I don't feel so ok at the moment. I don't know why; I've been down on myself at least all day today. I've had some eating-disordered thoughts and some guilt around the way I'm taking care of myself, (or rather "failing to do so.") There's this not unfamiliar cycle of feeling like I've eaten far too much followed by the feeling that I'm horrible for thinking that. Again. For still having a moment here and there when, despite my understanding that the thought is distorted, I still think it. I haven't quit eating or anything. I haven't fallen down in any area of my recovery, other than the walks, but the weather's so nasty and univiting - and it's bad for my mouth / throat thing. When I bring it up, the doctor defends me, so I guess it's ok for now. It just doesn't feel ok. Very little does.
I made it through a whole entry yesterday without talking about sexuality. I know that the real feat is when I do manage to talk about it, but right now it seems a little less important. I guess Monday's session helped me understand that the doctor and I are not simply going to speed into and through this so quickly that I get eaten alive in the process. I know now that we're going to take it slow and put my safety first, which means that some sessions will be like the most recent one; sometimes we'll rest and that helps. But something's wrong with me, anyway. Something feels wrong inside of me. And I haven't even been thinking about the sexuality issue. My mom's made a few comments (she'll stop if I ask her to, I think) - and they've all felt poorly timed. "I'm not thinking about that, so don't bring it up." What am I thinking about? I don't know.
Girls who die, maybe. People I love being killed.
Why does it seem to come out of nowhere, and why does it turn into a cruel assessment of my ineptitude? If that's what I'm so strung out over, why does it turn into "I suck for not having mailed that letter" yet? Or "I suck for thinking this is too much food" when really I'm awesome for eating it anyway? ...My mom said something to me earlier today, when I was fishing for validation regarding my choices lately, about how the doctor and I (from her perspective, and she was joking) stopped talking about simpler things in order to talk about the relationality stuff. She sort of suggested that once he found out about this big thing we needed to work with, he let some smaller ones slide. I didn't know how to tell her that he didn't find out about this big thing a day before she did. He's known it for a long time and suspected it longer. What's more, I don't know how to tell her there are other issues just as big - bigger, eventually (I think.) Because eventually, if things work as he says they will, this will be one more part of my personality/ identity, no longer something painful. Rather- something good. And if that happens, things like my friends being sick and dying will be much bigger pains. They're already huge, and I just don't know if I want her to know how much I want to lie in bed right now, stare at the gray sky, think depressed thoughts, and shed some tears. I don't feel like it's ok. I don't feel like I'm doing any of the right things.
Maybe if I seriously fucked up right now, I could go home - to the tiny handful of people still there to welcome me. I don't want to seriously fuck up, though. And I don't want to go back to a building that's been stripped of so much that made it what it was. I just don't like this. Thinking like this. I'm just not supposed to feel depressed anymore. Even on gray days, when I'm physically sick, when my anxiety's been high, when my eating disorder's reared its ugliness, when another piece of Rogers-beauty has moved out of place, making me scared I'm going to lose it. Him, rather. When I've been working really hard at something really scary. When I'm worn out from my own work, and the stress of my brother's, and my mom's stress, and everything else I could feel worn out over... I know it makes sense, and I know it won't last, but I can't quit feeling it. I can't quite explain, and if I decide to break down a bit and my mom asks, do I really want to, anyway? Do I even want to explain if I can?
Couldn't I just rest and feel what I need to so that the distortions and the judgments go away? And when that letter I wrote you comes a few weeks later, you won't have to mind? I'm not sealing my fate as a lifetime agoraphobic because I don't take walks when it's cold and icky out. I'm not doing anything right now that I can't change if I decide I want to...
Looks like I'm set to trace my tragedies awhile.
~m