"I was not getting drunk off of bananas, ok!?"
So said my sister randomly. I rather enjoy randomly. The randomly amusing moments help make the holiday... shall we say bearable. I hate to say bearable. I don't particularly like the lack of holiday spirit, the tendency for people to find the days less like celebration and more like torture. I'd very much like to not feel that way. But for now, despite loving my family and wanting to spend time with them - especially with my siblings, I live up to my (first) name quite a bit less as the season overuses it. I came out of this holiday (as much as I can consider it over, which I don't entirely, as my sister is in town until the 29th, and New Year's approacheth) wondering if I've simply rewritten last Christmas in my memory or if this year actually was worse. Talking to the doc today and looking at a journal entry from just after the holiday last year suggests I have done some unintentional editing, but I think it's possible that some of last year's circumstances - expecting the holiday simply to be hell, being basically in shock as I waited for the world to pop (because it had ended in all but the literal way) - made it surprisingly ok, especially initially. And then there was some shittiness around the sort of chafing, cutting humor so often used within my family - but overall, specifically in terms of it being the first Christmas split between my mom's crib and my dad's, it didn't go too badly. I remember feeling happily surprised at how nice it was to come back here after being at my dad's, enjoying the way the holiday sort of progressed and kept going, instead of climaxing and tumbling down so quickly afterward. This Christmas, on the other hand... well, to begin with it was just really poorly-timed. I know that it's the same time every year, and I like it well enough (or I did once, or I want to, or something) that... if celebrating it every year were required to bring it about the next... I would have gone through with it... I just - didn't particularly want *this* Christmas at this moment. I mean, I've been a total wreck for a little while; in the days just before Christmas, I was a complete mess, so incredibly sad and angry and hurt over everything. I've been crying so much I probably need to start wearing a life jacket - or learn to swim... and I've been far more inclined to deck people than halls. It's so strange how sometimes anniversaries trigger far less than some random day when I'm not even expecting it, but just as I start to expect them to not be a big deal... bam. This one - with the fact that I'm pulling out and starting to live more and especially with all of the sore feelings toward anyone who has "quit" on me - seriously blew me apart from the inside. And I understand that that's going to happen sometimes, and I can't help when, but still... Efforts to just take in the time with my family and enjoy myself, while not entirely fruitless, didn't result in some magical holiday transformation. I've genuinely enjoyed myself at different times over the holiday, usually during a particularly funny moment with my family - but underneath it, I kept feeling the sadness and the close proximity to breaking. Beneath the motion, beneath the holiday bustle, I continued to not be ok. And I didn't try to fake happiness or 'indulge' head-first in feeling shitty and miss out on everything that went on... but every so often during a moment pretty much like any other, I just felt like I was going to bawl. Sore inside and sad.
I ended up going to my dad's on the 23rd - that evening - because my sister was in town already and, knowing that, I wanted to be where she was... plus, she was sort of hoping for reinforcements. She'd already spent a day with my grandma (and occasionally my dad) on her own. So John and I drove out there Thursday, which I think upset my mom. I called her to let her know I was going, and something in her tone actually caused me to ask if it was alright, if she was ok with me going out there, and although her response was technically something like, "Of course. Whatever you want to do. The holidays are about being spontaneous" - her voice was something more like, "Well, sure. If you'd rather be with them. Go. I can be abandoned. I'll be fine all by myself, after I went around picking up meds for you today." Spuck. I went anyway, and I stayed the night, spent Christmas Eve there, stayed another night, and returned here around noon or one on Christmas Day. Dale got in on Thursday also, bearing an early present from him and my dad: all of our home movies (it's a total of like three hours; we didn't have a video camera, and my parents were never really into documentation) on a DVD, with a copy for each of us. So we ended up watching that, which was fairly amusing. My siblings are so godddamned adorable, (not that I'm not, I'm fantastic - I'm just not born until the last, say, thirty minutes of video), especially when they're really young. There's this one point where my dad asks Dale how old he is, Dale says, "Five", my dad asks, "And how old are you going to be next month?" to which Dale replies, "Six"... only to have my dad say, "Wow. You're getting up there. You're almost the big 3-0; you're almost 30 like me," to which my brother replies, entirely deadpan and unamused "I'm almost six."
