I really want this to be a message on the doctor's answering machine...but...I have no idea whether or not that'd be the right move. I don't even want to be concerned with moves, with watching my step; I hate the idea of that. I'm even concerned about how I write it out here. I don't want to blow over everything that was painful, but I don't want to whine, and I don't want to be pessimistic, and I don't want to prove right any of the things he said which really annoyed me, and I don't want to act like I don't realize how good this will be eventually. I'm really close to knowing just how good I have it, honestly. even when I sink down and mope awhile.
I don't want to mope right now. Mainly, I want to tell him I'm sorry. Sorry? Why am I sorry? What the hell did I do wrong? I know damn well he does not want me to be sorry for being angry or for talking to him about it; he told me as much, and he's told me as much a million times before. I think I'm sorry because of the meds. Because I screwed up, and if I'd been responsible and not screwed up (why, why, why didn't I get that perfect gene?) then a lot of this wouldn't have happened. Or be happening. Or whatever. Here's the story: the fact that he doesn't call back anymore when I page him (or when my mom does) has to do with the fact that we've been paging him so often. You may remember this being my biggest fear in the entire world...back in the days when I forced myself to call him, and he called right back, and I told him a zillion times I was sorry for bothering him, and I didn't want to use more than my share and - blah, blah, blah - I did. Because I haven't paid attention to my fucking meds, and I keep running out, and when the pharmacy refuses to refill it without doctor's approval and refuses to call him because it's the weekend (and as they know, as I know, and as he explained to me today) - he needs time for other things. I hate that he said that to me. That he needs time to think and time for self-care... doesn't he remember that I spent, like, two years unable to call him because I was so worried about his space? This thing with the meds just happened, and yes, I could have prevented it... and I could have stopped it from happening after the first time, instead of letting it happen over and over again. I'm scatterbrained about things like this, and if I'd known what a problem it was, I would have dealt with it sooner. Really. I would have. Maybe I was just supposed to know, just be on top of my relationships and the needs of people in those relationships to know... but I didn't. When I started to feel really awful about how often we were calling him, I wrote it off as that same "can't bother him" freaked-energy that I've had for three years. Over things he was always telling me not to worry about. Or to let him worry about. Why didn't he just tell me it was a problem? I just needed the extra shove to fix it; I don't know why. I don't know why I wasn't on top of that, and I'm sorry, but I'm on top of it now. I took an empty pill bottle and put two days' worth of each of my meds inside, so that when I appear to run out of a med, I'll actually have two days' worth to hold me over in case there's a problem refilling it. Voila. Empty med containers sneak up on me, no problemo. ...So why do I still feel like shit?
If he had just told me... If you had just told me, I would have fixed it. And now how do I know that I wasn't right? Because see you do need time for yourself, and I knew that, and that's why I was afraid to call you, and see - I did end up calling too much. And in case we want to approach true irony, let me just add that when he quit returning my calls, I quit calling him when things were rough. Because I didn't want the extra pain of not hearing back from him. So the only calls he got were the ones that kept him from calling me when I actually needed him. Beautiful.
And I'm scared to leave a message on his voicemail because I'm scared that's just like paging him and if I do it too often, it's a bad thing. I'm so confused. I thought people were supposed to *tell you* when you overstepped their boundaries; I don't know how to just intuit them. And now he's not calling my mom either because she's the one who always calls on my behalf and... I feel so guilty about that. She's really not ok, she hasn't been for days, and he's not calling her because of me. I don't know what to do.
I'M SORRY... why couldn't he have just told me when it started? Dude, my head is so against me right now. And there's that little bit of self-defined anger that's so not in tune with the rest of my brain, repeating over and over again that if he'd just let me know, I could have fixed it. Why did he shut me out without giving me the chance to fix it?
He told me the other reason he needs to go away sometimes is because it's part of how our relationships progresses in a way that teaches me self-reliance. I learn that sometimes I have to get through it on my own. I honestly wanted to hit him when he said that. (Do you have any idea how much it hurts to want to hit him? Do you have any idea how scary it is to have one of the *two* adults you can go to, one of the two people in your life that you can count on, say something that leaves you THIS angry?) Self-fucking-reliance? Is he serious? I am self-reliant. I know self-reliance. I have self-reliance. The only way I could be more self-reliant right now is if I were to do everything by myself, which - if I recall - he wants me to know I don't have to do. He wants me to know that I don't have to do it all alone, that my life shouldn't have been like that before, and that my adult life doesn't have to be that way - but he's telling me he doesn't call so I'll learn self-reliance. What did I do in D!@#$%^, exactly? What have I done here? What have I done all those nights I was too scared he wouldn't return the page to try and call him? What am I doing when I write little dialogues between the voices in my head, when I use everything I learned at Rogers and in therapy to deal with my day-to-day life, the one no one is around for... what is that except self-reliance? The only change I foresee regarding my ability to be self-reliant is that I'll have more and more self to rely on... i.e. I will learn things and gain independence and not need other people for as many things as I do now. But in terms of emotional support... is he serious? Did he honestly mean that? - because I don't see how he could. Because it fucking hurts if he did.
It "fucking hurts" anyway.
