alright, I'm going to attempt an actual entry here. we'll see whether or not anything comes of that effort. I think the last time I wrote something at all detailed I was just coming off of that impressively bad session with the doctor, during which he managed to sincerely piss me off without at all wanting to do so. listen at me (as my grandma would say) - I'm trying to recap... as much for my own benefit as anyone else's. the truth is I don't remember everything that's gone on since then, and trying to remember it all (even if it were all engaging and worth reading about, which it isn't) keeps me from just picking up again and saying what I do know. so. what I remember - however incorrectly - is that I had a rotten appointment with the doctor, followed by *another* missed appointment, which gave me time to remember that we're both fallible human beings engaging in (at that particular instance, mis)communication, and start to see some of the grey in what had been the black and white of his oh-so-unacceptable behavior. so I went into the next appointment with good intentions; (this was... a week ago, Monday?) however, by that point the inability to communicate with anyone about anything related to myself or my life had settled in, and although I expected the appointment to help us work our way back toward our usual groove, it went really poorly. the main bummer (other than how completely frustrating it is to be sitting with someone who can help you, who you have limited time with, and not being able to activate your vocal cords) had to do with my eventual attempt at communication. I basically found myself unable to tell him about where my thinking was or how that was making me feel (which we all know is the cornerstone of the therapeutic process) ... and where I would normally say something akin to, "I have thoughts like 'blah-blah-negativity-blah' and I need help challenging them" I felt too pissed off to articulate that. I was pissed off at the idea of working at things, at the idea of sharing with him, coming up with practical plans of attack, challenging thoughts and behaviors; the whole idea of this 'process' just pissed me off, considering how long I've been working at it, and how completely rotten I felt despite that effort. (I was, of course, temporarily blind to all progress I've made.) unable to engage in my normal, cooperative exchange with him, I settled for the only alternative I could find to not talking (which I knew would leave me in absolute anguish afterward; I was already so mad at myself ten or twenty minutes into the appointment) - basically, I decided to go into the feelings and thoughts that I "know better than" - and I started advocating the beliefs that I don't want to feel, for the sake of having stated them and hearing what he had to say in response. this was pretty normal behavior for me when I was very sick: consciously or unconsciously, I would say things almost exclusively to hear people disclaim them. being such a staple of my sick-self-world, I hate to do it now. but sometimes you've got shit on one hand and crap in the other... and this, figuratively speaking (thank godd) was, I guess, just one of those times.
so I did a lot of bitching about how I wasn't going out, wasn't able to go out, was once again completely incapable of doing anything, or playing an at-all active role in society. he did his part to remind me that this isn't a linear journey, I countered that it's circular and I just end up in the same place again and again - sure, I may not continue to feel awful, but I won't continue to feel well either...eventually I'll be back here for the zillionth time... I said it was circular, he asked what a circle was, and I said a line with no end. which seemed fantastically cynical; I was proud of how easily I'd played off that set-up. but he asked what specifically was circular, and I talked about ending up back in this spot where I feel so awful, at which point real emotion (other than frustration) surfaced... which helped move things along. he continued to praise my progress, said it's cyclical but not circular, - it may be a spiral but I am moving forward - and that it just takes a long fucking time. he said therapy's difficult when it's consistent, and our appointments have been really scattered. he added that he'd be gone this entire week, "next week" at that point. I put my head in my hands and withdrew at that point. there was no fucking point, if he was going to be gone yet again next (this) week. on the up-side, it did push me over the edge to where I started giving him hell for not being available and for cancelling. which means I got some of the bad stuff out. still, I left feeling significantly less than perky.
over the next few days, my mood - for no reason I can identify, other than the fact that, pissed at my "regression" I started to go out again, improved slightly. I still felt awful, but I didn't feel worse than I had, and since lately things seemed to consistently get worse, I took that as some improvement. I did first-time out-on-my-own city explorations Tuesday and Wednesday, and then Thursday I folded again - didn't go outside and had a really crappy day. still, I was psyched about the achievements of Tuesday and Wednesday. (it's funny, I still can't say what I did. I mentioned Friday that there had been things, and he asked what, but didn't press when I went all goofy and said I didn't want to tell. it makes me more nervous to have people know what I'm trying. I prefer to celebrate after the fact, and I suppose since logistical bus-bullshit kept me from reaching my original goal, I feel like I'm still working toward the same thing. so. telling waits.)
