I suspect I gave the superdoc the impression I've not handled anything, felt at all well, or done anything but freak out emotionally, since Sara called me Tuesday. That isn't true; I distracted myself, I went to my dad's, I dealt with family shit...sometimes I even managed to forget about the phone call for awhile. But that didn't really matter in the session. Someday, we need to talk about what's going on in my relationships with my dad, my brother, and my mom - but today the tears took over and steered a clean course directly through the Sara-fears. I did not cry like a baby, however. I cried like a growingbeing very much in love with someone very much at risk. I love Sara, I'm terrified that something will happen to her, something horrible is happening to her (whether there's something really abusive going on at that treatment center or something with an explanation, this sister-girl of mine has a fatal illness...so yeah), and I got crazy caught up in the idea that for once, for once! - I could do something active to help her. Something less invisible than calling her, and loving her, and sending her songs... No surprises there.
It's ironic, as part of the Really Bad Situation she described to me Tuesday has to do with viewing people as "evil" - but my constructed image of where she is looks something like a dark, cloudy, cult institution with bars on the windows. More than once, I've started to say that the people there, the ones who hurt her...are just evil. And yes, I did decide to stop using that word when George W. Bush and the rest of the Christian Right (or as we like to say here, The Not-So-Christian Oh-So-Very-Wrong) started implanting it into every sentence... but I suppose this time I'm really done. The story Sara told me, of people who believe in "evil people" pushes it past anything I can consider a real choice. (Which is to say, I know I'm choosing this, but the other alternative is so impossible for me to consider that it feels like I'm taking the only possible course.) So, we'll throw that in the bucket with "I'm starving" and "this just kills me" and all the other hyperboles and turns of phrase that now turn my stomach and twist my heart too much to be worth the air. But I am having the hardest time viewing these people sympathetically. I still don't believe any of them are essentially evil. However, I have a history of people in power-positions subtly destroying the souls of the people "below" them. And no one messes with my sister; they just don't. It's exceedingly difficult letting this be her decision, letting her parents guide her, not butting in completely, not taking the matter into my own hands. Personally I'd like to pull a Book-II-Youngest-Weasley-Boys, fly a car to her window, and help her escape.
But I won't take her power away from her, and I can't know if this place really is toxic based on one phone call, not even being there. I cannot possibly frame the facts as she told them in a manner that makes them ok. I cried rage over those facts, the grief of a girlbeing who couldn't stop her sister's pain, that this place can remain in existence, in operation. If it is abusive, it's abusive to a population of people who typically do not know that this kind of treatment is unacceptable, people who are extremely vulnerable, people who are dying...on and on and on. People who are split open and vulnerable just from being so sick and from work that exposes you. I started to freak about this bigger picture (because once I take Sara away in the flying car, we have to make the people-with-even-more-power shut this institution down), and the doc gently pushed me to stay focused on my part in this, on what I can do, what is my responsibility, so that I don't end up so paralyzed feeling guilty for things I never could have done. He reminded me that if the situation is abusive, and Sara decides to leave, she can file a complaint with the state organization which oversees these things. A grievance. I took a moment to cry some of my most bitter tears. I, of course, cannot file a grievance. I don't have any recourse when an institution attacks someone I love. If they destroy her, I can't file a grievance. All grief and no grievances. But I still don't believe they'll destroy her. Not because I believe they aren't doing destructive, cruel things (I'm going to need some proof and examples of this to override the examples she shared Tuesday), but because I believe she's a powerful, beautiful someone who can't be stopped so easily. Who won't be stopped so easily. I've long since asked the question in the language that's not language, already received the answer that she cannot be destroyed, even if I lose her...
It's not enough for me, though. I need to believe she'll avoid dying entirely, until she's old enough to make a graceful exit like my grandma did. The girls I see sick wear the illness in fear on their faces, when they realize they're dying. They don't breathe peacefully; they don't have an air around them that stays tranquil even as they start to leave... These deaths can't happen, wouldn't happen if we lived in a perfect world instead of simply a miraculous one. Her death can't happen. Won't. Because I love her, and so long as she's alive, she can't die. I'll hold the truth of this moment; someone else hold onto the future until I make it that far.
Anyway. I hope I've done things correctly, by which I mean I hope I've responded to this in a way that won't upset her, that will remind her how loved she is. After the call Tuesday night, my impression was that she would call her mom - if not her mom and her therapist - and they'd discuss what had happened and what course of action they wanted to take. I'd offered her a getaway car and told her to call me back soon, let me know whatever she'd decided. The situation did not feel like one that could blow over or even be resolved. When I didn't hear from her Wednesday, I called and left a message on her cell; I let her know that I'd be at my dad's for awhile Thursday, but that she should still feel free to call me, and I'd be able to return the call. I quit entertaining the idea of spending the night at my dad's because as much as I wanted to see family, I felt more frantic the more distance I put between us. Back from (the normal hell at) my dad's Thursday night, I discovered she still hadn't called. I no longer knew what to think. If she was still there, and they were still hurting her... If she was going to call me and say it wasn't so bad as she made it seem, but really it was, and she would still be there... If they'd taken away her phone privileges because cults (and I'm not using that term loosely) always discourage communication with people who are telling you not to trust the people brainwashing you.