He (Dad) tries a similar joke on my sister, who says, "Aw, git outta here," and after a little more teasing adds, in the world's sweetest little voice, "What's the matter with you, Daddy? You're crazy." Which is oddly similar to what she said, venting to me, just today. Joe's shining moment, although he has many, is as a rather small toddler, when he goes looking for my mom (my mom is almost never on camera; she apparently hated this) - who won't open the door, and so Joe starts bawling...and it's really not funny, but in a horrible way - however many years later - it's hilarious because my dad keeps taping and my sister and brother keep performing, and every so often you hear Joe wail in the background. Then there's this rather sudden cut to Joe on the couch with a bottle looking like the happiest child in the world. Except for John, who isn't born yet... but there's a good forty minutes of John sitting in a car seat, in the living room, looking like he's living the richest of lives. John puts the rest of us to shame. There's tape of him at four, and it's already evident that he's a total prodigy. The boy still has the toddler speech, but he's singing for the camera, and before he sings he says what the song is, who it's written by, who performs it on the record, and when he launches into it, he performs not only the main vocal and the back-up vocals, the boy performs the instrumental sections. As if this were not enough, he sings out of a different side of his mouth depending on *which speaker* that part sounds from when the record's playing. It's insane. He completely needs to make it available to his fans. It's not just hidden track material; he really could release an entire cd. His performance of "I Won't Be Awound" and "Wuwu's Back In Town" are absolutely insanely marvelous. Although, I have to say my brother Joe's rendition of "Boys Like You" and Dale's killer Michael-Jackson-dance-moves were crowd-pleasers as well.
And me...well... I do a swell job of brushing my bald head and am smart enough to stay off camera. Ha.
That ended up being really fun, but at the beginning I sort of wondered who the hell came up with the idea of watching this. Because the first films are mainly babies being brought home from the hospital, baptisms, and such. And, especially in the beginning - obviously, by the time she was locked in a room while Joe tried to gain access, things were a bit screwy - my mom and dad look so happy. In love with each other and their kids and presumably their future. My mom was a really, really different person then - and I'm personally relieved that she is who she is now (although if she weren't who she is now, I probably wouldn't be who I am now, which might mean not requiring her to be as she is now to the same extent - if that makes sense at all) ... but I really wish "happy" weren't a thing of the past. I don't know. It made me miss my family, in general, a lot. My parents when they were together and things didn't entirely suck. My childhood. Rogers. Have to throw in that little bit of "oh, there's no place like home for the holidays" injury. Sara did call me Christmas day, and I was radical and actually took the call, even though it was Christmas, and we were eating this crazy lavish dinner my mom made... because damnit we've been trying to connect for weeks, and I love her, and I wanted to talk, and so forth. She didn't have much time either - she was going out with her parents - but we both talked longer than we could anyway. She sounded like she's getting back into a good place, like she's looking at things in a good way, and taking steps that make sense and ease my worrying a little. I gave her a toned-down version of the "you have to live" speech- basically just saying that we need to see each other at least twice in 2005, and more than that in 2006, and more than that in 2007. She didn't sound satisfied at the idea of seeing each other only twice. And I guess I didn't either; I asked her to move down here. She asked me to move up there. I told her I couldn't bring my doctor, and she said I could see hers, and I said she could come here and see mine. And then she basically said if I don't eventually move to Wisconsin, she is eventually moving here, and I said if she doesn't eventually move here, I'm moving to Wisconsin. Which was funny. Mmmm, I love her. I want to be closer (geographically; if we get closer relationally we might smoosh ourselves together and not be able to get free again) to her so badly. I'm so, so glad I have her.
