Will it come out if I don't write? I don't really want to write, but I think I want the feelings out. So incredibly homesick. I mean sad, lonely, heartsick, neglected, wanting - the whole ride. And I can go home again! All that bullshit about do I or don't I, can I or can't I, etc is gone. I can go home. I can be home. I was. So why am I back here? Why did I have to come back again, to this? Checking my stupid e-mail, stupid journal comments, trying to be alive in the world, to be connected. For 24 hours, I was alive in the best world there is, (in many respects), and I was important there. I had a place, a good purpose, a home. I had my home again. Why can't I just keep it? What is so wrong about having it? I don't have to be sick to be there; I don't want that at all. I proved I can be there in a different capacity, in a different role. I trust that they love me; they showed me they did. I trust that I'm not intruding; I've been told it's ok to hold on to them by them... So what's left? I know the details are a little foggy, and I need the doctor here, and it's a sad place, a hard place to be at, and at night most of my family goes home to different streets... But somewhere. Someone. Can't I just have that? Can't I just not be here, in this stupid room, with my mom trying so hard to help and somehow not being enough? It's hard to be there; yes. But I'd rather have that pain than the pain of not being there. I know it won't be another 2 years; if I only had myself to deal with, I'd go up there again by the end of the week, once I've gotten past the jet lag of traveling and heat... Damnit. I want to go home.
That's not wrong. That's not impossible. That's not too much to ask. I miss them so much. I miss them so much. I got to see them, and that's wonderful, and I'm so glad it's now such a small time since I was with them - instead of the years that I've had to count up until this visit. I'm so glad for that. But I miss them just the same. I'd only been there a few hours when I started crying, realizing I couldn't stay, how much I wanted to stay and couldn't, realizing the support given to the people there, realizing I was going to have to leave all over again. Go from community support to self-support all over again. And it doesn't hurt any less this time; it really doesn't. I know they love me, I'm not sick, I'm not sleeping days away or thinking about drugging myself... But it hurts! And it's not fair. How is it that a girl can find people who love her that she loves, in a place where she can be useful without being used, and no matter what she must still leave that place? Again and again and again. The talk I had with Dave at the end of the night - it ended with each of us putting an arm around the other (for the photo, easily) and then he softly punched my arm. Do you know that's more than he did when I left two years ago? Do you know that's more than I was given when I had to leave "forever"?
I always think of Julian when she was standing behind me, at the computer in D!@#$%^, giving me scritchies. I hear her saying, "You've got goosebumps!" and me explaining how rarely anyone touched me. Gently, tenderly, without thought or need or hesitation. She and Cameron were good to me. They loaded me up with hugs and scritchies and cuddles, but touch is just so hard to store. I miss it, ok? I'm a shitty recluse, and that's fine with me. It's like being a shitty supervillain; it doesn't bother me a bit. Except... I have to live the recluse life. Right now. I'm trying to get out of it - I am... When someone says, "You need people in your life; you need to interact" I almost start crying. Or I do. Because believe it or not, I know that better than anyone. Believe it or not, I want it more than anyone seems to understand. The desire is not the missing piece. It's something else. And I had it Saturday. I had it again! I had it, and I had to leave it - again.
Please, it doesn't have to be this way. I know it doesn't... Please don't make me go back to phone calls and letters and waiting to visit. Please. Please don't make me reenter that period of suspension; please let me go there, where I can live, really live, as I am now. And I can get better simultaneously. Please don't make me stay here, stagnate. Don't make me stand this. I don't care what anyone thinks of this need; I don't care what the judgment is. I just want it fulfilled. I just want to go home. I don't care if anyone thinks that's wrong, or the home's wrong, or I'm wrong; I'm done with all of those thoughts and all of those worries. I just want to go back. I just want to help out. I just want to live my days with them. I'll sleep on a therapist's couch during the night. I'll prove it's possible to be healthy and hold on. I won't be the example of the girl who can't let go; I'll be the example of the woman who recognized the value of this place enough to maintain hold. I'll show them that you don't have to be sick to be loved, and you don't have to be alone to be well. I'll show myself.