Friday. oh, Friday was an interesting (loooooong-ass) day. my mom was off but helping out a friend who was having some outpatient surgery done, and so I went to the appointment by bus. this meant leaving quite a bit earlier than I would otherwise have to do, and since I caught the earlier buses (the luck of the draw) I was already at his office by 2:30. (appointment at 3.) I'd left so early that I didn't receive the phone call from his receptionist telling me that - although he was *not* cancelling (may all the godds of all the universes bless him for that) - he'd hit traffic *and* gotten a flat tire, so his ETA at this point was 4:30. I'd spent the half-hour before three reading in the park across the street, so I found out just before three. I went into the waiting room next door... it's all loungey, and more importantly, it does not have crappy music playing. I finished The Powerbook (and by the way, Jeanette Winterson is so the lady to my serf - serious wow) which did kill pretty much the rest of my wait-time, the only drawback being that I spent two hours reading in pretty much total silence. reading, you may realize, is a rather internalized activity. the act of reading isn't so romantic as to make me say I "go somewhere else" - or that the world around me falls away - but my focus on the world around me completely disappears. (in fact, although I almost always take a book with me when I ride the bus these days - I've jokingly referred to it as my Rory, adding that if I get nervous, the mysterious "girl with book" identity works as a helpful security blanket - I've quit reading several times because I want to take in the fact that I'm out, among people, etc.) basically, all that happens when I spend a block of time reading, pretty much without interruption, and definitely without external stimulation, I'm just entirely focused inward. technically, I am externally active - my eyes are scanning a page. but I'm not really seeing words on a page. I'm seeing the images scanning across as fast as the words come, and because this is Jeanette Winterson, I am becoming thoroughly saturated with them. (by the time I was finished, I felt weighed down. that is some hard-core, heavy brilliance.)
so going into the appointment Friday, I was basically hugely excited just to be sitting in the same room with another person - and what a bonus to have that person interested/ engaged in me. sweet, you know? so, of course, I still had trouble talking. we ended up taking a sort of random, whimsical track where I talked about pretty low-stakes things. he did ask me if there was anything I'd regret not talking to him about, and I told him that - although there was definitely a lot we could talk about, nothing really jumped out at me. except that we'd pushed some practical discussions, in which I wanted his input, to back burners as he got sick and I started to struggle more. I wasn't sure I really wanted to talk about those things either, but we did discuss one of them (again with the mystery - bah) and ultimately what he said to me made sense. we are moving back to our normal dynamic, and I'm honestly glad that he's taking a week off to rest. he explained to me when I started yelling at him about leaving again that he wasn't actually going anywhere. (my argument: you're going somewhere, first of all. so you'll be gone. and then when you get back from being gone, you'll get sick - because you always get sick when you come back from somewhere. and then... it's getting to be winter... and last year... etc.) he's been working really hard with everything that backed up while he was sick, and that's taken more out of him, so he's taking more time off to recouperate. it kind of sounds like a vicious cycle, not to mention an illogical course of action (you're struggling because you're backed up from taking time off, so you're taking more time off?) - but it's so uncharacteristic of him that it really does make sense. he's gotten people back to a point they can hold, and now he needs to take care of himself. which is good with me. my mom has a theory that lots of people are watching him rather closely; as he explained to me, his system is still more vulnerable to illness because of what happened to him last year... so I think that's probably right. no one's taking any chances, and considering how much I rely on him, I'm very, very glad.
after that appointment, I sweet-talked the doorman into letting me use a phone to call my mom for a ride (it was after six by this point, and one of the hurdles I haven't leapt over yet is being out on my own in the dark) ... I didn't really sweet-talk the doorman; I mainly put myself at his mercy. you know those situations where you ask someone for something, and they act like they can't really give it to you, just so that you'll pay them extra homage when they give into the very simple request? totally an example of that. but, to redeem my faith in people, while I was waiting for my mom, a woman passed, walking her dog... and I smiled at the two of them. I watched as they moved away from me down the sidewalk, and noticed that- when she moved to go one way and the dog moved to take the other, she took a few steps back and went with the dog instead of pulling him over with her. I thought that was really good of her; I mean, this is probably the highlight of the pup's day, you know? anyway, they ended up turning around and coming back past me, and since by this time I'd met her eyes a few times and she'd seen me smiling at the dog, I said something like, "Such a cutie" to the pup, and she allowed the doggy to have enough slack to come visit me. oh, those doggy eyes. she was such a sweet little dog; I can't even tell you. I was petting her and she was treating me like family - aw! it was adorable. the woman said, "She loves people. With all her heart" and I wanted to say - "I can tell! and hey - me, too!" but I just nodded, noted that the way the woman spoke about the dog she was probably pretty relational herself, and said something similar to, "She's so *sweet*..." eventually, I stood back up and the dog went back to her four-footed position, when this amazing woman took the time to ask me if I was waiting for the bus. I told her I had actually missed my bus (true) and was waiting for a ride. she said, "oh, it'll come then... it'll come. is it a WashU bus?" I told her, yeah, that had been what I was waiting for, but said again that I'd called for a ride. I told her that "a friend" was coming - which is kind of ridiculous, but I just really like