday. so we decided we'd do that first and the library second. unfortunately, we ended up having what someone like my mom can call an "adventure" and someone like I can only call Hell, In Bus Form. basically, we had the exactly right idea, with one piece of confusion about timing, but were given bad information by a few people so that we ended up thinking we were way more confused than we actually were, and taking about a zillion hours to get home again. I was so shut down at one point, I thought I was going to break. I wasn't speaking audibly, I wasn't listening to my mom (I made this clear to her; even if I could have taken in what she was saying, on top of the surplus that is the *reason* I shut down - I'll associate all information with the anxiety, and so it's better if she explains it to me *later*...or realizes that I don't need it explained to me. I'm not an idiot, I've just never done this before. I'm not incompetant; I just have an anxiety disorder. OK?)
so it was bad. I was pissed and scared and depressed and I couldn't fucking get back here, which was all I wanted to do. I told her early on that we were going to have to do this more than once; I'm thinking every day with the possible exception of tomorrow. (oh, yeah. tomorrow - the day I could have had a *real* practice run because I actually see the doctor and she hasn't started working? I can't. because you know I'm getting my hair dyed. and no, for some reason, I didn't feel like rescheduling that.) it's just so hard. I don't understand why it had to be so hard. we got on the first shuttle and sat down, and I saw that the bus driver wasn't going to scream at me for identification and/or money. I recognized how to signal for a stop; I was nervous but ok... I was thinking about how soon the fact that this was difficult will seem strange to me. (Good thought.) and then everything was messed up, everything was changing. one of the things I can't stand in a social situation is to not know what I'm doing. I'm not capable of someone else seeing that I don't know what I'm doing. so, for instance, whenever my mom asked someone a question - I walked five or ten paces away. she said to me later that she wished she'd thought to do it once on her own before taking me, and while half of me answered, "yeah, I already wished that an hour ago" - the other part busied itself hating that we'd even think of such a thing. I mean, here I am practicing catching a bus (which I know is a big deal, and I know I should give myself credit for, but I've veered into the "no! everyone else can do it so beat yourself up, even if the circumstances are different for you!" lane) and it's such an awful experience that my mom and I are both wishing she'd had it all figured out before me. What the fuck? It's a bus. I went from thinking about my successful transportation experiences - like taking the subway by myself and such - to blanking out entirely, to thinking about all the bus-related trauma I've been through... Bus-related trauma? Oh, yes. I'd forgotten most of it, but there actually are reasons for nearly all of my phobias. justifiably crazy. whoo.
there are some good things. comforting things, beyond the fact that I'm doing this several more times before I go on Monday. first, the drivers are really nice and not like the people in my nightmares/ history and if I get the same ones a few times, (which I gather is likely) it's possible *they'll* know my route by Monday. when I come back from the doctor, back to the apartment, there are four or so stops I can get off at... so, if I miss one or something, I'm fine. and if I'm a little freaked, I can hope that someone requests one of the first three stops, get off when they do, and only have to request the stop if we get down to the last one. also, I know where the stop after mine is, and I know how to get home from it, too. so even if the driver, say, doesn't realize I've requested a stop (it already happened, on the way back - I didn't expect him to hear me, so I pulled the cord-thingy- the safe bet, you know- and he didn't catch that.) what else? I know there's more. well, there's the fact that the doctor is always, always, always running late. so I don't have to freak if the buses are a little behind. and the fact that the one little transfer dealie takes place at easy walking distance from his office, so if the second bus - which runs less often, especially since school isn't officially back in session yet - doesn't seem to be coming and it's getting close to time, I can hightail it on foot and get there anxious, sweaty, and just a few minutes late. but the bus should come. also, it sounds like the doctor talked with my mom about setting up back-up appointments Monday and Friday, so that if something happens - like I freak and can't go, or there's some external problem that keeps me from getting there - I won't miss my appointment. (and why can't I just see him at the other times and skip the bus thing? I. don't. know. in the long term, it's good to be learning. but I didn't expect to have to learn to do this on my own in four days. oy.) one of the biggest comforts is an across-the-board recovery security-blanket: I don't need to do it without being afraid. I just need to do it.
