Er, status report... Let's see.
John left me a message yesterday to call him, and when I did, he told me that a friend of his (with whom his best friend is really close) attempted suicide a few days ago. I really don't know this friend at all; we did a play together in high school, but it was a large cast, and if he remembers me- it's probably only because of John. I did know his sister a bit; she was in my class and sang alto (also), so I've thought some of her. But the really sucky thing is... I couldn't handle this. And the 'this' I couldn't handle was only minimally related to the fact that this kid I sort of knew is in the hospital having attempted suicide. I've been here before, but it's still really difficult not to chastise myself incessantly for being a wreck around the wrong thing. When John realized how the information was affecting me, he tried to tell me all the reasons he thought Dave would be ok. Which, at best, didn't help. I'm upset that this can happen, I hate that this can happen; I hate that our Baptista's in such a crappy, shitty place... I hate that his sister's in one by association. I hate the idea that anyone is going through this, and I hate the details of this specific tragedy. But to be honest (to the point of really disliking myself) my response was mainly, "I can't take this right now! Why are you calling me? Why are you telling me this?" - which... only feels only minimally more human than the response of Dave's parents - which had to do with how expensive this whole thing was going to be. I know the responsible course is taking care of myself first, but come on, John's... facing some serious shit. Maybe it would have been different if he hadn't been dealing with it relatively well. (Doesn't that suck? Doesn't that make me a horrible person? No, no, of course not; that second question's just strung onto all my thoughts recently. Blech.) But for the most part, he's ok; truth be told, he probably has quite a few seriously difficult, painful things on his plate right now, too... Still, he called me. He called me, and I really wanted to be a good sister to him RIGHT THEN, but I couldn't fucking deal. The fact that John feels he can come to me, has consistently felt that way for a long time, means so so much to me. And at the same time, I had to ask him if he'd called the doctor. Which he had, three times. And then I really wanted to bang my head against the wall because what the doctor doesn't know, this time, hurts me. John called and gave me the details of Dave's attempted suicide, along with the details of how his best friend ended up in Dave's apartment, with another friend, rather aggressively saving Dave's life. And I just... (is it wrong to say) I don't need those details. Right now, anything pretty much feels like too much.
He called me (because he can talk to me and) because I have experience dealing with the attempted suicides of friends. The strange thing is - sadly - John's not the least bit ignorant on this subject. But at the same time I found myself thinking that I Did Not Want To Be This Expert... I found myself thinking that John didn't fucking know what he was talking about. Which is ridiculous. I don't want to run down the list of experiences which will prove John knows. And I kept thinking that, in my head, and then hearing, "But it's so different when you've actually lost someone" ...which John has. So apparently, it's January 2001 again and if you didn't lose exactly who I lost, you don't know anything about how this feels.
Agh. I'm really not that bad. It just dredged up a lot of shit at a really poor time. And obviously, I don't really blame anyone for that - who am I going to blame? Dave? John? - er, no... I just really wish the doctor and John were in a better spot, one where three pages might have received a phone call in response. Then again, I forget this was a holiday weekend. Quite possibly, said doc was out of town and didn't get the messages. One more reason he should not go out of town.
As for me going out of town... well, I'll get to that in a second.
Dave by the way is physically doing well. Do what you can for him and his family, ok? I may not know him well, but I know that's what I'd want if I did.
In general, I've decided I'm seriously hypersensitive right now. I'm wondering if what I felt went down over Thanksgiving - mainly the complete lack of connection with Dale - was hyped up a bit by the fact that I'm throwing the girly-girl news at them this week. (Whoa. When did it become this week? Ouchie.) I just realized Saturday night - when Joe and John were over - that I really couldn't handle anything that shut me out... jokes at my expense, things I said that weren't acknowledged, et cetera. And while it makes sense that I wouldn't enjoy that sort of thing in general, it really got to me, more so than usual, Saturday. And looking back, those things really bothered me when they happened Thursday as well. I can't handle feeling shut out or not-understood right now because I'm about to inform them of a situation in which I very much need them to hopefully understand and definitely not shut me out. I just sort of retreated Saturday. I went into my room to lie down. They coaxed me out again later and were markedly sweeter (so much for not wanting them to know I was upset)... Still. Partly, I'm glad that they'll know soon; I hope it'll shed some light on how I've been lately - especially for John, who's around me so much more. He knows I've had some particularly rough days, and I hope that he'll realize I was mainly on-edge about this, which amplified other rough things...