Speaking of which, the only drama with my sister (thus far) came up partly because of the Sara-call. It involved two rather short conversations, the first of which was about whether or not I'm allowed to have another Sara, especially if I'm going to refer to that Sara as my sister - and the second eventually putting us in the territory of, "Well, you threatened not to be my sister when I changed my name" - "I didn't say we wouldn't be sisters...I was just pointing out... You changed your name!" - "Right, I changed, so we were no longer sisters." Any semblance of a joke had deteriorated at that point, so we dropped it, and today things were completely fine; I almost forgot about it, except that the doctor said something about how differentiation between Sarah and I is sometimes a sore point, and asked if that had come up, and I was like, "damnit! yes..." But otherwise, things have been good. We spent the morning talking, she vented about how our dad is crazy, and also our mom is crazy, and so forth. I forgot to watch the clock and ended up missing my bus. And then when I finally caught one, I realized that they're on break schedule, which I'd forgotten, and of course, the notice posted on the bus had schedule information for every day except today (practically)... but it was a little warmer out, so I just booked it from campus on foot. I got there just after one, and proceeded to resist falling asleep in the waiting room for thirty minutes. There's nothing like racing down a sidewalk for fifteen or twenty minutes to be on time for an appointment that starts thirty minutes late. Whee. Not entirely bad, though. I walked back to campus as well; it's crazy deserted, but I found a bus. And when I got back to the apartment, Sarah and I watched a bit of Gilmore Girls (one of the many gifts lavished on me was the second season of GG on DVD...which I have to say rocks more than I even expected it to... uncut episodes, no commercials- screw actually watching tv, you know?... I really wanted the first season, first, but apparently, the store my mom went to didn't have it. No big deal, really) and then she took off to spend time with Steve's family. I fell asleep, managing to wake just before they returned, and ten or fifteen minutes later, my dad was here to pick them up, as they promised to spend tonight in Brigadoon with my grandma (she hasn't seen Steve this trip)... so I was once again (Hans) solo. And exhausted, despite my nap. People are after me in the night again. Some elements have changed, which I feel is a good sign, but all these people and scary-ass creatures continue to plague me. The doctor needs to know that. But dude, today's session was so densely packed with information, I really don't think I could have gotten another word in. So, it must wait. It doesn't help that when I'm not having nightmares, I can't sleep. I have regained my ability to crash during the day; unfortunately, I've been lacking the time to do that. My attempt to crash Christmas Eve at my dad's was foiled by Dale putting in a DVD (to his credit, it was not Mystery Science Theater; it was actually The Court Jester, a decently amusing Danny Kaye film) at a volume that very likely deafened residents of Nevada. Oy. And then we got to watch It's A Wonderful Life, which was good, as I love that movie, and hadn't gotten around to it. Plus, I only felt like being mildly social, and movie-viewing is good for that. I realized that Mr. Potter is the perfect replacement for the poor Grinch and ill-used Ebenezer Scrooge, as he does not, ever, show any tiny bit of humanity or redeem himself. And I almost cried. Watching "It's A Wonderful Life." I swear someone is drugging me. The doctor most likely. Crying at a sappy movie is not my style, or wasn't until recently. It's mainly life-and-death related, though. Meaning, I still don't cry because those crazy thirty-somethings finally get together and it's just so beautiful. I cry over shit like not realizing how important your life is, and how many people you affect, and the opportunity to go back into your life aware of that, and loving everything so much more because you finally get it. Yeah. I still almost cried watching "It's A Wonderful Life." So much for my tough-girl reputation. Hah.
...Well, this is sort of coming along, isn't it? I have to say I was fairly daunted (as usual) by the idea of attempting to detail the several days' worth of goings-on. Skipping around seems to be working semi-well.
I got my digital camera. I was such a happy monkey, I think I quit moving. I was oddly unexpressive, actually. And I didn't really break into it until the day after Christmas - yesterday - but I think that was partly because my dad gave it to me, and I knew we were going to my mom's, and then when we got here, my mom was sort of nuts. Meaning, within two minutes of our arrival she had moved pretty much all of our stuff to the bedrooms. Not like last year, when we got to show off our new schtuff and break into presents directly upon arriving. But still - my camera! I have my very own camera, digital, and it's seriously kickass, in that it records little movies and sound also... and lots of other things I don't even understand yet. I haven't hooked it up to my computer yet because the booklet says to make sure you use new batteries when transferring images because if you run out of juice in the middle of a transfer, your images might die, and that would suck. Otherwise, you'd get to see the handful of pictures that have survived, despite my constantly deleting photos to make space for new ones. Anyway, I am very much in love with it. The only cameras I've ever had at my disposal were those disposable ones... and once upon a time, I got to use our Polaroid camera for a day. Polaroids rock, in my opinion. So apparently, I can finally get around to photography, which has spent years on my list of things I want to know my way around/ be good at/ try but never actually put energy into, despite that. And really, I'm more into manipulating images and such now than I am interested in taking photos and having a dark room and all that... So this is lovely. Seriously lovely. And soon you will be so flooded with images, you will get very tired of my having obtained said camera. But you, my friend, will just have to deal. Squee.