to feel independent when I'm out independently, and saying, "oh, my mommy should be here any minute now; I live with her" just didn't feel cool. I liked that she guessed I was a student. I don't know. silly, I guess, but still cool. afterward, I felt weirdly awkward about the whole thing... I think I was having a hard time with the fact that she'd been so nice and concerned ("I just wanted to make sure you were alright") seeing as - although that was wonderfully exceptional behavior for a person - I want to connect to people around something other than their worries about me. I dinno. my anonymous "friend" did come, I came home to a killer headache and pre-empted Joan of Arcadia (for a fucking special on the *zoo*- which they aired again in primetime the next night... can I get a whatthefuck?), and dealt with my very absolutist mood. there's this fabulous layer of silly good fun lately, but there's also this really sad and I think depressed layer underneath, which worries me. the particularly nice thing about these past few days, however, has been deeper than silly goofy time. I've felt a gratitude and a sense of hope and peace that's seriously powerful. it's keeping me anchored where I want to be. I feel in myself, I feel connected into what I believe, I have more faith. it's been particularly splendid. it even kept me from freaking out when, attempting to plow through so many e-mails including a bunch of diaryring signups, I came across a picture of an emaciated woman on the site of someone who's (obviously) sick... I was able to get my breath back just by focusing back in on that feeling. it's a lot like prayer. and I don't feel she's worse off for my lack of codependent freak-out, honestly. it's also keeping me focused on the short-term work of getting out, for the long-term goal of doing the work I really consider important (and of course having a life around that.) I can't remember if I mentioned here that one of my main reasons for not wanting to be a parent (something I'm flaking on, which scares the fuck out of me - not like the situation's beating down my door or anything, though) is that it's *such important work* and you can't possibly do it perfectly. you're going to screw up, and that's going to scar your kid, and that's just what happens. to everyone. knowing that always trumped whatever argument I had for wanting children. but I realize now it's nowhere near that simple. kids aside, I'm kind of back to my "I'm not supposed to be dealing with love and heartache and breakups; I specifically did not date anyone!" epiphany of these things cannot be avoided. the work I want to do is as important as raising kids; the thing in the balance is once again life, and I have to decide - this time - not to walk away because of that. I'm realizing that the only work worth doing, for each of us, is going to be the work with the scary-high stakes. so I'm doing what I need to and trying to get used to the idea of not giving up... of continuing to work toward this work despite how painful I know it's going to be. in that regard, I'm actually glad it's going to take awhile.
on a somewhat related and completely unhappy note, [someone I care about] is really struggling. I got an e-mail from her today, and my centered-energy-thingamajig didn't protect me (entirely) from that one. pile on all the normal things - she's alive, she's precious, she's extremely talented, she's an amazing person, she's an asset to all who know her, I love her, so on and so forth - and add to that the fact that she is one of the key people who helped me seize the opportunity I was given at Rogers to transform my life... and the fact that she's once again fighting for her own really will threaten to tear you apart. she's just been in the hospital for two weeks, and she's looking at residential. (not Rogers, as that would be really uncomfortable for her, but one of the top places in the US.) unfortunately, like everyone else in this country, she doesn't have the money. (please vote for Kerry. please, please, please, please, please vote for Kerry; I can't tell you what hope for healthcare means to me...) she asked me how I paid for Rogers, and I told her the gist of how my mom raised money through a charity group, which - being a non-for-profit made all donations tax-deductible ... I hadn't even finished writing it before I was thinking about how I could help her raise money, and what I would say in a plea to everyone I know and everyone I don't, and how fucking hard I would work to make sure it happens. will work. she absolutely has to live (we are not even going into the fact that that's being contested) and she's trying to get help. she wants to get better. therefore, she will be given residential. if I have to jump over every social phobia I have in order to find it for her.
I know this isn't mine to take on... but... I will. I have my own recovery to look after, and I understand that I can't do hers for her - I can't even wish I could, really, as it trivializes how important and how overwhelming the work I'm doing is. my own life matters, too; that's important to remember... but I can't not walk with someone I love while they go through this. no matter what kind of distance I keep. and honestly, the ability to do something, anything, for them is a blessing in that situation. I remember how relieved I was when I realized I could help Sara leave the bastard-hospital, and how crazy I went when that was taken from me. the powerlessness is paralyzing. it's so hard when all you can do is say I love you and wait...
so, um... pray for her... please. I don't care what you believe or whether you call it prayer... I believe that everything prayer-like that a person does from a genuine place has power. so if you would, give that love to my [dear^] - her family... she has a daughter and custody of her nephew as well... and I guess, me. I'm going to need it, too.
and there are some anecdotes I know I have left out, but I figure I have a good shot of getting those little things out now that I've tramped through some of the "it's been forever since I wrote an entry" territory. although I still haven't written about online journals or online communities, both of which I've been thinking about quite a bit. I don't think it's hard to see why what I did write takes precedent.
40,000 dollars. aiy. put me on Fear Factor and give me the money. there is nothing more frightening than this...
~me
^if you want her name, ask me by e-mail; my instincts say she's too easy to recognize if I give her name here