On the other hand, I feel like my timing sucks, and the last thing any of my siblings need right now is another wrench. Even if the wrench isn't a bad thing, necessarily and even if the wrench is already there, just not something I've stated outright to them. With the possible exception of Sarah, no one seems to be handling the holidays well. At all. I know that psychologically it's supposed to be minimally/ relatively easier for me because I'm younger, but it still sort of blows my mind that my siblings are struggling so much with the fact that are parents really are divorced. Maybe it's bugging me, too, and it just doesn't register. Maybe it's not bugging them as much as singularly as my mom seems to think. (Maybe they have other reasons to be upset right now.) I don't know. It's just very strange to me that even though I tend to forget my parents are divorced, even though I hate the situation a lot... my response is basically, "We did it last year, didn't we?" We spent Christmas Eve with my dad and Christmas day with my mom last year, right? So why is this news?
It's not news, and I know that, and oy, they're allowed to be having a hard time with it. To be honest, that makes more sense to me than my own perspective. (But then, I'm here all the time; I'm in this new set-up all the time, so maybe - by default - I'm just more adapted to it.) I don't know at this point. I do know that their non-okayness makes it more difficult to tell them. And I don't think it's just me looking for any reason to postpone doing so. I think, if we're going to make it about me and a less altruistic motive, I'm worried that this is going to get thrown in with the reasons this particular December sucks. The holidays are always bad, and this year they're bad for these reasons, - these are the sucky things that happened this year - and I don't want to see this on that list. But I don't know how to avoid it, other than to not tell them, which I seriously don't want to do. All but can't do. (If I have to wait any longer, I will lose my mind.) So mainly, I tell them and hope they find some mental space to stash the information that isn't in close proximity to the list of shitty things. And probably I tell the doctor I'm thinking this, and he tells me how to not lose my mind if they respond that way...
The other response I'm particularly worried about is any form of "I knew it." The "I knew it" response scares me. Even if it's just "I thought so" or "I'm not surprised" or any of that. I don't want my siblings to think this changes anything. I don't want them to think that this proves anything, that who I've been all this time really is a manifestation of this-and-this-alone, that it's impossible (for instance) to be a feminist without being a lesbian or to listen to a whole lot of Ani DiFranco without being gay. My guess here is that I'm insecure about this; I'm personally uncertain. I've had a fear for a long time that this, if it turned out to be true, would undermine who I was. I still feel like certain views I have would be stronger coming from someone who's straight. For instance, actively arguing with the anti-gay bullshit seems more effective (if not more enlightened), if I'm not arguing, partially, on behalf of myself. And obviously, one's motivation to be a feminist deflates entirely once you mention you're gay. Anyone can connect those two dots, no matter how incorrectly. No one's going to be fooled by, "No, really, I'd think this way even if guys struck me as attractive" or "Actually, it's the strangest thing, but *being a girl* and *knowing girls* and watching them struggle and die, in part because our society has such fucked-up notions, also contributed to my being a feminist. I mean, certainly being a lesbian men-hater founded the whole thing, but there might have been other factors." Oy. The truth is I'm still not ok with the idea that this is a part of me; I still haven't had time (hopefully, it's just a time thing) to integrate this into who I am, and so I still feel like it attacks/ undermines the validity of my personality instead of just being a part of my personality. I'd feel so much cooler if I could quit feeling like a stereotype, and I think - if (or how about 'once') the gay aspects aren't being emphasized so much - that would be easier. Maybe I don't have to like boys to feel like an original human being. (How hilarious is that? I want to be straight so I can be different. Oh, yeah, I'm way too normal.) Maybe, eventually, those things will matter only as much as the other aspects, and having seen it even out, I'll be able to look at the combination of labels one could stick on me, and see that the combination actually is unique. My personality, perhaps, is not entirely defined or unravelled by this one part of me. Maybe my perspective's just a little skewed since this, for the moment, needs to matter more than other things.