Without information, I obsessed over the details I did have, and feared the worst of the blanks. The doctor, seeing me so stricken (and having called Tuesday when I found out, because my mom called him, and perhaps believing I'd been in the same stricken state since then) insisted I have a plan of what I could do, a plan to put me back in my right place, to take away inappropriate responsibility. I may not have been unstoppingly stricken for days; I might have managed to calm myself down, but I'd still done a great deal of thinking on the matter. As quickly as I could say, "I'll call her again tonight, and if I still don't get a hold of her, I'll call her mom" I'd said it and moved on.
I'd talked about this option earlier, and he'd said it was one of my best ideas. He'd asked if I could leave her a message through the staff at this place, and since they're potentially criminal and this is my first experience with them, I didn't know. I told him that, of course, if I couldn't get a hold of Sara, I would try that method, and I also planned to try her parents. Her mom knows me, not nearly the way Sara knows me - but the way that your best friend's mother (even if you don't have a friend hierarchy that ranks your friends) knows you... I figured she would talk with me; she always says a kind hello before handing the phone to Sara when Sara's staying there. And I needed to know that "the right people" were aware of what was going on, that they'd heard from Sara, and if they'd heard from her since. I hadn't heard from her since, and I needed to know that someone had.
So, holding a stuffed penguin, after trying her cell for the fifth time today, I dialed her parents. Proof there: love conquers phobia or at least love-influenced fear trumps irrational fear. I was worried about talking with her mom, but mostly I was worried that her dad would answer. I had no idea what to say to him; I knew I needed to talk to her mom, and I thought that would be awkward. But her mom answered. And she said she was glad I called. She even asked for my phone number when we finished talking (about thirty or forty minutes later; she was far from reticent) so that she could contact me if she needed to. Apparently, Sara had told her that my mom agreed to come get her, which freaked Sara's mom; I told her my mom would never do that without checking with Sara's mom, which might not be completely true because Sara's not a minor, and I'd disobey her mom's wishes if I thought they overlooked danger. If Sara called me and said, I need to get out of here, if she had good reasons and a real plan about where she'd from this place, I'd pick her up. I can't drive, so this might be irrelevent. But one of the things that her mom probably didn't mean to clarify for me - but did nevertheless - is that I'm supporting Sara. I'm Sara's ally, not her parents'. And I'm not suggesting that we aren't all on the same side, but even on the same side, there are always different opinions and different perspectives, different ideas of how things should progress. Sara's mom has always been great to me, and a lot of the time she's really good for Sara - but I'm not a kid trying to win her approval. For once in my life, I'm not trying to get the grown-up to love me. I may have been holding a stuffed penguin while I talked to her, but I talked to her as an adult. As much of an adult as I am right now. I made polite noises, but I made it clear where I disagreed and why. I made clear (or tried to) that while some of this behavior is typical of people starting in residential and/or of Sara, some of it really isn't.
A few times, I felt like she wanted me to confirm for her that she'd made the right call telling Sara to stay and try and work through it, to tell her that indeed this was nothing but the initial homesickness and the pain of facing this illness playing into the situation. We commisserated over the inability to know for sure without being there, and she confirmed that she had talked to Sara Tuesday night and also Wednesday. She said Wednesday Sara was calmer about it all, focused on getting through it week by week. Since a great deal of money had already been spent on her first month, she'd agreed to stay that long. (Her mom actually said to me, "Which made me glad - I was glad she was being reasonable." That made my eyes bug out and my tongue scream. Reasonable? The last thing I want Sara to do if she's in an abusive situation is reasonably wait it out. No, I don't want her to jet because she's scared of treatment, and she supposedly has a history of running. But I don't want her to stay just because it's the responsible thing to do. For [Kermit's] sake!) After this month, she wanted to go somewhere else. Her mom asked that she stay open and try and let this work. I hoped her decision to stay a month meant that her communication with people since we talked had led her to feel the situation was not quite so toxic, and not that she was going to put up with abuse that long because her parents had paid for it. I know that these are possible influences right now. It is really scary to go into residential, and I do remember feeling like an outsider at first, even in that great group of girls. I can't imagine coming in during a time when there were more "cliques" - during some of the later groups. It's true that Sara saying she wanted to come home and work is not a viable option. It's one she's tried, that hasn't worked, and right now she's too sick to be anywhere that isn't "safe." The problem seems to be discerning whether or not this place is safe. I didn't like what seemed to be pressure from her mom to support her mom's advice, but if ultimately, my opinion really does carry that much weight...if something needs to be done, and my voice can make a difference, I won't hesitate to use it. No matter what animals I need to pull out.