The whole food situation was interesting. I mean, obviously there was a lot of it around and a lot of it tasty. But it was just odd. Christmas Eve morning, I sat down in the living room, started to wake up, and was told by my dad that we (Dale, Sarah, Nana, Dad) "were waiting for me." Which confused Sarah as much as it confused me. We were both like, "What, are we doing something? Are we going somewhere?" Apparently, we'd made a plan to go to breakfast at this "mmm, home-cookin'!" restaurant in town, except only my dad was aware of it. So, I randomly agreed to get ready quickly, without doing anything elaborate - say, showering - and go. Except the restuarant had quit serving breakfast by this time, and - as I well knew from past experiences - has no vegetarian food post-breakfast. Technically they have a grilled cheese sandwich, but I have loathed grilled cheese for many years, and choking it down did not appeal to me. I was prepared to order fries and eat for real when we got back to my dad's, but my dad discovered mac-and-cheese on the kids' menu, so I asked for a more substantial portion of that and all went well. Dinner was also odd, although it consisted basically of the same foods it's consisted of every Christmas Eve since I developed memories (minus some dishes that are signature Mom). the odd thing was mainly that I was eating, like, olives, deviled eggs, an orange, etc. It was not exactly a meal, again because I don't eat meat. There was roast beef, which obviously, I haven't eaten in years, and there was shrimp which I used to totally love. In fact, during the course of the evening, I mentioned to Sarah that - partly because it's so much more impossible to be vegetarian here than it is in, for instance, New York - I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't start eating fish again. To be honest, it has more to do with the fact that I became a vegetarian when I developed an eating disorder than with the fact that restaurants in the midwest generally consider "vegetarian" synonymous with "rabbit"... I hate the idea that I might still have this one area of restriction that I've maintained because it's technically not unhealthy (if you eat properly.) Even though I probably became a vegetarian for seriously non-good reasons. But I seriously don't think I can go back to eating fish. I said once a few years ago that I was going to do it; I wasn't happy about the idea, but I think I sort of thought then - as I did the other night - that I could go back, get used to it, and then decide whether or not I wanted to stay pesco or be vegetarian. Because then I'd be making the decision from a better position. Unfortunately, at my mom's crazy lavish supper - for which three different animal species were killed - (two of those being fish, so I was once again the lone girl without an entree) I realized once again that... what had nothing to do with not-wanting-to-eat-animals originally now very much does. I mean... we now have a freaking aquarium in the dining room. Fishies swimming about. And fishies on the table, not swimming about. The idea of eating left me so sick I really don't think I can try, or I guess I wonder if it's worth making myself go back to eating that, when it feels so wrong to me now. Can I just understand that at this point it's not about restricting my food? Or do I need to loosen up and see if I'd actually still enjoy, for instance, that shrimp? It's so funny because I almost went for it on Christmas Eve, and typing about it now I feel totally sick. It doesn't sound appetizing at all. Non-vegetarians, consider eating dead people. It's in a similar vein.
Blagh.
So what other tangents can I wander off on? My parents are insane. My dad continues to be incapable of enjoying a moment without pushing to make it longer, or have another, a longer one, as soon as possible. He invited me to live with him - again. He invited me to live in the same town - again. I stayed there two nights (when I never spend the night) and across three days, and he still didn't want me to leave. (Which is sweet, but when you spend those three days talking about how much you've missed the person up until now, and how much you wish they wouldn't leave when they are, *every time* - so that you never actually realize you're spending time with them, it gets annoying.) When he picked up Sarah and Steve tonight, he asked me if I'd come with them. I didn't want to, which was sort of good... because my mom would probably have lost it. I don't think my mom's doing particularly well. She's been pretty full of emotional landmines lately, she's not ok with things that she can normally handle, (for instance, hearing stories from Christmas Eve... we basically attempted to start over and pretend the first part of the holiday didn't happen, which sucked), and she's making these cutting remarks about my dad again. Mainly under her breath, so that I say, "What?" and she gets to repeat it at full volume. Or she'll cut herself off, and I'll say, "What is it?" and she'll say, "Oh, I just shouldn't say that," and even though I say, "Oh, ok," and go back to whatever we're doing, she says, "It's just...[insert cutting remark.]" Which is totally out-of-line, against-the-rules bullshit and she knows it. As is the patented, "You really don't need to hear this" or "I really shouldn't be telling you this" or "This really isn't appropriate" ...but I'm going to tell you anyway move. She's got that one down to an art, and I didn't even realize quite how out of hand it was until I was talking with the doctor today. He's pretty serious about stuff like that, about it pretty much not being a gray area. I'm just not supposed to hear one parent bash the other, period. They are just some things that parents don't say to children, end of story. Which is rather strange for me, as my parents always treated us like adults - which had serious benefits and serious drawbacks - but makes me feel very safe. I sort of feel like he's going to handle it - because he is - and that's nice. I'm not used to that "the adults will handle this; you won't hear anymore about it... except when I check in to make sure it's still going as it should" phenomena. Eeenteresting.
