This time I remembered to ask him if he wanted any water, but he'd just had some, so no luck in being helpful there. The session went downhill, down a rather steep incline, on a broken sled, in northern hemisphere July. We had the kind of session that starts off alright, quickly turns into me hiding behind my green snowman mug, (possession is 9/10 of ownership, or something like that) while he says lovely things that I don't believe, and I develop never-before-seen yoga postures in my attempt to reach invisibility. This kind of session ends with a promise from him to keep working at understanding on Friday, and a sighing, "This sucks," from me. "This sucks" is a good sign, actually. It means I'm putting down my defenses of eloquence and silence and just handing him the truth. He agreed.
What did we talk about? Adulthood. Growing up and what it entailed. What I would do, now, if I could, what I actually desire. What I'm afraid growing up means. (Again.) That every day, whether this crazy city thinks it's Phoenix in the dog days of summer or the North Pole in February, I need to go outside, out into the world (even just out onto the sidewalk) for ten or fifteen minutes. I think this may have kicked my expectations of myself up a few thousand notches. Friday, he wanted me to follow my nesting instinct, which meant it was ok to struggle, and now he wants me to make sure and get out, so obviously I need to be entirely struggle-free from this second onward. This sucks? Yes, that puts it mildly.
I called him. Even now, it's only about five hours since I left his office, and I've already called him. Oy. I throw every scrap of dignity I have into the air when I do that, and it takes serious guts considering how mean the exchange people can be (but weren't tonight) and the fact that his message now says to paige him only in a "life-threatening emergency". I called him anyway. I already felt really sorry for how I'd acted during the session. (My attempt to be honest and not buy into happy hopeful ideas that aren't actually a part of my perspective, yet, got twisted into evidence of supposedly disgruntled, recalcitrant behavior, regarding which I should most certainly feel vast amounts of shame.) Why not add sorry for the phone call on top of that? And mostly I was scared, and I didn't know what to do if not call him. I needed doctor-type help, and he's the only doctor-type in my world at the moment. So I called, even though I was crying and dizzy and not sure he wouldn't hate me for doing so. (The best indicator of future behavior is past behavior, and he's never hated me before...)
He doesn't hate me tonight either. I called the exchange and asked them to use their magic paiging powers on my behalf, and he called back just a couple minutes later, asking what was wrong. I didn't really know that, so I told him what I did know, that I was sorry about today, that I was scared. He reiterated something from the end of the session, about how we hadn't connected quite as well as we sometimes do, how it would take more time for him to understand what I meant, but he would understand. I continued to prosecute myself because I was sad and low and needed a reminder of what to say in my defense. I told him I want to believe all those things he tells me, but I can't seem to do it; he told me it's his job to understand my perspective, not my job to understand his. He asked what scared me; I said the idea that I wasn't getting better. We talked about his unscheduled leave of absence in December, how it came at an already difficult time - strong fears and feelings for Jenna, the aftermath of Sara's suicide attempt, etc - and lasted so long. Could that maybe have something to do with where I'm at now? he asked, and I told him all I could think of - that I fell completely apart in December. That I fell completely apart so quickly and that frightens me. He asked what falling completely apart meant, what the worst instance had been, and I said not being able to function, just sleeping as much as I could and freaking out when I wasn't asleep. He asked if, at any point during that time, I ever cut on myself or purged or skipped multiple meals...I, still crying, told him no. I didn't. Not even once. He talked about what that meant, but I kept feeling what I felt all through December - that I wanted to, that even tonight my first thought wasn't "call the doctor" it was "purge"... and what if I can't hold out against it the next time or the time after that? I came to the big fear. I don't want to go back. I don't want to disappoint everyone. I don't want to die.
He said that certainly, there was no way to make that completely impossible, and I started to cry, to think about Tracy, to think about it happening to me. He talked about past behavior again, then, and I realized my past behavior only includes the past behavior of Mary Brave, and that's from Rogers on... All those things I used to do aren't part of her history; they happened before I knew all I know, before I'd been given these gifts. He said that over the past few years I've displayed incredible talents, "life talents," he said, an ability to secure incredible growth given very little - special talents and gifts. He said he didn't want me to forget about what I received at Rogers, and I thought the dark thoughts about what's happening to my fellow Rogerliebs and realize now that's part of what he doesn't know...but even if I'm going to entertain the fears and angers and shadows surrounding this miracle, I don't want to forget what a miracle it is. They love me. They loved me into life, and I love them with every breath of it. That can't ever go away. He said, no one can ever take that from you.
It will not be that way for you.
He told me that what happened in December was not supposed to happen; our sessions and our momentum are not supposed to be interrupted, and I can expect him to be around, to be "in my corner" ... I don't need to start expecting Decembers around every bend. I cried and felt happy for the first time since I called (longer, but...at least that long), and I told him, "I'm so glad you're here." He said, "I'm glad to be back. I missed you." My face curled up like a little child's, like a little child who isn't used to hearing that from big, soft, gentle, kind adults. "And I'm extremely proud of you," he said. For what I managed in December. I missed you, and I'm proud of you, and I'm going to be here, in your corner.
"I wish I could cut off a piece of my confidence about you and give it to you," he said. I don't know where he sees what he sees, but something about me makes him believe I'll do this. Really do this. I'll make it to a life; I won't have to die. I wanted to throw my arms out and hug him again, in the sprawling, klutzy, emotional way that would probably knock him and his crutches to the floor, despite my intentions. I didn't want to do that when I met with him today. I felt angry at my inabilities and frustrated at being sick. Now I feel like a goopy Mary-puddle lying on the couch next to him, dopey and adoring as a pet.
No matter what, I'm in your corner, he told me. And I could hear my head say, "Mark this moment. This is his version of Brea's, 'No matter what you do or say or feel...'" He will not leave. He will not leave. Decembers are flukes, and after all, he came back. That's different. I've not seen that done much...
When we first started talking, it was mostly me crying and him speaking, and maybe because he had so much quiet to fill, and so much he wanted me to understand, or maybe for no logical reason at all, he started to punctuate his sentences with all sorts of "you know"s. It's not something I remember him saying; maybe he only does it on the phone, and it's been long enough that I forgot. But I remember when I talked to Dave, the way he said you know, the same way, like he knew I did, like he still believed in that, like we were connected because he knew and I knew, too, you know? We know. The doctor started to do the same thing, and I wanted to cry because it was a little bit of home. It was like two doctors at once, if we indulge Dave and pretend he's a doctor. It made me want to cry, gratefully, but I was already crying, so I just let the feeling whisper through my heart and give me breath again.
Darlin. I wish I could cut off a piece of my confidence and give it to you. Remember what you said about why you love this place? I don't want you to forget what you found at Rogers. Your letter was beautiful. I missed you. You know? I'm proud of you; I'm in your corner. Ok, darlin, there's your boost. No matter what, I'm in your corner.
"I'm so glad you're here." Each and every one of you, with all your words. What am I? I am bundled-up, five-years-old, head first in a snow bank...I need help getting out, but the cold feels refreshing, and there's a home for me here, with hot cocoa inside. Just for me.
~me