Have to say I wished I could call in Dave. Dave, she's no ok, and I need your help figuring out how to put her somewhere safe, somewhere where the only pain is her illness. I'm glad I'm not impulsive; I wouldn't have called Dave even if I had his contact info. I'm glad because I wouldn't feel right dragging him into this. He's cared about too many people and worked with too many people to continue working with them. His workload would be fit for an entire hospital staff if he continued to make the calls. But I did want him. Sara trusts him. I trust him. He cares about her. And...I would have liked his support.
I called Sara right after I spoke with her mom; I barely hung up before dialing her number. Her mom had said she was going to mention our conversation to Sara, which felt like a heads-up to me, and I felt inclined to mention that I'd always intended to call Sara and let her know about the phone call. I was not doing this behind her back. So, I did call her, and I told her that I'd been worried, like you get when you love someone and you don't have the details. I told her I understood that there were legitimate, good reasons for her to not have called me, but without the update, the information, I worried. I told her I called her mom because of my own worry, because I needed to know that someone knew about this, and that someone had heard from her. I begged her not to feel guilty for my concern. It wasn't the spawn of her crisis; it was just my natural worry as someone who cares about her. I was glad she'd talked to me that night. She could call anytime, and anything I could do for her, I would. I reminded her of that, even though I (actually do) trust she knows it. And I told her pretty flat-out that, kind as her mom was to me, kind as her mom always has been, I'm her friend. Sara's friend. And it's her decisions I will support. I didn't think of this until just now, but I guess I wanted her to know that talking with her mom, hearing her mom's perspective, hadn't overridden the talk with Sara and the discussion of her perspective. If anything, I was pissed at the points where her mom didn't, in my view, give her daughter's perspective enough weight. I know she (s's mom) is in hell right now; we all are, and I know she's having an extremely hard time going back and forth over this. She's lost sleep and gained anxiety right along with me these past few days. But I will follow my instincts over her parents' wishes, and my commitment to Sara is first. I won't knowingly compromise her safety, even if she asks me to, even if I only believe there's the possibility this will compromise her safety...but there's a term the doctor used today that I've grown into rather firmly: unconditional advocate, I think it was. No matter what, I hear her. That doesn't mean we always agree, but I'm not the devil's advocate. Ever. I'm not her therapist. I'm not her parent. I'm not her parent who happens to be a therapist. I'm not her parent who happens to be a doctor, and a sick one at that. I'm her friend, and I will always tell her the truth as I feel it, but I will also always make comfortable room for her views. I will believe her the way the doctor's believed me. The way they did at Rogers. The way Sara does. I will put her first, difficult as it is when I'm not with her, and her needs and the eating-disorder's needs are so tangled. Mostly I told her I love her. I forgot to tell her she's going to live and live really, really well. I did call her "Sara, my love"... I tried to infuse the conversation with the truth. (And the truth is love, of which this pain is a part. This fucked-up pain.)
And I have kept in mind, during all this Sara-comes-first thinking, that I come first in my life. I haven't forgotten that. I don't believe that I know better what she needs, and I don't believe that her needs are more important than mine or that I can effectively take them into my own hands. My own work continues, even if the session today focused on the growing frenzy over this. The visit to my dad's yesterday may have been messed up (as were a few points with John, and later with my mom), but I went. The weather is once again sunny and true to my hope, I once again want to be outside in it. The fatigue I hoped was stress and migraine and crappy weather apparently was such. There are many parallels between learning to not be agoraphobic and learning to not be eating-disordered, but there are differences, too, if only because of where I am, and I see those differences. It doesn't have to be so rigid here, even at the start. I've done an awesome amount of work on it all lately. I'll discuss the triumph and tragedies there sooner than later, but sooner than that, I need sleep. Please let it take pity on me.
I do believe this is harder than rocket science, although I've never studied that. This is very, very difficult, but I'm here and I'm dealing. Surviving and even shining in my two jobs at least in this moment. Abuse and allegations and fears and grievances aside, I can't wait to see the girl. I can't wait for her to have reason to leave the place, even temporarily, and come into my arms. She's right, although my agoraphobia argues: it's wrong for two people who love each other this much to go so long without seeing each other, without being able to share a hug.
I wonder if the media will ever catch onto the dramatic merit of non-romantic love...?
ah, well-
~me