oh, and... there's the following rather random coolness: the doctor refers to our work in terms of school occasionally; I'm getting my masters or doctorate depending on which he chooses to say on a given day. I'm taking the university buses. and the two lines I take are indeed my (Hogwarts) house colors: gold and red. that bit of happiness reminds me of all the 'good signs' I used to come up with before seeing a new therapist. granted, half of them were still total nuts, but I have my dorkish happy-thought nonetheless.
and I did eventually calm down enough to notice that I will have a whole new life, in terms of possibility, with these buses. my "can't go anywhere but the pool" status will be washed away immediately. after I get comfortable with it, I'll be able to go to my doctor's appointments (ok, I'll be doing that before I'm comfortable with it, but hell if I got through twelve first-days-of-school - and it is twelve, I went to pre-school and kindergarten - anything is possible) and other places that I can handle now but couldn't *get to* on my own. an example being the library. squee. plus, there are all of these places I can potentially learn how to be at, and then use the buses to actually do so. lots of errands I can learn how to run... just seeing that (even though I didn't mention a word about it and explained to my mom that I preferred she not mention it either) helped me understand something the doctor was trying to get across Monday: that adulthood doesn't happen suddenly. I'm not going to be expected to do all these things at once. I'm supposed to learn them; there's a sequence. (it's a "process.") I think I saw that for the first time today, when I realized there are stepping stones where I couldn't find them, stepping stones between going to the pool and living on my own. it was a huge relief to me (short-term, it's terrifying; long term, it's a relief) to see that. I feel like I did the first time I took an exam in D!@#$%^. I remember turning the page over again and again, looking at it, working on it, and finally saying, "Is this it? This is all there is? ...And everything on it is something we actually studied?"
over and over again, the doctor tells me the world does not work like Neverland. over and over again, I'm surprised.
there's more: "is your daughter's homosexuality fueling her eating disorder?" and other screwy headlines. there's the realization that, holy mother of Mabel, I'm actually not shy. I'm not shy! I have an anxiety disorder. and I just couldn't get over that today. I'm a people person; I just never could be. and all these "silly sightless people" thought I was shy, but damnit I'm not. I just have this disorder, and I get to learn how to deal with it, fix it with meds and tools and practice runs and then - squee - I will *not* be in a position to be called Mouse.
Mouse = the girl with glasses and "mousy" brown hair who is often nervous and doesn't talk a good deal. Today was my last day of having brown hair, of having only had brown hair. I'm learning how to deal with life so that I'm nervous less and better equipped to deal with it when I am. I can't stop talking, anxiety aside; ask anyone who actually knows me. And the glasses I like. So there. Mary Brave wears glasses, too. Funny how I didn't change my name based on that movie; yet the girl in the movie went from being Mouse to "Mary Brave." I put it in quotation marks for her because it's her name fictionally; it's mine for real. And I was never really called Mouse, although people did try it a few times; it didn't take. Tomorrow, I'll be a natural blue.
hee. so what if it's a lie? we've clarified that I'm basing my future on quiz results and what Finding Nemo character am I? DORY.
I know today was good in the long run, but I want it to go a little more smoothly for the next three days, please. I know this is a good thing, but damnit, it's sudden, and it's fast, and I'd just appreciate it if, when Monday comes, I were to feel more like "I'm going to do something hard" and less along the lines of "I'm so going to die."
DUDE. baby steps onto the bus! oh, I can so do this. *and* - blue hair, blue hair, blue hair!!! ...tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll have blue hair tomorrow, it's only a day away... (actually it's roughly seventeen hours.) I made a vow when I was nine or so that I would never dye my hair. I look forward to breaking it!
~me