Dude. I think I just unskewed my perspective, ever-so slightly, without professional assistance. Hee. Actually, I manage that a lot. Now that I have professional help, now that I've had it for awhile, (quote from Thanskgiving: "I've been crazy for a looong time now"), I occasionally manage to apply the principles on my own. Rocking, no? Although I think it's a bit of a problem in my respective relationships with Dale and John. It doesn't really surprise me with Dale - because my understanding of our relationship is that I'm supposed to be the little sister and not know anything and not have any experience, even a little bit that could give us common ground. (Of course, he can introduce me to things; I can become interested in them, and then we can bond. Theoretically.) I am definitely not supposed to have a better handle, or different and surprisingly helpful perspective, on any aspect of life. He has eight years on me. The fact that I have three years of therapy (including ROGERS) on him doesn't seem to assuage his feelings regarding me as a possible go-to person, as a possible (in even one aspect) peer. With John, a similar reality is much more surprising. He has an anniversary of his own coming up - first one, hard thing. I don't think I went into much detail about this a year ago, but John nearly died of alcohol poisoning last January. That's why he came to stay with us. It was extremely frightening because even when it was clear he was going to live, and even though I knew he had help (he was already in therapy) - the physical damage was scary enough. The boy was shaking too hard to play, and that's bad news for a rock star. No joke: seeing John unable to hold a guitar feels like the end of the world. It feels like seeing him paralyzed or brain-damaged. I don't ever want to see that again.
(He can play again now by the way. I doubt he'd have signed a record contract on his birthday and be preparing for a tour if he couldn't play. Oh, relax, my little-sister-heart.)
Anyway, he's been entirely off alcohol (no. small. feat) since, and he has a year's sobriety right along with the anniversary of all the shit. He, Mom, and I were talking about that awhile back, and suddenly, I said on a lighter note, "Hey! I'm older than you! You're going to be one! I'm three, and you're going to be one; I'm older than you! They said I couldn't do it, and I did!" ...My mom started laughing right away, and I was all prepared to revel in the glory of this youngest-child achievement. (I not only caught up; I went past... It's still funny - to me.) Unfortunately, John did not like the idea. At all. For reasons unknown, it's very much not ok for me to have two years on him. Which sucks because the idea of being older only amuses me so much as it does because he's so much my protective older brother. Why can't the fun things just be fun? ...But then, I can understand how this isn't a fun thing for him, how this isn't something with which a fun thing might associate. We'll see.
In other news, I think there's a conspiracy to destroy me. Along with the continued barrage of shitty things, (thankfully, nowhere near last year this time, knock on spucking wood), I'm having body image issues (the kind where I don't want to *type* body) bad enough to suggest I have an eating disorder. Oh, wait. But yeah, it's... *present* again. Its existence is more than a rumor. And I'm hoping that it's just the stress about this visit to New York, this little act of truth-telling with my siblings, which will disipate directly afterward. Otherwise I'm going to have to crush something. Grr. It was particularly bad yesterday, so I decided to go shopping. (Oh, yeah. That's brilliant. ...But really, I've needed to for eons. I've grown so much, and I didn't even have, like, a coat... which is starting to be a problem. Bus stops are chilly as hell in November.) I do have a coat, and some other warm things - including the fuzziest hoodie ever created, mmmmm - so I guess the outing was successful. I cried in a store for the first time in about an eon. I didn't totally break down, but I wasn't ok, and I did stand in public, crying, and letting my mom give me a hug. Ouch. The combination of how much this was costing and how not-adjusted to looking more like an adult I am seriously creamed me. I came home exhausted (and returned poor John's phone call)... Aiy.
And there was a girl - maybe seven or so? - looking at me, when I pulled away from my mom and was crying a little. I gave her my strong smile, the one that's supposed to say something like, "No, things aren't really ok, but I'm ok, and I will be ok, and just so you know, crying - even in public - is ok, too." I don't know if it manages to convey all that, but I hope so. Kids are so quick to pick up on someone who's not ok; I want some good to come out of it...
So anyway, I'm trying to take things more slowly. I'm trying to quit stringing them together, as that completely overwhelms me. I'm trying to remember that the particular volunteer job and the taking a class next semester are not my only opportunities, now or ever, to begin interacting with people. (The idea that, even though I can probably take a deep breath and survive December, I'll end up in January, not at all prepared - emotionally or practically - to do what I wanted to be doing, has been getting to me.) Hopefully, I have a doctor's appointment, and can load some of this stuff into my yarn ball (which is still on his shelf, not mentioned in months) before taking off Wednesday night. So soon. Exchange one stress for another, I suppose. Exchange the stress of not telling them for the stress of doing so. In the end, it's all about variety.
Or something else entirely.
~me