My dad also seems to have this theory that my mom is not feeding me, clothing me, or keeping a roof over my head... which I really don't understand. I don't understand how anyone who knows my mom could think she's not taking care of me and getting me everything I need. That's my mom's modus operandi. No matter how much she hates what she has to do, she will do it, to get one of her kids what they need. This is the woman who took on my school a hundred zillion times to keep their ideas about how adults should treat children from ruining my life... not to mention the woman who has beaten twelve different insurance companies over the head until they did what we needed - or, when they still didn't - found another way to make it work. This is my mom, who - not having any money to put me in a hospital for 400 dollars a day - managed to keep me there until I was discharged, nearly three months. And the woman who, upon hearing that my brother Joe was iced into Nashville, had driven almost to Kentucky and was turning around because the roads were really just too awful, and would not be making it in for Christmas 2004, made some calls, put him on a plane, and got him here. This is my mom who plays the superhero/ warrior whether or not she wants that role or reputation. *Of course* I have food and heat and every other freaking thing. Oy. I'm almost done ranting, really...
All that said in her defense - (as my siblings are so good at reminding me, *both* of our parents are nuts) I did involuntarily flip out (mainly internally) when I heard this morning that she's thinking of quitting therapy. Can I get a what the fucking hell? I'm not supposed to know this; I heard from Sarah, who's had more long, deep talks with my mom over this trip than she'd prefer. Apparently, she got semi-grilled about a conversation she and John had Christmas night, when they were the only ones still awake - what was said, whether or not John's going to be ok (because, you know, my sister has psychic powers of deduction or something), et cetera. Sarah said Mom was pushing her to somehow "approve" everything, which I kind of understand. It does feel like my mom wants to hear that everything is great, and everyone is great with everything, and will remain that way now and forever. Specifically around my parents' divorce, it feels like she wants to hear that we understand and we're good and we're never going to struggle or feel pain around it again. Which just isn't the fucking case. Sarah was really bugged by the fact that things just can't be less-than-ok, and she can't be allowed to just disagree. Another patented phrase of my mom's that I'd like to destroy is, "I agree with that. But..." "No, I get that, and I totally understand, but..." "That's true, you're right, but..." Ahhh! That'll drive you crazy in under three minutes. Sarah said she only went so far as to "not lie" (meaning, in terms of what she divulged to my mom, to what extent she was "honest" with my mom, she said what she considered the bare minimum) and my mom still ended up crying. Which totally sucks. The whole situation completely sucks, but it's how things are, and now I hear my mom is considering not being in therapy. Not a thought I could handle. I don't need to return to the days of being the only one working to get better (in my household - meaning my dad already quit working; I don't need my mom to do so also.) And as I explained to the doctor, after I told him what I'm not supposed to know, I can't imagine my mom ...stopping... the way that my dad did in so many ways. I don't see her settling down; I see her still working, still pursuing the job that will really make her happy, and fighting to get her art out there, and to have more and more of the life she wants. I don't think she'd stop therapy as part of a campaign to quit everything, but I do believe we could end up back at that point where the rest of the world is just crazy, and doesn't understand, and won't treat her the way that it should. Back to her particular brand of crazy being normal, which I really can't do. Knowing that... sort of... "wave" is contained, that her struggles have another place to go helps me feel less entirely overwhelmed. But I'm still exhausted by being her main confidante. I'm already exhausted. With her *in* therapy. If she leaves it, I don't think I'll be able to stand up anymore. My first thought was that I'd move out because I can't imagine living in a situation at all similar to the household I went into when I left Rogers, which is how this feels. And obviously, I can't move out. What am I going to do? Crash at my brother's when I have no money to contribute