Self-reliance, meds... What else was there? We talked about how I feel like an ingrate when I start complaining; I told him after I left the message he didn't get (too bad nobody took me up on my bet) I heard Dave in my head. Unfortunately, not all the things embedded in my head are helpful. This particular Dave line is, "Are you trying to make me feel guilty?" - originally asked when I told him I'd rather die than go to Dittmer. When I got off the phone last night, I felt like I'd just been trying to make him feel guilty. Or at least, a part of me was yelling at another part of me over the possibility. I told him how it makes everything harder; it makes moving forward so much more difficult... because if he's not here... I count on him and I count on my mom (off-line, I mean) and when he subtracts himself from the equation, I freak. I told him about believing that he won't leave, but wondering if what we've had lately counts as him staying here. (How if it does, it's not much better than if he planned to leave.) We talked about how there's a difference between a series of weird events that leave appointments sparratic, etc and a decision to see less of me (all the messages I'm interpreting from that - the "I don't matter", "I'm alone" blah-blah-blah-ness) or to be around less. I told him a decision would be easier than just randomly not being around. We debated about the debate. I held that it was a frivolous reason to cancel an appointment, especially considering how rarely we'd seen each other lately, and that- if he'd felt like these appointments matter- he would have found another solution. He said in retrospect, it might not have been the best decision.
I forgot about Monday and Tuesday, before the cancellation, (or was it two weeks ago Monday?) when I was freaking out thinking he was getting really sick again. It came back to me just a few minutes ago, when my mom was telling me about this nightmare she had (and freaking me out because that's waaaay too easy at the moment) - and I got all terrified thinking, "What if something happens to him now, and the last conversation we had was this awful one?" ...I know it's productive to work through this, and I know that's what he wants to do, but we weren't exactly clicking along, and as much as I honestly do believe he's not going to leave me, I am apparently still scared as fuck that he is going to die. Post-doctor-in-critical-condition-for-over-a-month-stress-disorder. PDICCFOAMSD. I need to tell him about that. And the people disappearing... aiy. But mostly I know he'll stay, unless it's not up to him. And if it's not up to him, I really think I'm screwed. Because I'm not self-reliant yet. I'm only as far along as I am, and I feel like I should be further (self-reliant-further)... but I'm always going to need people, and right now I need him.
Ok, so... discussion topics for Viernes, numero uno: Definition of self-reliance. Confusion of independence with not asking for help. Thinking he doesn't want me to ask for help anymore because I'm supposed to rely on myself.
Numero Dos: Seriously pissed off by the term "self-reliant" and the implication that I am not, or am less than I will be, for any reason other than I don't yet have enough self to rely on. (i.e. to whatever extent I am not self-reliant, it has nothing to do with me asking for help too often and leaning on other people too much. when do I ask for help, damnit? when?)
Numero Tres: I'm still scared he's going to die. I really don't think he'll leave otherwise, but I really consider this a strong possibility - given what's happened. ...And I do think stupid things like he's probably sick of me and doesn't want to talk to me anymore, even though I don't believe he's engineering any of this to try and get me to go away.
Numero Quatro: I fixed the med thing. I think. I solved it while I was sitting in his office, and I did it when I got 'home'. Why the hell couldn't he have told me this? Was this something I needed to know on my own? Did I drop a ball here or should he have given me a heads-up?
Numero Cinco: I really need to trust this/us again. Because when I don't, the already bleak "there's nobody in my life right now" picture (offline, sweethearts) becomes basically unbearably so. And I start thinking things like what I told him in the message he hadn't gotten... like my best bet is just to get sick again, go back into residential, take in the care I can get there, until I eventually die.
And I want to cry at the fact that I'm not crying the second I type that. That *scares* me. It's a bad, bad idea. It is not a plan I'm approving, so why do I just type it out like it's perfectly normal. I will not put up with my friends' plans to die, and I will not put up with any of my own. Godd, I'm really very tired from all this.
Ok. I think that's everything I know on the subject as of now. I only have to remember three-and-a-half more days' worth (plus everything that's backed up behind this "empathic failure" - including important good things like what he thinks of me actually inviting Sara down and committing to a certain other really good, I-want-to-do-this thing)... Whee. I'm exhausted. Exhausted with the whole week left to pummel me. Exhausted with a whole week ahead to rest. Somebody add those together, divide by two, and fill me in on the happy medium.
Oh, and... if you twist your ankle, do not walk on it until you've successfully exacerbated the injury to a sprain. And certainly if you manage to sprain it, don't continue walking on it, making only a vague show at limping or hopping here and there. And for Godd's sake, when you're walking across the part of the campus that is all ripped up with trenches and holes, do not forget - yet again - to watch where you're walking and stumble into one of said trenches, landing roughly on your ankle - with the aforementioned sprained foot on its side. It's really quite painful.
And yes, the trenches are literal now. I'd say Godd's poetic, but he's far too amused by his art. Godd's into dark comedy, methinks. Or maybe he's busy concerning himself with keeping the people I love alive and getting The Shrub out of office, and simply expects to pay attention when I walk on my own. I'm almost twenty; perhaps he thought I could be trusted with walking.
Say one damn word about self-reliance, and I swear to Spud...
Right then. Bed now. Return to your other, non-threatening online activities. Meow.
~me