So, yes, I'd like to go home now. This is all very enlightening, an enjoyable tangent, but I'd like to go back now, please. Give me at least a dog's life, hey? - "Mary! Sit! Stay. Good girl." Give me stay at least.
This is awful; this is awful...this is not fair! I did it. I spent two+ years outside, I got better, I progressed, I worked with the people here, I didn't go back to the sickness...I did it, I did it, ok? Haven't I proven myself? Haven't I proven I'm in whatever place I need to be to be there? It's one fucked-up world where attachment is seen as a reason to separate. Move along now before you get overly attached. They don't feel that way. That's not the message they gave me. And I don't feel that way, certainly. Obviously. And it's not Mars; it's not like I'm abandoning my entire life to go back there... It's not like I won't live outside as well, like I won't still be all of who I am Since, and will be Later, won't still write and have my friends, and live. But I'd like to go back now please. I'd be good there. I could do a lot of good there. And it could do me some good.
Everyone says there's a time when you'd end up needing to leave, a time when you'd even hate being there. Don't I have a right to get to that point? Don't I have a right to want to go, instead of simply having to? Don't I have a right to stay as long as I please even because I'm healthy, because I can maintain that, because I love them? Don't I have a case at all?
A case. To present to...? No one. There's no protocol for this, no path, no system, no judge. There's no guideline, no rule, no loophole made for the girl who's me. Well, I hate this! I am sick of feeling this way. I feel sick this way. I don't care too much, but it hurts too much to care with them away. I won't stop caring because - I won't - but that just means...pain, pain, pain. I did it for two years, ok? I went on, proved I wouldn't let go of it, and I wouldn't die holding on... I'm tired of the pain. It's not the pain I'm supposed to feel; it's unnecessary. There, I could feel pain with a purpose... like the pain of all the people who are sick. I could do something to help. And I know, I'm one of the sick, too, but I'm more and more one of the healthy... and damnit, I know I'm worth something there. I know I'm of value. I'm of value here, too; it's not about that... it's about... Well, shouldn't I get to choose?
So, it's unique. So, it's different. So's my entire off-the-beaten-path life at this point. So what? Yes, I'm in love with a whole group of people and at home with them. Yes, my home is a hospital. Yes. No more apologies, no more doubts, no more bullshit; this is how it is.
This is how it is? Me, at my computer, knowing the truth, but unable to do a damn thing about it? Crying and lonely and cut off from the one place where... Cut off from the place I want to be. Need to be. Oh, yes, I can survive without your presence; I can live on rationed phone calls and imaginary visits. But I'm not supposed to survive. I'm supposed to thrive. I want to be alive, ok? I came a long way to get to that statement, and I'm saying it now, and why the hell are my heels so useless? Are you seriously telling me, after everything I've done and all the strength I've found, that I *haven't* had the power all along?
To go back. To know where it is and when I've lost it and how to bring myself back. Is it really no - again?
Appeal, appeal, appeal. But there's no legislation, no due process, no judge. I can have the world's greatest case; I still won't have someone to hear it. I still won't have someone in power to feel stirred, moved into action. It'll still be Mary Brave with the swollen eyes. I write well. I write well. I'm talented, don't you know, I write well.
Who doesn't see how little that means? Who do I have to show how thoroughly home blows talent out of the water? How thoroughly life trumps words? ...I have so much I didn't have last week. Recent memories of them, pictures to develop, an address for Dave, a phone for Dwight. And it's not enough. And I lost one thing I had last week. Time with them, approaching. A day I could count down to, if I weren't so terrified. So, there's another visit approaching; I just don't know the day. So, I have confirmation now that I can go back; I have real knowledge that it's possible and true.
It's not enough.
~me