to our expenses because the government is so not going to say, "oh, you're still not capable of taking care of yourself, but you no longer want to live with the parent you were declared a 'dependent' of, so now - even though you aren't your brother's dependent - you want us to continue supporting you while you don't work? sounds like a plan." I don't think so. I would speed up the moving-out process if she quit therapy, though. That would become a much readier goal. Instead of gradually building all parts of my life until it's independent, I'd work more singularly on having my own place, with access to whatever I need to meet my needs and somehow being able to pay for that. Hopefully, it won't be an issue. The doctor started out sort of neutral, talking about how it can be good to take a break, and such... and I was like, "No. No. She cannot stop now. She needs to be in therapy now. Really, trust me, she does." And then over the course of the conversation, the dad-bashing came out, and he said something about how he'd try and gently steer her back away from that, without making it clear that I'd mentioned it, and I said, "see, she does need to be in therapy," sort of smiling a little, and he said, "I'll hold onto her." Which rocked. I know he can't force her to come, but I'm really glad he'd prefer it that way. I don't think her relationship with me is the only reason she needs to do this, but it would be really bad for me if she stopped, and I'm glad that - after seeing that - he was less neutral.
When we stood up to leave, I asked him if I could tell him something he already knew, and he said yes, and I told him that I'm glad I went to Rogers. Which seemed to confuse him (as in, "duh, why are you mentioning this?") so I reminded him that I'd ended last Friday saying that I wish I'd never gone, and I just... I have a lot of grief, of course, but - of course that's not what I wish. I'm very, very glad for that part of my life. Hell, that's how I have a life, and so much of the good in it. He was characteristically lovely about the whole thing. He basically said that of course that's the case, and I'm still allowed to say otherwise in an emotional moment. Squee. Good therapy is sweet. I don't know why my parents are so keen on escaping it.
It's nearing midnight, and I'm totally exhausted, so I think I'll pause here... and pick up other tangents, anecdotes as they occur to me. My gifts went over well. Dad and Mom were both thrilled to get something they very much wanted: Girl Singer and Whale Rider respectively. John is still waiting for half of his gift (damn mail) but he was pleased with the half I did have for him (David Byrne's "Look Into the Eyeball")... Poor John's presents were all kind of ruined by one really bad one from my aunt and uncle, but I want to be done with this entry, so I won't tell that story right now. Ah. Sarah was psyched enough to receive "Soviet Kitsch" (Regina Spektor or, as Sarah puts it, "Tori Amos meets Bjork meets Fiona Apple" - although I think Erin McKeown is more accurate than Fiona Apple) that I was glad I hadn't kept it for myself as I so wanted to when it arrived. Regina Spektor rocks. Joe was also deprived of his gift due to delayed mail issues, but he opened an explanation of the situation and was pleased to receive it. It being the 28 Days Later DVD... although at first, he didn't understand that "starring Sandra Bullock" was a joke referencing a conversation we had about how glad we were to discover 28 Days Later was *not* a sequel to 28 Days. (Because that would so suck.) Anyway, it was during that conversation, when he talked about how much he liked the movie, (the "Later" one - not my own beloved 28 Days) that I decided to get it for him... and from the number of times Dale sang the Trogdor theme, I'd say he liked his Trogdor t-shirt (and Strongbad/ Homestarrunner coaster, which was apparently a free gift with purchase.) So, squee. My (great) aunt was thrilled to get some really good coffee, and my grandma loved the bracelet my sister picked out from Tiffany's. (And the fact that it was from Tiffany's.) I'm almost sorry she was so attached to the box because I returned to this kickass beaded bracelet my Aunt Ann made me (she's the feisty sweetheart with Down Syndrome) and it rocks so entirely that I really want to put it in, like, a Tiffany's box. That'd just be awesome.
Ok. Time to med me and bed me... Before you get eye strain and I get carpal tunnel. May our dreams be G-rated. (In most respects, anyway.) May you be as blessed in the stuffed animal realm as I am. May I manage to quit this paragraph sometime before New Year's. Whee.
~me